Skipping Scones
Tessa
After locking up the bike, I slipped in through the back door, hoping Skip wouldn't notice that I'd been gone forty minutes instead of thirty.
No such luck.
He was right there in the back room, standing in front of the pastry rack with a pair of tongs in one hand and his cellphone in the other. He looked frazzled and frantic, like the pastries were ticking.
When he spotted me, he brandished the metal tong like an accusation. "Where have you been?"
Before I could even think to reply, a male voice from out front – obviously a customer – called out, "Hey! Is this self-serve or what?"
Skip turned and hollered through the closed door. "IsaidI'd be right back!"
"Yeah? Well that was an hour ago! What are ya? Baking the sconesnow?"
It couldn't have been a full hour.I knew this, because for one thing, I'd been gone for only two-thirds of that time.
Skip turned angry eyes on me. "See what you did?"
"Me?" I sputtered. "I had nothing to do with this."
Skip straightened. "Exactly!"
I did a double-take. "Wait, what?"
"If you'd been here, this wouldn't have happened. What am I paying you for, anyway?"
Oh, please."You'renotpaying me. Remember?"
"Yeah, and you're earning every penny," he said grudgingly as he flung the tongs onto the prep table and sighed like a martyr. "Iguessthat's what I get for giving you a chance."
I bit back a sharp reply.He was a tool, but not completely wrong.
Two weeks ago, I had practically begged him for this job. I'd had no experience, no resume, and no desire for any kind of background check, especially one that would set tongues wagging back in Chicago. But Ihadwanted to work here.And why?
The biggest reason?My sister was a total caffeine addict. If Delaney ever showed up on the island, she'd be hitting the first coffee shop off the ferry.
Thiscoffee shop.
Skip had been mere days away from opening for the season when I'd spotted the "help wanted" sign taped to the front window. That big handwritten poster had sparked my glorious plan to go undercover as a barista.
Like a total idiot, I'd thought,"Hey, how hard could it be?"
As for Skip, he'd been seeking "a real pro" who was willing to work for minimum wage.
I was no pro.But I was cheap, available, and desperate for grocery money.
Smart, right?
Since then, Skip had made noises about hiring somebody else to help carry the load, but so far, this hadn't happened, leaving me to handle the bulk of it alone.
I mean, it's not likehedid anything useful.
As if to prove the point, he turned and stalked toward his recliner. With a groan, he plopped onto it and said, "You wanna grab that guy's scones?" And with that, he began scrolling through his cellphone.
I stared in disbelief. "Why me? He'syourcustomer."
