Don’t Go Away Mad by Lacey Black
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lyndee
“That’s the last one,” I say to absolutely no one. With a sigh, I set my cell phone a little too roughly on the counter. But what’s a girl to do? That’s the final cake order I had on the books, and now it’s gone like the rest of them.
Two days. That’s how long it takes for a business to completely tank. For fourteen special order cakes to cancel, not even caring about the cancelation fee. I, of course, couldn’t even go through with the charges, refusing to take that fifty dollars from people who would much rather listen to the opinions of an angry man.
But I understand where they’re coming from. I’m the new girl in town. Burgers and Brew has been in business for more than five years, a thriving local establishment with a reputation most competitors would kill for.
Like me.
I’d kill for that kind of PR and status.
Instead, I’m left with an empty bakery, a display case full of pastries, and a loan payment coming up that doesn’t care about some stupid letter to the editor.
Around noon, I hear the bell ring over the door, and I jump in surprise. When I glance up, I see Mallory and Lizzie coming in, a wide smile on the mother’s face and an impending sugar coma gaze on the little girl’s.
“Hi,” I say, setting my cleaning rag in the bucket. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, we came for treats, but also I need to discuss a cake,” Mallory replies as her daughter runs up to the display case.
“I want dat one!” Lizzie bellows, pointing to the sprinkle-covered cupcake with chocolate and vanilla swirl frosting.
“Of course you do. Pick one out for me and Walker too. We’ll have them before he goes to work later,” Mallory tells her daughter before turning and giving me a gentle smile.
Her kindness brings instant tears to my eyes. I cover them up by filling the cupcake box with treats, some picked by Lizzie and some by me. “Here you go, sweetie. On the house,” I tell the little girl, handing over the bag with her cupcakes.
“Oh, no, I’ll pay. I insist,” Mallory says, pulling cash from her purse.
“No, it’s okay,” I reply, glancing around at the empty room.
Mallory does the same, as if understanding completely what I’m saying. “But every little bit helps,” she whispers, shoving two twenties across the counter.
I give her a sad smile. “I’m not sure anything can fix this, but I do appreciate it.” I slide the money back toward her.
When she takes it, she doesn’t put it in her wallet, but shoves it in the empty tip jar sitting on top of the counter. “I also need a cake.”
“Oh,” I reply, somewhat awkwardly. Since I don’t know how long I’ll remain in business, I’m not sure what I should do here. “I’m not sure I’m the right person for the job,” I confess, following her around the counter and joining her at a bistro table.
“What? Of course you are! You’re the only person for the job. I need a wedding cake, and you’re the only one I want to make it.”
I smile softly, so very happy for my new friend. “Well, I appreciate it. I’d love to make it for you,” I reply honestly.
“Good,” she states with a nod. “We don’t need a very big one, but what I’m thinking is two small tiers. I don’t have a topper or anything, so just throw some flowers or something on there. I trust you.”
I can’t help but grin. “Okay,” I reply, making a note in my notebook. “When do you need it by?”
“Valentine’s Day?” she asks, offering me a smile that’s both apologetic and enthusiastic.
“Wow, that’s only a few weeks away! Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” she says. “I wanted to get married before I started to get too big with the baby. I’m not wearing a big fancy dress, just something subtle and timeless.”
“I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”
“Well, you’ll be there, right?” she insists, watching as her daughter sticks her finger inside the box of cupcakes and pulls it out covered in frosting.
“Oh, uh, I don’t know,” I stammer, unsure what to say. Surely she’s heard all about what happened here and between Jasper and me, right?
“Listen, I know everything is a…mess right now, but I truly believe in my heart it’ll turn around for you. You’re too amazing at what you do to go out like this,” she says, standing up. “I say you give ‘em hell, Lyndee. Show this town you’re here to stay. And maybe kick Mr. Kohlmann in the jingle bells on your way to the top.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Jingle bells?”
She leans in and whispers. “Balls. I just can’t say that because then someone wants to know what balls are and why Daddy Walk likes it when I lick them.” She glances over at her daughter and arches an eyebrow.
I burst into a fit of giggles and cover my mouth with my hand. “Oh my God, she did?”
“Apparently heard us one night when we thought she was sleeping. Now, she’s obsessed with balls. Asked Jameson if he had them the other day,” she states, collecting her daughter and reaching for a napkin to wipe icing residue off her hands. “Your daddy is going to be so happy to eat those finger-poked cupcakes later.”
“I gotted him duh choccate!”
“Mmmm, you know how much he likes chocolate with Lizzie marks,” Mallory says, leading her child to the door. “Don’t give up, Lyndee. Men are stupid creatures, and while we love them most of the time, they do really idiotic things every now and again. Don’t let his immaturity ruin you. Fight like hell.”
I give her a teary nod and swallow over the lump in my throat. “Okay.”
“And watch for that invite in the mail soon. I expect you to be there.”
Then she’s out the door, a cute little blonde girl skipping down the sidewalk beside her.
I sigh, taking note of the full display case and grab one of those chocolate cupcakes Lizzie picked out. I take my treat over to one of the small tables by the window and watch as happy patrons walk out of the restaurant across the street, smiling with bellies full of delicious food.
I remove the paper from the cake and take a healthy bite, catching a taste of the creamy fudgy filling. “These are damn good,” I say to no one. “You all are missing out,” I add, glancing at the groups walking down the street.
Finishing off my treat, I start to form a plan. Mallory’s right. I’m not going to let what Jasper did ruin my business. I’m going to fight. If I go down, it’s going to be swinging.
***
I spend the rest of my Saturday and Sunday coming up with a plan, and Monday executing. I deliver what was left from the case on Saturday to the local nursing home. They gladly accepted the treats for their residents. If they had read the article in the paper last week, they made no indication.
When I return from my delivery, I’m happy to see a few customers taking advantage of my new offer. A free cup of coffee or tea with the purchase of a pastry. Dustin and Daisy are friendly, without being overly so, and refill cups once they are halfway gone. It wasn’t part of the plan, to give refills too, but they went with it and I didn’t complain. The longer the customers stay, the more likely they are to maybe leave with something else, like a slice of pie for later or fresh bread to go with their dinner.
By Wednesday, business remains at a small trickle, but at least it’s better than nothing. Some are repeat customers, while others are new. I can tell by the way their eyes dart around suspiciously, as if they’ll looking for piles of trash or other uncleanliness lurking in the corners, but am relieved when they realize it’s not at all what the article claimed.
Speaking of article, I have yet to see Jasper. Not since he walked out of my bakery last Thursday evening. The rest of the crew, Jameson, Isaac, and Walker, have been in, buying up way more goodies than any of them could eat, but I appreciate their efforts, nonetheless. They all offered me their apologies, vowing to help give my business the boost it deserves after the train wreck their friend caused.
I’ve had to cut Daisy’s hours a bit, to make up for the lack of income. I hate it, but she insisted it was fine. Her schooling keeps her plenty busy, and she’s able to give a little more time to that. It still killed me to do, but I promised to return her hours as soon as I can.
If I can.
On Thursday afternoon, the bell rings over the door. I’m in the kitchen, baking a raspberry cream pie, when my brother hollers from the front counter. “Lyndee, can you come up here a minute? There’s a gentleman who’d like a word with you.”
I wash my hands at the sink and dry them off on my apron before heading up front to see who my visitor is. A bubble of hope explodes in my chest at the thought that it might be Jasper standing there, and then I chastise myself for even entertaining the thought. I don’t want to see Jasper.
Not today.
Not ever again.
Right?
I round the corner, ignoring the disappointment I feel when I find a tall, older man smiling at the counter. “Miss Gibson?” he asks, reaching out a hand to shake.
“Yes.”
“I’m Dwayne Jordan. My mom is a resident at the Stewart Grove Care Facility, and I believe you’ve been delivering pastries and things there the last few days.” He offers me a friendly grin. “I was there visiting yesterday when they brought a tray to our table. They were delicious.”
I return the smile, feeding off his relaxed demeanor. “I’m glad you enjoyed them.”
“Enjoyed them? They were simply amazing. I took one home for my wife, who raved about your chocolate croissant. Miss Gibson, I have a proposition for you.”
