Steph’s brow furrowed. “He just”—she cut herself off with a sharp breath—“he looks at me funny. And why would a rich guy come hang out in the morning at a pastry shop that doesn’t even serve fancy coffee?”
Jenna shrugged. It wasn’t that she didn’t hear the discomfort in her employee’s words, but rather that she was well aware she had to walk a fine line. She didn’t know the man in question beyond a nickname she’d once scribbled on a bag—Q. He’d been respectful, even tipped well, and every time she’d seen him since he’d been more of the same. She had never had defendable cause to kick him out.
All she could do was keep a watchful eye and make clear her employee’s allowed boundaries.
“Maybe he likes the atmosphere we offer,” she suggested, though it felt weak to her own ears. “And if we’re lucky, we’ll still be guessing when he finds a new favorite place. In the meantime, just keep yourself busy and make sure you come to me immediately if he should ever cross a line with you or in front of you, okay?”
Steph drew a deep breath and bobbed her head. “Can I … take a ten?”
That would leave Eric up front, and it wasn’t like none of her employees ever had to cover while the others went on break. But she liked to minimize the strain on them where she could.
Jenna smiled. “Sure. Just no sampling tomorrow’s goodies.”
“I would never!”
Steph darted off toward the smaller room designated for employees, which was little more than a box the size of a child’s bedroom with a couple of benches and a nice window. What it was was somewhere they could get off their feet on short breaks.
Jenna opted not to bother with her apron and ambled up to the front. She would have preferred not to be seen again before she’d had a chance to check herself, imagining she had to look as haggard as she felt, but it was unavoidable.
Eric, twenty-one-year-old pastry hobbyist eagerly awaiting the day when she could afford enough employees to justify another properly assigned baker, was ringing up her high school principal. Beyond them, the quaint seating area was empty … save for Q, whose stare had already snapped to hers.
Jenna offered him a smile.
Q dipped his chin and turned his head to look out the window. The man was odd, Jenna agreed, although on her own she probably wouldn’t have labeled him ‘creepy.’ He looked to be in his mid-forties with crow’s feet at the corners of his dark eyes. Arguably the creepiest thing about his appearance was his hair, in Jenna’s opinion. Not the slight recession of his hairline, but the greasy slicked-back look and the way it was long enough to completely cover the back of his neck. For the most part his hair was still dark, although some silver was visible when he stood close enough, and he sported a thin pencil stripe of a mustache, but never any type of beard. It wasn’t a look that appealed to her on a man, but that wasn’t her business. He was always dressed well—that was most of why they all assumed he was wealthy, that and the rumors—and he hadn’t yet bothered a customer.
It was entirely possible he was just lonely, even.
I know plenty about that.
Jenna bit back her sigh and shifted her focus closer as the familiar crinkle of paper reached her ears. She pulled her smile back into place. “Skipping school today, Principal Neville?”
The older man chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t go spreading nasty rumors now, Jenna. It’s one of those district furlough days, and hell if I’m going all the way into the office to do paperwork without one of your caramel apple bear claws.”
Eric laughed with them. “They’re delicious, aren’t they, sir?” He’d graduated from the same high school, because though he was a city boy, that was only in comparison.
Jenna swept through the partition and rushed ahead so she could pull the bakery door open. Neville kept telling people he was planning to retire ‘next year,’ and for as long as she’d been back in Misty Glades, she’d been hearing jokes about his inability to leave that job. Seeing as he was pushing seventy and staying the course, she suspected the gossip was right. “You be careful out there. The world’s only getting crazier.”
His cracked lips lifted in a quiet smile. “Oh, I’ll be fine. No one’s interested in old men.” His eyes moved forward, past her, as he spoke. As if he were distracted. Then they went wide and the color drained from his face.
At the same time, the sound of a chair scraping roughly across the industrial vinyl flooring ripped through the air. Jenna snapped her gaze past her confusingly startled former principal to find Q on his feet, the chair he’d claimed clasped in one hand as if he’d barely caught it from crashing to the floor. A look of surprise also darkened his face.
“Nice of you to open the door for us, lady.”
What?
Jenna whipped around, realizing belatedly that she was still standing at the edge of the doorway, which she was holding open. Except instead of helping her former principal through, she seemed to have opened the door for a pair of burglars. At least, if their fitted, all-black ensemble, ski masks, and visible guns were anything to go by.
Her mouth dropped open. “This is a bakery,” she blurted.
The guy in front tilted his head, dark eyes narrowing. “Yeah, so? Maybe we’re hungry.”
Paper crinkled as Neville held out his purchase. “H-here,” he stammered. “It’s a bear claw. It’s delicious. You can have it.”
The man raised his gun. “You fuckin’ with me, old timer?”
Jenna jumped between them, inadvertently forcing the other burglar to leap forward and catch the door. “Don’t!”
“I can’t believe you’re from middle-of-nowhere Oregon.” Lance chuckled as they walked away from the bus stop. “Hell, I didn’t realize Oregonhada ‘middle-of-nowhere’ for people to be from.”
