“Mace,” I scold, throwing a glance to the young woman she entered with. Mousy brown hair hangs in her eyes. I don’t recognize her.
The darker-haired one, Dylan’s age and dressed like a rocker with the body of a sexy Marine, grips the edge of the display case between us. The Green Street tattoo is dark against her tawny neck. “I need two-dozen brownies,” she tells me.
“No.”
I take a step, trying to tend to the customer she pushed out of the way.
The woman’s mouth twitches in a nervous smile as her eyes flit between Mace and me.
But then Mace is there again, and I sigh. “When? How soon?”
“Eight seconds ago.”
I shake my head, craning my neck to the customer again.
Impossible.I can’t just drop everything.
Quickly, the customer blurts out, “Two loaves of bread, and please tell me you have more of that garlic dipping oil.” She winces a little. “I didn’t see it out on the shelves.”
I hold up a finger. “Yes. I do. Just a moment.”
I twirl around, rushing into the kitchen, and dive into the pantry to grab a box. Mace follows on my heels, her friend following her.
I plop the box down on the table and reach behind me for the scissors on the high shelf. “You can have—I mean, buy—two dozen of whatever I have left,” I growl to Mace.
“But Hugo wants brownies.”
I slice open the box. “I’m creeped out that your gangster boss even knows who I am. I really wish he didn’t.” I dig out a jar of the garlic oil. “And what kind of criminals like brownies?”
“They’re for one of his associates.” She folds her arms over her chest, the black leather jacket grinding. “Their kidhas a potluck at school or something. I promised I’d make it happen.”
Hailey carries a tray refilled with goodies back out to the front, and I catch sight of the shallow box on the work table, the old cell phone I’d put in there last night missing. Did someone—
Ugh, never mind. Too busy.
“Mace, I’m swamped.”
“I know!” She grabs the girl next to her by her shirt and hauls her closer. “That’s why I brought you help.” She gestures to the kid. “She’ll work for free today and tomorrow.”
I eye the girl, seeing her light brown hair pushed behind one ear as she sports a faded navy sweatshirt two sizes too big. Is she even sixteen? Or even consenting to this?
I lift an eyebrow at Mace, and my lungs constrict as she pulls a knife out of her back pocket—her last resort. She flips open the blade, gripping it at her side as she stares at me.
It only takes me a moment to calibrate. “Are you serious?” I almost laugh.
Maybe I would’ve felt threatened when I first met her a month ago. Dylan and Aro had been sneaking their Weston friends and little Green Street criminals into the Falls on a regular basis by then. But I know better now. She colored my fingernails with Sharpie after I fell asleep at a party last week. She’s a marshmallow if she likes you. And she likes me.
She hoods her eyes, closing the knife again. “Okay, I’m kidding,” she mumbles. “But just so you know, I could make you my brownie slave if ever I decide to.”
I hesitate a moment and then shake my head, because I can’t seem to ever want to disappoint anyone. “They will be boxed on this table in two hours,” I tell her. “That’s the best I can do.”
“Awesome.” She breaks into a smile. “Didn’t need them at his school until two anyway.”
Of course, you didn’t.Emergency, my ass.
She takes out a cigarette and starts to light it, but I grab it out of her mouth. “Gross.” I crush it in my fist and fling it into the garbage. “Now let me work.”
I push her out the door, back into the bakery, and quickly turn to the young woman she brought to work. “I’m Quinn.”
