Page 29
"Someone’s looking for you."
"They can start without me." He turns the engine off. "How many boxes?"
"Three. I’ll take one."
He takes the other two, and I follow him to the kitchen entrance. The manager thanks me, checks the order, and insists on paying when I explain why I haven’t charged for it. Apparently, nobody on my route is accepting apology cupcakes today. Wolf holds the door when I leave, then follows me back to the truck with the empty carrier.
It’s all so normal. He drives, I handle the orders, and the customers still want what I make. For the first time since I walked into my flooded kitchen, tomorrow feels like I might not be playing catch-up for weeks.
On the way home, Sprinkles shudders while we’re waiting at a light. Wolf glances at the dashboard, then looks back at the road.
"See?" I say. "That’s the other thing."
"Does it settle down once you’re moving?"
"Usually."
The light changes, and it does. He listens for another moment, but whatever he’s thinking about it, he keeps to himself.
We’re back in the garage with enough time for me to put the day’s remaining stock away, get the cold ingredients I left in my downstairs fridge, and make the inspection. Wolf gives me the keys as soon as he gets out.
"Thanks for driving," I say, looking at the keys instead of him.
"You’re welcome. I need to get my diagnostic scanner and plug her in to see if she throws a code. It’s a good place to start."
"You don’t have to do that, Wolf, seriously. I’ll get her to the shop, eventually."
He closes the door. "There’s definitely something wrong with her, and you can’t be out here doing deliveries at six in the morning with a truck that could break down at any minute. It’s no trouble, really. I’ll see you upstairs."
At seven fifty-two, I let myself into his apartment with an insulated bag. Wolf has a plate of eggs on the little patch of island I left him, and he sets his phone down when I come in.
"There’s more coffee," he says.
"I’ll get some after the inspection. I’m already too jittery with nerves as it is." I put the bag down and take out the butter. Now that the deliveries are done, I have plenty of time to worry about the kitchen. I have enough cupcakes to open the truck today. If this doesn’t work, tomorrow is a different problem.
He finishes his breakfast and takes the plate to the sink while I put the ingredients on the shelves he cleared. I’ve just shut the fridge when someone knocks. My stomach tightens, and I wipe my hands on my jeans even though I haven’t touched anything messy.
"I’ll get it," Wolf says, heading for the door.
The inspector introduces himself as Martin and comes in carrying a tablet and a folder. He shakes Wolf’s hand, then mine, and asks which one of us runs Sprinkles.
"I do," I say. "Baylor Fairbanks."
"You sent over the paperwork for your current kitchen?"
"Yes. Yesterday evening. I have copies too." I reach into my bag, grateful I stayed up long enough to find everything instead of trusting that it would all magically be where I needed it.
He takes the folder I hand him and looks around. "Show me what you’re planning to use."
I lead him over to the counter and explain the setup. The borrowed mixer, the storage, the ingredients I’ve brought up. He asks about my orders and how I pack them, and I show him the bins and boxes. Wolf stays beside the sink, answering when Martin asks about the apartment and otherwise letting me talk.
For once, I’m grateful he isn’t trying to be funny. I need the man with the tablet to take me seriously, and I’ve got enough going on without Wolf explaining my tape.
Martin opens the fridge, checks the shelves, and asks a few more questions before looking through the paperwork again. I stand with my hands clasped in front of me so I won’t reach for his folder and point out every single thing I’ve already sent him.
"The downstairs kitchen is unusable during the repairs?" he asks.
"Yes," I say. "They’ve estimated six weeks."
