Sprinkles and Secrets by Lisa Schroeder

situation from getting out of control. That is, out of their hair, off their clothes, and into their mouths.
    â€œHere you go,” Dolores says, handing me my jamtart and glass of milk. Isabel takes hers, and then we take a seat in the corner.
    â€œIsabel, it looks fantastic,” I tell her.
    She smiles. “I hope you like it.”
    â€œYou know I will.”
    And I do. It’s
really
good. The flavor of the strawberry jam with the chocolate tart is like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. I can see why it won the contest.
    Just then the little bell over the door jingles, and Stan walks into the shop. He looks over at us and waves.
    â€œHello, Isabel!” he says. “Long time, no see. My wife sent me to get some of your jam tarts to try. Seems like we’ve been waiting forever to get our hands on them.” He chuckles. “Or our mouths, as the case may be.”
    â€œThanks, Stan. Did I ever tell you it was those tarts you brought from England that inspired my recipe?”
    â€œNo, I don’t believe you ever told me that. Isn’t that wonderful? I’ll have to make sure to tell Judy. She gave me such a hard time about bringing those tarts all the way from England. See, I knew therewas a reason why I felt so strongly you should have some.”
    He orders half a dozen and Isabel’s grandma boxes them up for him.
    â€œHow’s business?” he asks her.
    Dolores folds her arms across her chest and sighs. “The last month or two has been very slow. We’re hoping things pick up now, with the holidays around the corner. The shop will be open seven days a week in anticipation of all of the holiday parties going on in town. We’re featuring some wonderful, special flavors for the season. After you’ve finished those tarts, you’ll have to come back and try some gingerbread cupcakes.”
    â€œWe’ll definitely do that,” he says. “Thanks, Dolores. Say, did anyone ever call you Dee growing up?”
    â€œOh yes,” she says. “My little sister couldn’t say Dolores for the longest time, so she called me Dee. Even today, I’m Dee to her.”
    â€œKnock, knock,” Stan says.
    â€œWho’s there?”
    â€œDee.”
    â€œDee who?”
    â€œDee-licious jam tarts for sale!” he says, holding the box in the air.
    She laughs, and he waves good-bye and disappears out the door.
    â€œI love that guy,” Isabel says.
    â€œMe too,” I say, before I finish off the last of my tart. “Is your mom doing okay, Chickarita? I mean, she isn’t too worried about business, is she?”
    She stacks our plates and pushes them aside. “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with my mom. She’s trying really hard to focus on the good stuff—the people who love our shop come here again and again. The hard thing is figuring out unique, inexpensive ways to drum up new business. To get people to come and try a cupcake when they haven’t been here before. If only we had an advertising budget as big as Beatrice’s. Must be nice to be a big, ugly chain, huh?”
    I gulp and take a swig of milk. This is when I should tell her.
    Right now.
    Right. Now.
    And then the door of the shop opens again. I watch as a girl with dark, straight hair comes through the door followed by a pretty woman. The girl turns and looks at us.
    I jump up. “Lily!”
    She waves and walks over to our table.
    â€œIsabel, this is my friend Lily,” I say. “I brought her here last week to try the cupcakes. And look, she’s back!”
    Lily turns to Isabel. “My mom has book club tonight. I told her she had to buy cupcakes for snacks this time. They’re
so
good, I just don’t understand how business can be slow for you guys.”
    â€œHow do you know that?” Isabel asks.
    Lily’s cheeks start to turn pink, almost matching the fuchsia coat she’s wearing. “Uh,