“Morning,” Jazz said as I entered the bakery. “Whoa. What the hell happened to you?”
Without a word, I went to the state-of-the-art espresso maker that I’d had imported from Italy. It was worth more than my car and was in better condition. It was also far less finicky about working.
Jazz took the pair of tongs and reached into the display case for a flaky, buttery croissant. She set it on a plate next to the espresso maker.
“Can you not stare?” I demanded.
“Your eyes are bloodshot and—” She leaned closer. “Oh my God, your face is whisker burned and—”
“Did the shipment of peaches come in today?”
“Yeah, I signed for them. While you were still in bed. With a man. Clearly.” She raised her dark eyebrows as if daring me to talk about Slash.
But I didn’t want to talk about Slash.
After several rounds of intense pleasure, the man had left my bed without my knowledge. I’d woken up alone, sore in the best way possible, and oddly disappointed. His absence was like a vacuum, and it felt like he’d sucked all the energy and air out of the room when he’d gone. But I’d known what I was getting into with him, and he’d kept his word.
One night, and one night only.
No complications.
No future.
I took my cappuccino and croissant to the kitchen and set them on the counter. I examined the box of peaches. The ones at the bottom were already overripe. I looked at the charge for the fruit and shook my head.
I removed my cell phone from my jeans pocket and dialed my produce guy. He reluctantly agreed to give me a discount on the less-than-optimal fruit. I could still do things with some of the peaches that were past their prime, but it would cut into my bottom line since many of them had to be tossed out.
The bell on the front door jangled.
“Good morning,” Jazz greeted the customers. “What can I get for you today?”
“We need to see Brooklyn.”
With a frown, I grabbed my cappuccino and went out front. Jazz was warily eyeing two men who were standing at the counter. One guy had a black eye, the other a split lip. They both were wearing leather cuts, jeans and had inked forearms.
Jazz was throwing me a look that I pretended I didn’t see.
“How can I help you?” I inquired.
The man with the black eye said, “We’re here to apologize.”
The other picked up the conversation. “Things got a little heated between us last night, and we didn’t mean for you to get caught in it.”
“Caught in what?” Jazz demanded, her brown eyes lit with interest.
The guy with a black eye looked at her and smiled. She flinched.
My tired brain finally made the leap. These were the guys who’d been fighting at the clubhouse.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked.
“Doc mentioned it. I’m South Paw,” the guy with the split lip said.
“I’m Crow,” the other said, his gaze dragging back to Jazz.
“We wanted to apologize in person,” South Paw remarked.
“Apology accepted.”
“Doc said you were okay,” Crow said.
“Yeah, I am.” I nodded. “Would you guys like something to eat?”
“Nah, we’re good,” South Paw said. “We’re gonna get out of here.”
When it was clear Crow was still busy staring at Jazz, South Paw elbowed him in the ribs, causing Crow to wince. They headed out of the shop, and the cheery bell clanged with the closing of the door.
“Uh, what the hell did you do last night?” Jazz demanded. “And why did two bikers come in here to apologize to you?”
“Did we have a morning rush?” I asked.
“Don’t try to divert my attention. You asked me to open the bakery for you this morning, and you come in all”—she waved her hand—“looking the way you do. And then two bikers who were clearly in a brawl sought you out to apologize. Were they fighting over you?”
Jazz wasn’t just an employee; she was also the only person I could really consider a friend, and I wanted to open up to her. I’d never been more grateful than at that moment for the lull in business.
“Make yourself a mocha,” I told her.
“Oh, this is going to be good,” she said in excitement, her brown eyes dancing with humor.
A young couple came in while Jazz was making her coffee. I smiled and rang up their order. When they were gone, Jazz faced me and said, “Okay, spill.”
“I went to a party at the Blue Angels’ clubhouse last night,” I finally admitted.
Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”
I nodded.
“Alone? You went alone?”
“What do you mean did I go alone? Of course, I went alone.”
“No wingman?”
I shook my head.
“Why not?”
She appeared hurt that I hadn’t even thought to ask her.
“I just wanted to go it alone,” I said truthfully. “I almost chickened out, but I went anyway.”
“Why?”
I nibbled my lip. I’d kept the truth about the bakery from her, and I didn’t want to burden her with my problems. My financial straits had nothing to do with her, and as much as I liked her, the inner workings of my business weren’t for her to know.
“Sometimes you just have to change it up,” I said finally. “So, I changed it up.”
“How did you hear about the party? It’s not like you run with that crowd.”
“Two women came in here the other day, and I overheard them talking about it. I kind of made a mental note…” I shrugged. “Anyway, I went to the party. I was just about to get a drink when those two guys came barreling out the front door, swinging at each other. I have no idea what they were fighting about, but they knocked into me and sent me to the ground. I hit my head, and one of the bikers took me to see a doctor at the Waco Health & Wellness Clinic.”
I absently rubbed the back of my head. It was tender, but I was no worse for wear.
“Okay, my turn. I wasn’t entirely truthful when I grilled you about last night,” she said.
“No?”
“No. I got here early this morning to open, and I saw a guy in a leather cut coming from the direction of your apartment. He got into a car. I guess someone picked him up.”
“Ah,” I said.
“Next time you go to a Blue Angels party, please take me.”
“There won’t be a next time,” I stated. “It was a one-time deal. A one-time lapse in judgement. Now, if you need me, I’ll be in the back skinning peaches.”
“You mind if I take my ten?” Jazz asked. She brushed at an errant dark strand of hair at her temple.
I wiped my wet hands on a dishrag. “Not at all.”
Jazz smiled and headed out the back door, phone in hand. I went up to the front. The display case was still mostly full and the few tables for customers were empty. It reminded me that I’d promised myself I’d look over the spreadsheets soon. One thing about running a business was that the numbers never lied. But I didn’t need tiny little boxes with angry red numbers to tell me what I already knew.
My bakery was in trouble. Real trouble. Trouble I wasn’t sure how to claw my way out of.
I took the citrus spray and spritzed the counter, wiping down the area around and underneath the espresso maker.
The opening of the bakery had been promising, with a line of customers outside the door. I’d been working round the clock at a breakneck pace, and the four people I’d hired to help run the front while I baked in the back had been completely sustainable financially. The holidays had been insane—my books were clean and money was pouring in. And then it seemed like out of nowhere the customers had just stopped showing up. It was like someone had switched off a faucet and there was only a small drip of people coming in.
It had stayed like that for weeks, and I’d had to let go of three of my four employees. I’d kept Jazz because of a delicate family situation, but if things didn’t change, I’d have to let her go too.
The doorbell jangled, and I pasted a smile on my face despite my exhaustion.
“Hello,” I greeted the customer.
The man wore a three-piece gray suit and a thick black tie. His dark hair was slicked back from his face, showing off a sharp nose and a high forehead. Coffee-colored eyes peered at me from beneath bushy eyebrows.
“Good afternoon,” he said, his gaze surveying me for a moment and then looking around the bakery.
“What can I get you?”
He didn’t reply right away as he continued to examine the café area.
There was something about him. Something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“A cafe au lait.”
“Sure thing. For here, or to go?”
“To go.”
A breath of relief escaped my lips and I nodded. I turned to the espresso machine.
“Nice place you got here.” His voice was smooth, unctuous and without a trace of a Texan accent. The man was definitely not a local.
“Thanks,” I said.
I pulled a jug of milk out of the fridge below the espresso maker.
“Business seems slow,” he commented.
I gritted my teeth.
Asshole.
“It’s the lull.”
“Ah, right. The lull.”
“Here you go,” I said, putting a plastic lid on the cup of coffee and sliding it in front of him.
“Thank you.” He reached into his trouser pants and removed an alligator-skin wallet. He opened it and pulled out a crisp bill. “Keep the change.”
He took his coffee and headed for the exit. The bell chimed as the door shut behind him. Instead of continuing on his way, he paused outside the large window in front of the store near a light pole with a trash can next to it. He brought the coffee to his lips and took a sip. Closing his eyes, he appeared to savor it for a moment and then promptly threw the coffee in the garbage. Finally, he crossed the street and disappeared out of sight.
I looked at the bill he’d given me.
Fifty dollars.
“Was that a customer?” Jazz asked from behind me.
I nearly jumped, forgetting she’d taken her break and that I wasn’t alone. “Ah, yeah.”
She glanced at the money in my hand. “Whoa. What did he buy?”
“Just a coffee.”
“Just a coffee?” Jazz frowned. “No pastries?”
“No pastries.”
“No pie?”
“No pie.”
“And he left a fifty?”
“Yeah.” I handed it to her. “You take it.”
“What? No. I can’t.”
“Jazz,” I began. “Please?”
She sighed. “You sure?”
I nodded.
“Let me do something for it,” she said. “I’ll clean out the milk fridge.”
“You’ve done enough,” I said. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Enjoy your afternoon.”
She looked longingly at the front door.
“Seriously, go,” I urged.
“Are you going to stay open, or close early today?”
“I haven’t decided,” I lied.
“What time should I come in tomorrow morning? Four-thirty? Five?”
“Seven. I can handle the prep. I owe you that much for this morning.”
Jazz bit her lip, looking like she wanted to argue. Finally, she cocked her head to the side and said, “You’re a good person, you know that?”
I snorted. “Thanks.”
A good person, but a terrible business owner.
She grabbed her worn leather shoulder bag from the back and then all but skipped out the front door, a smile on her face.
I looked around the bakery that I’d poured my entire life into.
Time. Sweat equity. Passion. And a shit-ton of money.
And it was on the brink of failure.
My dream was a failure.
I was a failure.
I stifled a sob that threatened to erupt from my lips before mashing it down. Crying wouldn’t change the situation.
I needed a miracle.