AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’ve thought about that. I think I’ll try the culinary school in the next town over. I’m sure there are students there who would like a job. The only problem is I don’t want to share Grandma’s recipes with anyone, so I’m trying to figure out a way around that.”
“Evelyn already had an NDA drawn up, but I don’t trust those things. I think what I’ll do for now is keep each department separate. I’ll still be doing the premix myself, so no one ever has to know that, so it should be okay.”
I was still getting anxiety over that one. Every other story I read about opening a bakery was about recipes being stolen for commercial use. I guess I’ll have to get used to it. I plan on starting off by myself in that beautiful kitchen, though, so I won’t worry too much about it. Plus, who knows if I’ll be bombarded with orders?
I was bombarded with orders. The way Amanda’s Sweets is set up, there’s a row of showcases in the front along with waiting chairs, a television, and other amenities for patrons, as well as a cash register. There’s a catering menu available to take home with you, along with all the information you would need. Then, there was a computer for taking online orders that I thought would take at least a day to pick up.
Luckily, I had worked like a dog the week before opening and had plenty to go around, but I wouldn’t have anything for the next day, nor would I have anything to fulfill the online orders. I was both excited and terrified. When Evelyn said she was going to spread the word, I imagined a handful of high-society women coming through the door within an hour of each other.
Instead, it looked like this crazy woman had informed the whole city. She was out there on the sidewalk, schmoozing with the people waiting in line; Mom and Dad were helping out at the counter while I headed to the back to start prepping more cupcakes and cookies as my siblings pulled things from the ovens. Thankfully, no one had ordered a full-size cake as yet so that was a relief.
* * *
I endedup having to look for help much sooner than I had anticipated and had come up with a system that worked for me. Since I had no intentions of ever giving up the baking side of the business, I would do the premix and have the others take care of mixing the different flavors. I’m also thinking about keeping each department separate so that one hand doesn’t know what the other is doing. Can you tell how paranoid I am?
That hard lesson I learned two years ago has given me that as well. My trust seems to have dried up in me that’s why I took so long to agree to Evelyn, and as it turned out, she’d given me the new beginning I’d needed.
I went to the bakery early every morning and dragged my butt home well into the night when the three helpers I’d hired were already long gone. I was happier than I’d ever been before in my life, though my body ached in strange places.
I was out front waiting for any last-minute customers since it was ten minutes to closing time, and each night so far, someone had come in at the last minute. Thankfully, with the help, I was able to stay a little bit ahead, especially since most people seem to have decided on their favorites already, so I have some idea of a head count for the different flavors.
I had just turned my back to the door when I heard the voice behind me. It sent shockwaves down my spine. “Listen, you little pain in the ass; I asked you which flavor like ten times already.” He looked up and noticed me before holding up a finger for me to wait.
Oh my! Oh, my ever-loving…. Sweet Baby…. HooYah. I need a minute. I didn’t know I had a weakness before. I was with the same guy since I was about twelve or thirteen. I have a weakness, and that weakness is bike gear-wearing, tattooed muscle men with salt and pepper hair cut very low, and a voice that vibrated through my very core.
Thankfully, he turned away again because I needed to shake myself and it would’ve looked really strange to him if he saw that.
“Swear to fuck. Okay-okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to swear. You know what, I’ll just get one of each, okay? Alright, little one, see you soon.”
He put his phone away and turned back around. “Sorry about that.” Are those dimples in his cheeks? No, please, no. He smiled in apology, and I mumbled something. Those were no ordinary dimples; those were movie star-grade dimples.
He looked rough, like,…yeah, rough. But not homeless; I need a bath rough. Rough, like he could break bricks with his hands. Then he lifted his head, and I saw his eyes in the light. This time, I couldn’t hide my reaction. My hand fluttered up around my throat as it was getting hard to breathe. His smile widened and I could swear I saw something change in those arctic blue eyes.
“Uh, my little sister had your cupcakes somewhere or another and lost her fucking mind. I mean… fuck it. You the owner?”
“Yes, I am.” When did Eartha Kitt take over my body?
“So, what am I looking at here?” He placed his hand on the glass and leaned down to look into the lower glass case. Mercy, his hands, his fingers. What the hell is wrong with me? Have I been so long without sex that I’ve turned into this thing that lusts after strange men who look like they should be on the front of a most wanted poster?
“Give me six of each flavor.”
Six? There are twelve flavors.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” I should hate him for his snark alone, but that voice, those eyes, those lips, that…. Don’t you dare ogle his privates. Have you lost your mind?
I’m mortified. I want to die on this spot. I’m absolutely certain he caught me looking at his junk. I boxed up his order but my hands didn’t start shaking until I reached for the credit card he held out to me to pay. A Mastercard black card?
“I’m sorry but I have to ask for ID.” I pointed to the notice on the wall so he didn’t think I was targeting him, but I have to admit to having a bit of financial bias. People like Evelyn and her husband had this card. This motorcycle-riding hoodlum does not.
Thief! Dammit, I knew it was too good to be true. My damn radar is on the fritz again. Or maybe that’s all I’m destined to meet. Shiftless, dishonest men. I looked down at the ID and the card. Thunder McCall.
I rung up the sale and handed him back the elite luxury card and tried to hide the embarrassment brought on by my own prejudice. He’d been busy taking the catering menu along with the business card from the little holder we kept out there.
“Thanks for this.” He held up the bags with the boxes before turning to leave. I breathed in deeply and could still smell him. I’m still dazed and confused. How does someone who looks like the ultimate son of anarchy have one of the most elite cards in the world?
I know, I know, you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but come on. How many stereotypes can one guy be? I think I was a little bit salty because he didn’t give me the once-over. I’m accustomed to getting at least one compliment a day from the opposite sex, even when I was married.
I looked down at my hand to see if there was a tan line around my ring finger, but it was long gone. Bastard!
