The grunt dropped them off as instructed at the airport, awkwardly bade them good luck in ‘their mission’, and took his leave. Questions had shone in his eyes, but he’d known well enough to hold them back.
Jon swung his seabag over his shoulder as Lance hefted his. They had a plane to catch.
“For the record,” Lance said as they started forward, “this fucking sucks.”
Chapter one
Sweet Stop
Jenna took a stepback and ran her gaze over the display. The structure itself hadn’t been cheap, but damn if she didn’t think it had been worth the investment. She’d finally covered the ugly, plain, but entirely necessary partition wall that helped insulate the kitchen area from the forward-facing area for patrons and sales. And she’d covered it the best way she could think of—with product.
“Oh, wow, you’re finished already, Ms. Hodge?”
A smile tipped Jenna’s lips and she turned enough to meet her newest and youngest employee’s sparkling eyes. “Just now. What do you think? Looks good, doesn’t it?”
The nineteen-year-old bobbed her head, teal-dyed hair swaying with the movement. “You’d definitely better not put a chair anywhere near it, or the customers might break the glass just so they can fill their purses.” Her stomach rumbled and her cheeks flushed as she laughed. “I love working the first shift, the whole building smells like donuts. It’s the best torture.”
Jenna laughed, let herself appreciate the result of her meticulous planning and the extra baking she’d just completed for another moment, then turned to slip back behind the counter. The display was in full view, for maximum appreciation, but she wasn’t completely without business savvy. It was right up against the curve of the counter, so she and her staff could keep an easy on the merchandise. Not that she thought Steph had been lecturing her. The girl didn’t seem to have a presumptuous bone in her body. “Make sure you formally clock in before you open us up. I have a boat-load of cleaning to do in back, so I’ll be in for a while still.”
“Sure thing, Ms. Hodge.”
Jenna offered the girl one more flash of a smile before disappearing behind the newly beautified partition. On the reverse side, of course, she didn’t have the more appetizing view. But it wasn’t for her in that way. It was her job to make sure the shelves were filled with delicious and appealing pastries every morning, and to make sure that between herself and her small team of four, the bakery was staffed during operating hours.
In the process of baking up a storm of assorted donuts, scones, flavored croissants, cupcakes, brownies, and other hand-held pastries, even the most organized woman made a mess. It couldn’t be helped. And with the baking done, she needed to get things cleaned up. It would be two or three more hours beforeSteph’s mid-morning relief came in, and that was about when Jenna estimated she would be done.
It won’t always be this exhausting.
The refrain was familiar. It was one she told herself regularly when she could feel the fatigue slowing her body and weakening her muscles. She loved her little bakery, and most days the mere fact that she even owned a functional bakery at all was surreal. But being a small business owner meant being the one who put in the most hours, the hardest work, and often also seeing the least return. She was immensely lucky she evencouldhire employees after only three years of being up-and-running in a small town.
Jenna paused in her scrubbing, arms automatically going slack as a wayward thought rolled through her mind. It was downright terrifying how quickly life could change. Sometimes for the better, and sometimes for the worse.
She’d endured both in her thirty-three years.
She gave herself a shake and went back to work. If she had learned one thing wading through her slew of heartbreaks, derailed life plans, and blindsides, it was that sitting around and dwelling on how things had gone or she might have wished they’d gone was useless. Pushing forward, even when she was bone-tired and broke, was the only answer.
I’m lucky,she reminded herself as the tinkle of bells over the customer entrance danced through the air once more.Misty Glades has a sugar addiction.It wasn’t just the locals keeping her afloat, either. The Sweet Stop was just past one of the few major intersections and directly off a main road, making it easily accessible to travelers regardless of how well they knew the area. And while her shop was small and limited in its offerings, she made sure that what it lacked in that capacity it made up for in appeal and product quality.
She even had regulars from the city that was over an hour away.
Jenna stood, finally done with everything she’d set out to do, and peeled the rubber gloves from her hands. The rhythmic cycle of the dishwasher added a utilitarian beat to the air, but there was little to be done for that.
“Um, Ms. Hodge?” Steph called from the direction of the opening toward the front.
Jenna turned as she untied her apron. She was more than ready to call it a day, but she didn’t let that show on her face. “Yes?”
Unease dimmed the teenager’s usual sparkle and Steph took a step closer so she could lower her voice. “That creepy guy is here again. He’s been sitting by the window for over an hour.”
Jenna felt her lips dip into a frown. She had several regulars. Her most recent being a peculiar man who just didn’t quite feel as though he fit in with the community of Misty Glades, though word was he had acquired one of the older and long neglected homes deeper into the forest. Jenna took the gossip on that at face-value, because she knew better than to wander out into the wilderness on her own to investigate. And also, because she knew better than to question Mrs. Bell.
Apron set aside, Jenna asked, “Has he ordered anything?”
Steph dipped her chin. “His usual, when he got here.”
“Has he said or done anything to you, Eric, or any of our other customers?”
Steph bit her lip. “Not that I’ve seen.”
Jenna laid a hand on Steph’s shoulder. “Honey, I understand there’s something about him that makes you uneasy. But as long as he remains a respectful, paying customer, we need to treat him the same as we would any other.” She gave a squeeze. “That doesn’t mean you have to approach him or make conversation, let alone wander off with him anywhere or tell him your personalinformation, okay? You stay behind the counter, take his order and his payment, and hand over his pastry. Nothing more, and only that if you’re the one at the register when he steps up.”
