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She’d insisted on paying for the work, but neither Michael or Wiz would give her a bill for their time, just the materials. She’d objected, but knew it was useless. Someday she’d be able to pay them back; until then, they’d get all the baked goods they ever wanted for free.
She couldn’t afford to turn down their generosity, not with Marcus Bank reevaluating her loan and all the other things she had to replace. Michael was sort-of family, at least, but Wiz was just a friend. But after Tom had explained that Wiz wouldn’t be able to sleep well leaving a friend unprotected, and she’d be doing him a favor to accept Wiz’s help, Deb had given in gracefully. Kim had keys to Deb’s apartment, and told her bluntly to accept Nic and Michael’s help, because real family helped each other. Even if their parents hadn’t.
Deb and Kim had always relied on each other, but Michael’s presence in her apartment bothered her. He avoided her whenever he could, and when he had to ask a question or give an explanation, he used as few words as possible, via text if possible. Clearly, he couldn’t stand her.
His dislike bothered her. As a recovering people-pleaser, that was her problem, not his, but it still wasn’t easy to overcome. Especially when she found him so physically attractive. Not overly tall but muscular, a striking face but not conventionally gorgeous, Michael’s ingredient list was the perfect mix of raw materials. But his grumpy attitude and clear aversion baked into a lumpy, tough mess. She didn’t need more of those in her life, so she swept her daydreams of romance into the trash.
She pulled into the lot behind her bakery, the new motion-detector lights flaring, leaving nowhere to hide except the dumpster, which was on the far side of the parking lot and backed up against the building; only the short side was hidden. And that was watched by a camera, like the rest of the parking lot, the interior of the bakery, and her stairwell.
As instructed by Wiz, she backed into her parking slot next to the apartment’s exterior door, and pulled up the security system, checking for alerts—none—and the cameras. Nothing moved and there was nothing unusual inside, either, except Michael’s sleeping form on his inflatable mattress near her decorating table.
Since the security system was fully operational, there was no need for him to guard the bakery. But as usual, he wouldn’t listen to her, and neither did Kim or Nic, so Michael had a set of keys and full access to the alarm system. At least he didn’t invade her apartment for anything but work.
Deb put her keys between her fingers, disarmed the back door with her phone, locked her car and let herself inside, then re-locked and alarmed everything behind her. Despite her unease with the new system and the lingering effects of the attack, the scent of dark chocolate, sugar and spice comforted her enough to keep moving. Hanging up her coat, she put on an apron, transferred her keys and phone to her pockets, and turned on the lights along the back wall. No matter how much she didn’t want Michael camping out in her bakery, she tried not to wake him.
But despite her care, he was rolling off the bed. She winced at his slow, jerky rise; Nic had shared that Michael had chronic back pain along with frequent migraines after surviving multiple roadside explosions in Afghanistan. She offered a quiet “Good Morning,” knowing anything cheerful would only get a scowl. He was grumpiest in the morning, and she didn’t need to see his sleep-creased face, making her think of more pleasant things to do than work. She turned on ovens and readied the bakery for the day.
Opening the big walk-in refrigerator, she pulled the display case rack, avoiding Michael as she passed. She flipped the coffee machine on, and got ready to open, ignoring the hiss of escaping air from Michael’s mattress and the close of the restroom door. When she was done with the sales setup, she returned to the back and rolled a huge mixing bowl of bread dough out of the refrigerator. Kneading her frustrations away was the best way to deal with both the aftermath of her nightmares and her ridiculous, one-sided attraction to the grumpy handyman.
She locked the heavy bowl into place and turned the bread hook on low, the whine of the motor loud. After the dough was knocked down, she’d portion, knead and shape it. A few minutes later, Michael towed his things past her. She turned the machine off. “Have a good morning and sleep in your own bed tonight, please.” He grunted, raised his chin, and kept walking.
Typical. Unless she could convince Wiz to lock him out, he’d be back at the end of the day. And she’d be upstairs, trying and failing to ignore his presence below. She weighed out the perfect portion and shaped the loaf. Twenty more of these might relieve her tension and tire her enough to sleep through the night. Even if that hadn’t helped yet.
Late that afternoon, Deb splayed her aching hands against her waist and bent into a backwards stretch. She was almost done with customers, and the day couldn’t end soon enough. For the third time in a row, one of her employees hadn’t shown up. When the woman finally answered her phone, she admitted she wasn’t coming back. The attack on Deb had scared her too much.
Deb had told her employees about the incident in great detail, and they each assured her they were fine with the addition of the security system. She’d brought in a couple of cans of bear spray, too, putting them near the front register. But she couldn’t blame the girl for being frightened.
The bell on the front door chimed, making Deb sigh. She’d hoped she was done, but there was always someone rushing in at the last second.
The man was average height, probably in his fifties from the gray hair in his temples, his face slightly pockmarked, and he had smoker’s brackets around his nose and mouth. He wore a tailored, expensive gray suit. He strode to the counter. “You are the owner, Deb?”
“Yes, I am.” Interesting. Many older men thought she was an employee, and didn’t expect much in the way of brains simply because she was blonde and short.
“Your cupcakes are delicious. Have you considered expanding? I don't usually invest in small businesses, especially bakeries, but for these?” He tapped the front of the bakery case. “These could go national.”
Deb forced a smile. “Well, thank you very much, sir. I appreciate your compliment, but I don't have any desire to expand nationwide. I couldn't ensure the same quality, and I'd have to use preservatives, and worry about packaging, and marketing, and all the other business things that I don't want to deal with. Or deal with franchise owners. I like baking and I don't want to be a business manager. But thanks anyway.”
“I can understand that, but that's where I come in. With my help, you wouldn’t need to manage the business, I would. You’d be free to invent new flavors and designs instead.” He handed her a thick business card. “Take a look at my company’s track record. I think you might be pleasantly surprised.” He tapped a black Amex card on the top of the counter. “And give me a dozen assorted cupcakes, please.”
Deb grabbed a box and loaded cupcakes. The order would add a nice cushion to her bottom line for the day. “Certainly. But I enjoy being a small town baker.” She smiled at the man as she handed him the box, ran his card, and gave him the receipt.
The man nodded. “You could keep your shop open, too.” His eyes narrowed into a fierce stare. “But more importantly for you, my help would keep criminals from targeting you and your shop. Everyone knows to avoid challenging my organization.” He raised both brows. “Everyone.” He turned and walked out the door. In the parking lot, a man opened the back door of a big black Mercedes, and closed the door behind the man, then drove away. Deb locked and alarmed the front door behind him, then returned to the cake she was decorating. But she didn’t pick up the pastry bag, because her hands trembled.
That pleasant, slightly grandfatherly man had essentially threatened her. She picked up her phone and texted Wiz, concentrating hard to combat the shaking. “Can you run a facial recognition for me?”
Her phone rang—it was Wiz. “Someone in your shop?”
Deb swallowed to wet her dry mouth. “He just left. Nice suit, chauffeured car, subtle sort of threats.”
The taping of keys sounded. “Got him. I’ll run it and let you know. Looks like everything’s secure, but stay on the phone with me and walk around the back of the shop. Make sure there’s no surprises back there. Don’t go outside.”
She did, carrying one of the bear spray canisters even though she felt slightly ridiculous with the big can in her hand. She returned to the front. “Nothing out of place, Wiz. Thanks for staying with me. That guy was kind of creepy at the end.”
“I’ve run the video and I’m glad you called me. He knows more than a stranger should, and that was definitely a hint about his possible capabilities or threat level. Looking at the driver, I’m thinking this guy is organized crime, but I’ll find out. Or Sam will if she ever follows through with her contact.”
“Thanks Wiz. I appreciate your help.” Deb wasn’t touching that comment about Sam; she knew why Sam was so reluctant, and didn’t blame her.
“That’s what friends are for. Let me know if anything else happens or anyone else visits.” The call dropped. Deb smiled. Wiz was a little short on words, but a good friend. Very few people would offer her a super-secure guest house for as long as she wanted while teaching her some self-defense moves, too. Erin had offered a room, as well, but living with the newlyweds wasn’t ideal, and no one wanted her staying above Erin and Ryan’s coffee shop; it was too far out of town, not close enough to their house, and undefendable. Sam’s house wasn’t very big, it was in the middle of town, and it didn’t have any alarms. She definitely wasn’t staying with Kim and Nic; she’d never endanger her nieces. Regardless of the situation, she was lucky and she had to remember that, even when things were hard.
