Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
“I have people to help me bake. I just can’t take any more orders,” I say, and that’s the truth. You can only have so many cooks in a kitchen when it’s only so big. Plus, no one can make my frosting. I’ve tried to show some of the staff, but somehow it never comes out right unless I do it.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Go back to your man.”
“I can’t go back to him, he never leaves,” she huffs, pretending to be annoyed when we both know she’s not. No, she was annoyed and pissed when she thought Jack wasn’t obsessed with her. Little did she know.
Tinsel has been in love with Jack from the moment her brother brought him home during college. He’d been a dick, according to her, but what I saw was her giving him a hard time. The two of them sparred for years, but I knew she loved him. It was an unspoken thing between us, and I didn’t push because Tinsel gets where she needs to be on her own.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell her before hanging up again. She might not live here anymore, but she comes every morning for her sugar cookie coffee and a treat.
I miss her. The apartment is so quiet without her here. I’m happy for her, but I can’t help but be a bit envious and lonely. Not that I’d have time to spar with someone at the moment. Right now I have to figure out a way I’m going to fill all these orders.
There is only so much time in a day. I search my mind for a way I could do them quicker. Is there a way I could cut out a step? I worry my bottom lip as an idea forms. My eyes flick to the clock and realize I couldn’t do it here. I’d have to drive a few towns over, and it could be risky.
I jump up from my bed and head toward the front door, beside which is a small closet. “Yes!” I shout when I spot the wigs Tinsel got last year. That’s a whole other story, but damn am I happy I have them now.
Chapter Two
CLAUSE
“Hey, Clause, what brings you into town?” North says as he holds out his hand.
I shake it and nod toward the bakery. “Just stocking up.”
“Frostie’s treats really are mandatory.” He holds up a bag that’s got her stamp on it. “Just grabbing Joy and me some breakfast.”
“Congrats, by the way,” I say and nod toward his ring.
“Thanks.” Someone from across the stress calls his name, and I can see he’s a busy man as usual.
“See you,” I say and begin walking toward the bakery again.
“Don’t be a stranger,” North calls out, and I nod.
Mayor North might be the only person in town that speaks to me on the rare occasion I come to Troping. Most people keep their distance, and I’m sure that has to do with my muscles, tattoos, and overall back-the-fuck-up energy. I let my beard grow long, and I keep a stocking cap pulled low so I know my presence is less of an invitation. Yet somehow, Mayor North looks past all of it and always offers a friendly hello. I guess that’s why he’s the mayor, because that shit would annoy me.
The little bell on the door chimes as I enter the busy bakery, and when Frostie looks up, her smile falters slightly when she sees it’s me.
“How can I help you?” She says it to me like I’m just another customer, only with other customers she’ll meet their eyes. With me, she looks at my chest or in another direction entirely. It’s like she can’t stand the sight of me.
“Coffee,” I say, and the word comes out sharp even though I don’t mean it to. I’m just not used to being nice. Or talking to people, especially a woman like her.
“Anything from the counter?” she asks, nodding toward the glass cases of treats that separate us.
She doesn’t hand me the coffee like she would another customer. Instead she sets it down and places the single pack of sugar beside it. At least she remembers my order. I don’t even like sugar in my coffee, but one day I asked for it so that I didn’t have to walk away so soon.
“Are the cupcakes homemade?” I ask, and that gets her attention.
“Of course they are. Everything in my bakery is.” Her cheeks heat as she moves to the register and begins to ring me up.
“I’ll take a cinnamon roll,” I mumble, and she quickly grabs one and practically throws it at me like she needs to put distance between us.
After she tells me the price, I slide a bill across the counter and take my order. “Keep the change.”
She says a soft thank you as the register does its thing, and then I hear her sigh when I turn around. I’m not good with people, but I’m even less good with her. How can I be so annoyed at how perfect she is?