Right on cue, the bell chimes happily as my roommate, Louise, breezes into the bakery. She began working as a loan officer at her uncle’s office in the same strip mall as our bakery three years ago. We bonded over our shared sugar addiction when she started coming in for a daily bakery run. Four months later, her roommate bailed on her contract, and Lou asked me to move in with her. After living with both my mom and grandma for years, I jumped at the chance.
I have her daily order ofkanelbulle—a Swedish cinnamon bun—ready in a little clear to-go box, a plastic fork tied to the top with our trademark blue-and-yellow ribbon (the colors of the Swedish flag).
“Ah, Livvy, you’re the literalbest.” Lou is the exact opposite of what you’d expect someone who is twenty-seven and named Louise to be like. In fact, she says the reason she dyes the edges of her dark hair wild colors and has triple-pierced ears is to make sureno onemistakes her for a “boring Louise.” “But I actually need a couple of extras today.”
“Oh yeah? Clients coming in you need to impress?”
“Not exactly. My cousin Hunter took a red-eye and landed here this morning. He’s almost to the office.”
This news is delivered with the tone of someone announcing Cruella de Vil was showing up to steal our puppies and skin them for their fur. She’s mentioned Hunter a few times over the years. They aren’t close because he lives so far away, but I never got the feeling that she had any issues with him. In fact, after he and his long-term girlfriend broke up, she claimed she wanted to set us up, though it never happened. He lives in Florida, so that made it somewhat difficult.
“And this is ... bad news?”
“It is for us.” Lou flips her hair over one shoulder—it currently has teal-blue tips—and peruses the glass counter. “Maybe he’ll like a piece of the almond cake? What says, ‘Hey, sorry you broke up with your girlfriend and that your business partner stabbed you in the back, but this sugary treat will make it all better’?”
“Yikes. Um ... cake is always a good option. Maybe a slice ofprinsesstårta. More sugar than the almond.”
Lou lifts a finger in the air. “Good point. Okay. One of those. And I’ll grab asemlorbun too. For Uncle Richard.”
I package the two items and slide them across the counter. “I hate to even ask, but why exactly is it bad news forus?”
“Because, as I already recapped, he’s hit a rough patch in life and needs somewhere to crash while he regroups. He’s coming to work with us at the title company, but there aren’t any extra rooms at Uncle Richard’s. So ... he’s going to stay in the other half of the duplex.”
“The half that flooded last month and is currently being gutted?”
“Yep, that one.”
Lou is quite the savvy businesswoman. She bought the duplex as an investment property a couple of years ago and rents out the second half as well as the extra room I currently live in. We were incredibly lucky that the pipe broke in the other side of the building. The couple renting it was forced to move—it wasn’t exactly habitable at the moment. They’ve even had to take out most of the appliances. I actually hoped to convince Talia to move in after the renovation was done, but the contractor told Lou that wasn’t going to be plausible for at least two more months.
“He’s only going to crash there to sleep,” Lou continues. “After the workers are gone. He’ll have to use our half of the duplex for everything else for now.”
“Okay.” I paused. “I still don’t get why this is bad news. I thought you liked him.”
She takes the treats and slides me her corporate credit card. “I do. But living next door to him is a different story.”
“Hopefully he’s not a slob.”
“Hunter?” Lou snorts. “No, I’d put money on him being a neat freak.”
I hand her card back and slide the receipt over for her to sign. Her tip is too generous, as always, but I’ve given up complaining about it. Lou knows she makes way more money than I do and likes to help. Spread the wealth—literally.
“Well, that’s good. I’m not prepared to live with boys’ stinky socks and underwear strewn across all available living spaces again.” Two younger brothers have a way of damaging a girl’s olfactory glands for life.
“He’s twenty-eight, not thirteen.” Lou laughs. “He’s just ... protective. I don’t need him breathing down my neck and running off my dates. Maybe even reporting my every activity back to the family, you know?” Then her eyes widen. “Wait! Actually, this might beperfect!”
“Having him tattle on you?”
“No, having him move in next door to us! I won’t even have to set you up with him. You’ll just fall for each other watching reruns ofFriendswhile he’s doing his laundry!”
“Lou.”
“Don’tLoume! It’s gonna happen. You’ll see. Then we’ll be family for real!”
Her enthusiasm is endearing—and so completely off base. “Don’t you think that’s jumping the gun a bit? I haven’t even met the guy.Youdon’t even know him that well.”
“Well, I know he’s related to me, so hehasto be awesome.” Lou flashes a winning grin.
Right then, Farmor comes out from the back. Any trace of lingering sorrow is hidden well; she smiles widely at Lou, holding out a tray ofpepparkakor. “Ah, Louise. It’s nice to see you, dear. Want one?”
