The bell chimes one more time and I almost don’t turn around because I don’t want to know who is on the other side. But I’ll have to deal with it eventually, so I might as well get it over with.
“I wanted to drop this off before I headed to Bennett’s house,” Dolores, in a cute old-style flowery dress hands over a tray of beautifully decorated cupcakes.
“Thank you.” I accept the covered dish from her and walk it to the counter. My heart bangs around in my chest—not out of fear or anxiety as it has many times the last two days, but something else. Thankfulness. I didn’t expect anyone’s help, but more than enough people have shown me they’re willing to step up and help out when someone needs it. It’s too much to handle and I have to turn my back to the room and wipe a quick tear. My chest burns with appreciation and words I can’t speak for fear I’ll get choked up.
“Do you want some coffee, Dolores?” Pearl asks totally unaware of the special emotional moment I’m having.
“I have to get to Bennett’s house, but I’ll stop by later.” Her words get lost over the sound of the bell.
Pearl shakes her head. “That girl has been no fun since she got a job.” She tops off her own coffee and walks back to the seating area taking up the same chair.
Katy and Riley come back through the front door as I’m finishing plating the last brownie. “Okay, it’s done. I need to use your sink. I have red on me.” She holds up her hands, showing her fingertips covered in red paint.
“What did you write?” I ask Riley as he eyes the brownies I put in the display case.
He shrugs. “I assure you, we’re open.”
“I assure you, we’re open? Seriously?” I pass a tiny pink plate with the large piece of brownie over the display case and hand him a fork.
“Yeah, what else is there to say?” he explains taking the first bite of the brownie without even sitting down. “Plus, it’s kind of this joke between us. Don’t ask.”
“You better hurry up, Anessa.” Pearl wipes a tiny spill from her coffee cup off the table. “The bakery is opening soon.”
Wiping another tear away I nod, but then her words hit me. “What?” Aren’t I the one to decide when we open?
“I told everyone to be here by eight.” She takes a sip of her coffee like this isn’t something she should have shared when she first sat down.
I laugh, the sound getting stuck over a few sniffles. “Right. On it.” What else do you say when Pearl’s decided we’re opening at eight?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tabitha, wearing one of the bakery’s pink aprons with some form of melted brown goo — please let it be chocolate — all down the front of it, steps out of the kitchen carrying a plate of charcoal briquettes. Except she wasn’t barbecuing back there. She was baking cookies.
“Your oven hates me.” Her gaze never leaves the plate of her disfigured chocolate chip cookies.
I cringe, not wanting to have this conversation…again. “I think it’s scared of you. You intimidate it.”
“Me? How?”
“Well, yesterday you called it a fucking gutterslut.”
She taps her foot on the tile floor, annoyance obvious in her pinched features. “Well, if the name fits.”
There’s nothing left for me to do but shake my head. “Try talking nicely to it. Maybe pet the side every once in a while.”
“Should I make a sacrifice, too?”
“No, I think those cookies are the sacrifice.”
Tabitha waves me away with one hand while using the other to throw the cookies in the trash behind the counter. “You should name this place The Burnt Buns. Then people will know what to expect.”
More head shakes. “No.”
Tabitha and Katy have given me many suggestions for names, but they’ve all taken a decidedly sexual turn. And they only get worse as time goes on. Pierce would terminate my lease if I named the place The Squirting Eclair — their top suggestion so far.
Even the more innocent names of Hot Buns Bakery or Sticky Buns take on new meanings when Tabitha and Katy get to throwing puns around. It’s enough to make someone think I’m operating a burlesque house.
Katy walks to the small pad of paper hanging on the wall next to the old rotary phone. “No!” she says way too happily for it to be anything good. “I have a better one.” She scribbles on the pad, hiding her words.
