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“Well, we are closed.” The man stands tall, then leans forward as he cups his hands. “So,” he says, bouncing his eyes toward the door. “So. . .” he says again, drawing out the word, waiting for us to catch the answer ourselves as he flips a finger at the exit.
I’m trying not to laugh, but it’s really hard. Nick’s brows drop, and he keeps glancing at the door and then back at the man. “Do you guys have muffins?”
“We will, when we have our grand opening.”
Lord, this guy is doing his best to stay cool, but I can see the frustration starting to build in his frown lines.
“Do you have any right now?” Nick points at the counter and tilts his head.
“Look, as I’ve explained—”
“I know I smell muffins. Do you smell them?” he asks me, taking a few steps deeper into the bakery. Nick starts to walk past the man, pushing past him as if he isn’t there. “There has to be muffins around her somewhere. Are they in the back?” He points at the double doors and starts to move that way.
“Sir, you can’t go in there.” There’s panic in his voice, his eyes wide, bordering on hysteria. The man doesn’t know what to do.
Giggling, I finally intervene. “Okay, that’s enough,” I say calmly. “Hello, I’m Misty Glensdale, and this is Nick—”
“Torro?” he asks, flashing even wider eyes. I nod, and he drops his arms. “Oh my God, I am so sorry Mr. Torro, your voice, you sound different than on the phone. I didn’t recognize it, I didn’t realize—”
Nick holds up his hand and grins. “No, it’s fine. . . Lewis, is it?” he asks curiously, and Lewis nods in agreement. “Don’t apologize. I was messing with you. You did the right thing, you were polite and professional even when I challenged you.” Nick slaps him on the back as he walks forward, and Lewis stumbles slightly from Nick’s strength.
“I’m so glad you two are here. After talking to you, I wasn’t sure when you were coming, but Vanessa assured me it was soon, but she didn’t really give me an exact time or day.” He’s rambling, obviously nervous that the new owner is here.
“Well,” Nick fans out both arms with a big smile on his face. “Here we are.” Clapping his hands, he stands at my side. “So, you told me a little on the phone, but what exactly is going on?”
Lewis explains there’s been some issues with the current ovens, and he can’t get them to work properly. That’s a big problem, we need the ovens to all work perfectly. He goes on to tell us the fliers about the grand opening still aren’t in, one baker quit already, and he’s not sure how they’re going to open in two weeks without the correct menus.
“Don’t worry,” Nick says, his voice calm and soothing. “We’re going to fix it, that’s why we’re here.” Lewis’s shoulders roll forward and you can see the stress melt away. “Misty and I will handle everything; you just focus on hiring a new baker. Sound good?”
“Yes, that sounds great.”
The bakery is a welcome distraction. Nick spends the day doing oven research and contacting appliance repair men in the area to get someone out. I work on the rest, calling a few contacts I have in the printing business for a few owed favors.
Nick bumps my hip with his and leans across the counter. “Ready to head out? I sent Lewis home; I think we’ve done all we can today.”
“So ready. I’m starving.”
“Hotel room service and mini bar drinks?” he asks.
“You had me at hotel,” I say with a smirk.
Bedford, New Hampshire. I’m not even sure how Vanessa found this little town. It’s quaint, with one main road through the center of town. The buildings are all made of brick, and some of the alleys still have cobblestone instead of pavement.
We drive the five minutes up the street to the hotel. It’s nothing fancy, a simple, two story hotel, with a hot tub and a pool out front to entice people inside.
“It ain’t the Ritz, but it’ll do. The only other place is a bed and breakfast that treats guests to a haunted experience. Wasn’t sure how you’d feel about that.”
“I’m all for exciting trips, but not while working. And I’d rather not sleep with one eye open.”
We walk through the lobby and he checks us in at the desk. I poke around the small display with the local attractions. Picking up a few pamphlets, I stuff them in my purse.
“Ready?” he asks, holding a small envelope. Looking up, Nick starts to walk down the hall, and I follow. “We’re right over here.”
“Did you ask for our rooms to be near each other?”
“Near each other? I did one better. We’re sharing.” He flashes me a big, sneaky grin over his shoulder as he stops at a door and slips the card through the slot. The buzzer goes off and the light turns green. Nick pops open the door and dips his head. “Welcome home,” he says.
