“That’s not fair. Do not call me that, Kash.”
“You know what’s not fair? That Dad is dead and buried and you’re just out with these… these men! It’s disgusting! You’re disgusting!” I can’t hold it back anymore. She knows how much I hate what she’s doing. It’s like she didn’t love him at all.
I hear the smack before I register the sting of her palm across my face. When my eyes connect with hers, I hold her gaze, refusing to cry. I can’t believe she hit me. Mom has never hit me.
When she finally looks away, I grab my homework and stomp up the stairs to my room. I’m halfway there when I hear her voice.
“Kash. I’m sorry! Wait, you’ll see, Kash. Michael is a nice guy. He’s going to take care of us.”
Without turning around, I snort. “Sure, Mom. Whatever you say.”
As it turns out, Michael’s idea of taking care of us was actually just taking care of Mom. I’ll never forgive her for how she left me. Dad didn’t have a choice, but she did. I honestly still can’t figure out which is worse.
Tossing the blanket off my lap, I head back to mybedroom. Changing into joggers and a tank, I grab my sneakers and keys. I'm going to the gym. Fuck it all. These memories are just another reminder of why I don’t mess with relationships. Why bother when love doesn’t actually exist and no one ever stays in the end? No, thank you.
Chapter Two
Mila
“What do you mean,Abby is here to pick up the muffins for the teachers? They aren’t due until tomorrow.” Wiping my brow, I glance back at Mara. It’s currently pushing eight AM, and I’ve been here since five. I swear, sleep is not my friend, but I’ve never been so sleep-deprived that I would forget a whole order.
“I don’t know what to tell ya, Mils. Abby said she was told to pick them up at eight.” Mara shrugs. I wish I could be as nonchalant as her sometimes, but there’s too many little hamsters running on the same wheel in my brain.
Mara is the other half of our business,Twin Roastsand, well, me. Our parents weren’t expecting to have twins, but they took it in stride. They tried forever to have kids, so when we came along, they didn’t bat an eye at having two newborns to take care of instead of one.
We may be twins, but we aren’t really all that similar. Don’t get me wrong, I love my sister, but I’m thenice twin. With my light brown hair and eyes, I’m apparently more friendly than Mara. It could also be because Mara usually wears a fierce scowl, has dark hair, a nose ring, and tattoos. I’m a romantic at heart, and Mara… well I’m not sure she even cares about the opposite sex, or same sex for that matter. She dates even less than I do.
Twin Roastsis our baby. I worked here in high school under Mrs. Briggs and learned a lot about baking from her. When she wanted to retire, she approached Mara and me about taking over. Mara had already used her business skills and turned the little bakery into something that people all through town came to. I took some culinaryclasses while Mara did business school, and a few years later, here we are. I love what I do, except for moments like this.
“Did she give you her receipt? That has the pickup date on it.” Pulling my order binder from the shelf, I scan through for my copy. Locating the master, I pull it out and glance at it before handing it to Mara. The date is for tomorrow, as I suspected. “This is all you, Mar. Her pickup is tomorrow. I don’t have enough stock right now for her order. I was going to make them first thing tomorrow. You know how she is if they aren’t fresh.”
“That woman is such a pain. She always tries to do this. I think she just wants free stuff. Do you remember the cookie incident from last Christmas?”
Idoremember the cookie incident from Christmas. I still haven’t recovered from all the gingerbread and cream cheese frosting.
“It’s fine. I got this. Back to baking, my Little Elf!” she chirps, then heads out toward the front.
Little elf. Yeah. Cute. Something I haven’t heard before. Shaking my head, I return to the brownie batter I was working on. Once I slide the trays into the ovens, I grab chocolate and cream so I can make the ganache topping. My brownies are definitely one of our highest selling items. Just like everything here, they’re completely made from scratch, and that ganache topping makes them so thick and decadent.
Pushing Abby out of my head, I grab my mixing bowls and start fresh water in the sink. I don’t know how some people keep such messy kitchens when they work. Mrs. Briggs used to have stuff everywhere, so I promised myself I would always clean as I go.
Mara keeps the front of our business looking nice, so it’s only fair I make sure the kitchen stays clean. No one wants food from a dirty kitchen.
A soft groan escapes as I stretch my stiff back and lean against the counter. My apartment above the shop is conveniently located, so if I want to take a break or come in early, all I have to do is take the stairs and I’m there. It’s not much, but since it’s just me, I don’t need a lot.Mara and I used to share a place, but after living together for a while, we both decided we saw enough of each other at work, and maybe some time apart wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
We love each other, but neither of us can understand how some people work with their spouses. All day, every day with the same person? I don’t think I could ever like someone enough to do that.
Working on autopilot, I clean the stainless-steel countertops after washing the trays and dishes I’ve already used this morning. Chocolate, vanilla, and brown sugar scents waft through the kitchen around me. One set of ovens has trays of brownies, and another has snickerdoodle cookies for the case. I have bread rising, and by the time the brownies are done, I can slide those in for the afternoon customers.
Peeking at the clock, I realize I’ve been at it for almost an hour. Mara never came back so I’m guessing Abby was fine about her order not being ready… a whole day early. Rolling my eyes, I check the timers and decide I have enough time to grab a drink from the front and chat with Mara. Undoing the ties around my waist, I hang my apron on the hook and check my hair in the mirror on the wall. It only looks slightly askew.
A blast of cool air hits my face as I enter the front. I notice a lot of tables are occupied as Mara hands a bag and drink to a customer. He’s tall and looks to be about our age with dark hair and an abundance of tattoos. I’ve seen him here a few times, but he never really talks to anyone, and no one joins him. It’s almost kind of sad. He always gets a cranberry orange muffin and coffee, then sits in one of the back booths.
“Did you see that?” Mara exclaims, facing me.
“See what? I just got out here.”
“Cora stopped in and accidentally spilled her drink on some guy. He went off on her, hard.”
