Emma’s light brown cheeks color, either at the compliment or my choice words. “I’m glad you like it.”
I set the mug on the counter so I can tie the polka-dotted apron she hands me around my waist. “Emma, I just wanted to apologize for last night. I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that, I just don’t really deal with awkward situations all that well.”
She waves me off, turning her attention to a large tray of cupcakes. “It’s not a problem, we were pretty much done anyway.”
I duck into her line of vision so she has to meet my eyes. I want her to see the sincerity with which I’m going to deliver my next words, because it doesn’t happen often, and I need her to believe me. “And I want you to know that whatever dumb hoops I have to jump through to appease Mimi’s little matchmaking mission, I’m not interested in Ethan. He’s definitely not the man for me, and I won’t be going out with him more than the obligatory one time.”
Emma purses her lips and turns away from me once again. “Well, don’t feel like you need to do that on my account.”
Reaching for my coffee, I try to discern just how much I can push this woman I barely know. “…Clearly you’re interested in him.”
She shrugs, artfully tossing some sprinkles on each of the cupcakes. “What makes you say that?”
I take another sip of coffee. “Emma. It was pretty obvious from the moment he walked up to the booth last night.”
She pauses her sprinkling and a look of horror overtakes her face. “Do you think he noticed?”
“He’s a man, so probably not.” Cocking my head, Icontinue to study my newest boss. “Why haven’t you ever said anything to him? By all accounts, Ethan is a nice guy. Even if he’s not interested—and he’d be a fool not to be, considering you’re a total smoke show who bakes for a living—I’m sure he would be cool about it.”
Emma hefts the tray of cupcakes over to the display case and neatly arranges the baked goods on the lavender shelves. “I could never make the first move! That’s the man’s job.”
I roll my eyes. “In what world? Maybe I’ll use my so-called date to fill him in on all your amazing attributes.”
Emma’s eyes widen. “You can’t do that!”
“Why not?” I lean my butt against the counter. I should probably offer to help or do something productive, but the caffeine hasn’t fully sunk in yet and I’d much rather expend my energy figuring out how to bring Heart Springs out of the 1900s. The early part.
“Because you just can’t. If he’s interested, he’ll make the first move.”
“What if he’s too shy? What if he thinks you aren’t interested? Seriously, Emma, there’s nothing wrong with seeing what you want and going for it. Where I’m from, women make the first move all the time.” I swig the last of my coffee and place the empty mug in a tub stacked with other dishes needing to be washed.
Emma’s eyes tighten in something looking suspiciously glarelike. “You can take those to the back. Sponges and dish soap are under the sink.”
Man, I know no one likes being pushed out of their comfort zone, but dishwashing duty seems kind of a harsh punishment from someone I thought I was getting along with.
But Emma turns her back, and if I don’t want to completely blow my final job opportunity, I probably shouldn’t irritate her any more than I already have. I hoist up the tub and barely manage to make it to the kitchen without dropping the whole damn thing.
Not only do I have this huge stack of dishes to wash, but the sink is already filled with all the pans and bowls and measuring cups Emma must have used to bake this morning’s muffins and croissants and pastries.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
This is my chance to prove I’m not a total waste of space when it comes to demanding careers. Sure, I’m used to the demands coming from angry clients and my overbearing family members, but if I can handle my grandmother belittling me in front of the entire firm, I can manage a few dishes.
An hour and a half later, I’m finally drying the last set of bowls. My back is throbbing. My hands are pruney. And my feet feel like I’ve been walking the streets of Manhattan in six-inch stilettos. For ten hours.
I toss the towel on the counter and bend over to stretch out my back, groaning as my muscles pull and ache in all kinds of unfamiliar ways.
The door to the kitchen swings open.
“Peace offering?” Emma hands me a plate with a perfectly decorated cupcake.
“For what?” I question, even as I accept the plate and rip the wrapper away from the cake.
“I was flustered by your questions, about me and about Ethan, and I shouldn’t have given you dish duty just because I was upset.” Emma moves to the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs before crossing to the giant shelves housing all the dry ingredients.
“Emma, you’re my boss, you can make me wash dishes whenever you want. Or whenever you need.” I break off the bottom half of the cupcake and smush it down on top of the frosting.
Emma watches me curiously.
