Chapter 1
Millie
I’m a generous person who made a dreadful mistake, and that old man in the white Skechers is making me pay for it.
I held the door for him as he walked into Maggie’s Bakery because, apparently, I have a weakness in my heart for the sweet-grandpa type. But he betrayed me by ordering the last almond croissant from one spot in front of me in line, and I’ve never had such horrendous thoughts in my life.
There are two things I require to have a successful first day of the week: any form of caffeinated coffee and an almond croissant.
Both of those things were essential today because impostor syndrome is a real bitch, and caffeine and an almond croissant would have given me the sugar rush I need to distract me from it.
The living fossil across the coffee shop takes a bite of that buttery, flaky croissant, and I want to fight him for it.
Put us in an arena to battle for the last one. I bet I could beat him.
Or maybe not. He has a hint of muscle under that brown sweater vest.
“We have to learn to make croissants at home,” I mutter around a bite of my consolation blueberry muffin, my eyes laser-focused on the Croissant Crook. “I can’t live like this.”
Lena waves her rainbow-tipped nails in front of me, pulling my attention back to her caramel eyes. “Stop staring daggers at that poor man.” She grabs my face and squeezes my cheeks until my lips pucker out. “Eat your muffin. Raise your blood sugar a little so you can bring back nice Millie.”
The grinder whirs behind the counter, refreshing the espresso aroma around us as I reluctantly nibble at the muffin. My leg bounces under the table, giving away the anxiety that’s been running through my veins all morning.
Lena notices, and her foot nudges mine until I meet her gaze. “Don’t worry about your week. You’re going to walk in there with your head high and show them you deserve the department director position.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Anyone with anxiety knows that someone telling you not to worry is about as helpful as a hangnail.
Today is my first chance to participate in a meeting that Calvin, my freshly retired boss and previous head of the entomology department, would normally attend. While he’s off vacationing with his wife, enjoying the life of a man without job obligations, I will be attending the meeting with the heads of every department at the Wilhelmina Natural Science Museum.
And then tomorrow, I have an interview for Calvin’s position.
My leg twitches restlessly under the table again just thinking about it.
“I wish I could put you in my pocket and bring you with me,” I tell Lena, taking a sip of my Americano. “You can coach me through the day and remind me how amazing I am.”
“You’ve got this. You don’t need me, although being your personal Polly Pocket sounds like a blast.” She purses her bright red lips and perches her chin on her fist. “Can you get methe beach house with the dolphin and sea turtle? I’ve always wanted that one.”
“Of course.” I take another bite of my muffin, hoping it will settle my whirling stomach.
“Will it be the back pocket or the front? Because your cute ass would be way more comfortable.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Definitely the back. You’ll need the bigger pockets for all those accessories you’re requesting.”
***
My flats squeak on the buffed floors as I walk into the Wilhelmina Natural Science Museum, trying my best not to spill the rest of my Americano while I readjust the large bag on my shoulder. The skies are gracing us with a cloudless summer day in Washington, and the bright entryway sparkles in the sunlight streaming through the large windows. Octavius, our massive fossilizedQuetzalcoatlus, hangs from the ceiling, its broad wings and sharp teeth suspended over the museum’s visitors as they enter.
Eleanor waves from her circular reception desk, her round cheeks lifted in a grin. “Good morning, Millie. Love your dress today. Looks like something I would’ve worn in the seventies,” she says, standing to peer over the counter.
“Thank you.” I set my coffee on her desk and turn in a slow circle, letting her scan the vintage dress with small butterflies on the collar. “Lena and I took a break from ourGilmore Girlsmarathon this weekend to visit one of our favorite resale shops,” I tell her as I come to a stop. “I found it hidden behind a thick rack of old jeans.”
Eleanor nods as she sits back down. “That sounds like a wonderful weekend.”
“It was,” I say with a smile. “How was yours?”
“Honey, I don’t think I’ve told you about my new book boyfriend,” she whispers with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
I taught her the term “book boyfriend” a few weeks ago when she was gushing about the hero in her historical romance. She has a book club with some other widows in her neighborhood, and I love to get recommendations from them. Their standards of men are top-tier.
