Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
I didn’t have time to make appealing digital content about my baked goods and coffee, build a following and monetize my social media platform. It was more of a long-game strategy that took more time and attention to detail than I was willing to devote. I’d considered a YouTube channel to promote my muffins of the month at one point, but I got up so early, put so many hours into the shop itself, that I was exhausted at the end of the day.
Several orders for local offices had to be filled or I’d risk losing the repeat business that I relied upon. So, I was baking in my apartment kitchen. It was a violation of the health code, but I didn’t have an operational commercial oven. All I could do was try to keep up with the bare minimum and hope no one figured it out and reported me. Apple cider scones filled the little kitchen with a rich spiciness.
I loved baking batch after batch, loved lining the box with parchment and nestling each pastry in its spot. The accountant firm and the tattoo and piercing shop would have their full orders tomorrow morning on schedule. I mixed up some blueberry muffins to add to the chocolate raspberry batch I’d made earlier—they’d be all the stock I had for the morning coffee run crowd. I was working with an abridged menu at best, but I had to have something to offer my customers besides excuses.
I was scrolling through some gig work opportunities on my phone, wondering if delivering groceries or DoorDash would be a better bet for me to do in the afternoons until the repairs were complete. I rubbed my eyes and made myself get up and stretch and drink some water. I spiraled toward hopelessness, and it wasn’t a good direction to go. My phone seized up into a ringing and shaking fit, blanking the screen where I had been reading about fast side hustles.
“Hello?” I stammered.
“It’s Leo Foster. I know it’s after business hours, but are you busy?”
I looked around at my kitchen, strewn with baked goods, the oven timer ticking down another four minutes until my last batch was done.
“I’m just finishing up some baking,” I said with a little sigh.
“Baking? How?” he asked.
“I’m at home in my own kitchen. Please don’t report me to the Better Business Bureau or the Health Department,” I said somewhat glumly.
“Oh, I never would,” he said. “Listen, I just got off work and wondered if you had a minute to meet me down at your shop.”
“Sure. I’m about ten minutes from being done here,” I said. “I could meet you in twenty give or take traffic.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you then,” he said.
I wondered what Leo Foster needed at seven-thirty on a weeknight that he couldn’t just text me, but, despite how tired I was, I found a fizz of excitement running through my veins at the prospect of seeing him.
It took closer to half an hour to get to the shop, and I found him waiting by the door as I hurried up the sidewalk. He held a brown carry out bag that smelled amazing—like a garlic heaven.
“Oh my God,” I murmured as my stomach gave a loud and embarrassing growl. “I’m sorry.”
I let him in and switched on a light.
“Mind if I have a seat?” he said. “Food’s still hot.”
“Go ahead,” I said gamely. “Do you need a plate or fork or anything for your dinner? A drink?”
“This is for both of us, Madison. I didn’t bring food to eat in front of you,” he said, a concerned wrinkle between his brows. “What the hell kind of people do you usually hang out with anyway?”
“I mostly hang out at work, and you don’t have to share your food with me, Leo. You’ve already been very kind,” I said, a little embarrassed. I was starving. I wanted the yummy Chinese food. I busied myself pouring some orange juice into a glass and sipping it.
With a slight shake of his head, he started unpacking the big bag. There were clamshell trays, cardboard cartons, a couple of intriguing Styrofoam tubs, some plastic cutlery, pouches of sweet and sour sauce and hoisin sauce, soy sauce. My mouth watered.
I took him a glass of water and dropped into a chair, feeling my exhaustion to the bone right then. I wanted to drop my head onto my arms and cry and then sleep for about twenty hours, then wake up and cry some more. The only thing I wanted more than giving in to despair was one or two of those crispy egg rolls he unpacked. I swallowed hard.
Leo took a couple of plates out of the bag and started loading one with fried rice, spicy noodles, broccoli and chicken, egg rolls, some kind of vegetables with a rich sauce and shrimp—and put the plate right in front of me.