Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
We had one guy who bought blueberry scones daily…because they kept him regular. And he always found a way to let you know. “The old plumbing is working like a top, yeah?”
Uh…thanks for letting me know? I never knew what to say, so I smiled till it hurt and hoped like hell no one else walked in. Which was concerning since my business relied on customers buying my baked goods.
My problem was that while I liked the concept of owning a storefront, I wanted to stay in the kitchen. I wanted to know that the people who bought my stuff liked it, but I didn’t necessarily want to talk to them. In other words, I wanted my cake and I wanted to eat it too.
My ex would probably agree that it was typical of me. I might have ninety-nine things going for me, but I always wanted the impossible.
I glanced at the unfrosted fairy cakes on the kitchen island before inspecting the display cases out front. Then I lifted the window shade, turned the open sign over, and unlocked the door. Showtime.
And still no Theo.
Ten cups of coffee, eleven teas, twelve croissants, ten sticky buns, and a medley of scones and rolls later, I was sweating bullets and my face hurt from faking congeniality. It was a good thing the early customers were more focused on caffeine infusions than friendly overtures, or I’d have been fucked.
I slid a to-go cup across the counter toward the American tourist whose toddler was currently smacking high fives against the glass display when the back door clanged open and Clive, my delivery person, called out a greeting. He was a rail-thin man in his midsixties with thinning gray hair, bushy eyebrows, and a gregarious nature.
“Morning, Scott. You’re stop number one for me. Molly’s got the Oxford and the Sainsbury run today. Want everything in the kitchen?”
“Uh, yes, thanks. I’ll be right there.”
“Nah, no worries, mate. I got it,” he insisted. “You’ve got your hands full. Becca will be in to help in a flash.”
Becca?
The older man waved to the child and launched into a conversation with his mother. Before I could decide if I was relieved he’d distracted the kid and the mom in one fell blow or irked at the notion that he’d probably left the van running in the alley, Joanne hurried into the shop, shrugging off her coat as she bustled toward the register.
Joanne was a middle-aged woman with unnaturally red hair, apple-round cheeks, and a motherly air about her. Like Clive, she seemed to always have a smile on her face.
“So sorry, love. I was having a natter with the new ad man out front. That’s what he called himself—the ad man,” she chirped with a laugh, slipping an apron over her head. “Lovely bloke, yeah? He mentioned something about a fairy cake slogan. Fantastic fairy cakes, fabulous fairy cakes, fancy fairy cakes—”
“Theo?”
“Aye, he’s outside with Becca,” Joanne reported, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear before greeting two teenagers in school uniforms. “I can manage from here.”
I nodded when she shooed me away from the register, and I headed for the front door.
A cold gust of wind whipped along the sidewalk, urging pedestrians to find shelter—or better yet, stay home. Naturally, I braved the winter chill in a plaid flannel and an apron. My balls would be frozen marbles in ten minutes tops.
“Hiya, Scotty.” Becca waved me over to the little patch of sunshine on the corner where she stood next to Theo, bundled in a green long coat and a yellow scarf. She looked bright and colorful, and he looked…beautiful.
His pink cheeks complemented his olive jacket and the matching beanie he’d pulled around his ears.
I smiled in greeting, then turned to Becca. “What are you doing here?”
She smacked my arm playfully and huffed, “Helping, you knobhead. You didn’t respond to my text about Joanne, so I hitched a ride with Clive after I sorted my pies. And that rhymes, doesn’t it?”
“Right. Well—”
“I see she’s here now,” she continued in a rush. “Theo was just telling us about his DIY ideas. Brilliant!”
I wasn’t sure if that was a sarcastic or sincere brilliant, but I nodded lamely either way. “Yeah. Worth giving a shot.”
“Smashing.” She gestured toward the shop as she stepped aside. “It’s bloody cold. I’m going in. See you soon, Theo.”
“Yes, I look forward to working with you,” he replied politely. When she was safely inside the bakery, Theo turned to me. “Do you think she knows I stayed the night?”
“I dunno. She’s smart, so…maybe.”
Theo groaned aloud. “That’s not good. We can’t work together and do…sex things.”
“No apologies and no overthinking.” I squeezed his shoulder. “Last night was good.”
“Yes. It was,” he said dreamily.
“I’ll call you later. We can discuss…our business plan.”
“That sounds tawdry,” he murmured, fiddling with his hat as he cast a quick glance at the shop. “Yet tantalizing.”