“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Mrs. Harmon said as she hugged me to her. “The cake was unbelievable.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I said, my insides ready to burst with happiness.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve already shared your name with a few of the guests here.”
“You’re a godsend!” I said as I squeezed her hand.
“I hope you have so much business that you have to expand and hire help,” she said.
“You and me both.”
She cocked her head to the side and then took another bite of the chocolate teddy bear cake. “Your skin is absolutely radiant.”
I hastily touched my cheek in embarrassment. “Ah, thanks.”
“What’s your secret?”
“Oh, um, I wash my face with witch hazel,” I lied. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to help Jazz clean up.”
She was in the kitchen of Mrs. Harmon’s home, and she was scrubbing out the sink with the sponge.
“How’s it going out there?” she asked.
“Fine. Mrs. Harmon is another satisfied customer. She gave our names to a few guests.”
“Excellent.” She set the sponge aside and then dried her hands with a dishrag.
We loaded up the hatchback of Jazz’s old Mazda, which not only looked better than my car but gave us more room.
Still, the catering van couldn’t be finished quickly enough. The business was growing, and soon we’d outgrow Jazz’s vehicle as well.
We said goodbye to Mrs. Harmon and settled into the car.
“Whew, I’m wiped,” Jazz said. She looked at me. “You look like you could use a nap.”
“Boy could I,” I admitted.
Dinner with Slash the night before hadn’t gone late, but when I’d climbed into bed, my mind had replayed everything on repeat.
My life was changing at a rapid-fire pace, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for it. Would I ever be ready for it?
“Heard from Slash yet?” Jazz asked, as if she could read minds.
I shook my head. “No.”
“A little sad about that?” she teased.
I snorted. “No.”
“I’m not going to lie, I’m excited to meet this guy. For real. He made quite the impression, even over the phone.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do I look pregnant?”
“No.”
“You sure? Mrs. Harmon said my skin was glowing. That’s basically a poster sign for pregnancy.”
“Now that you mention it”—she glanced at me—“you are kind of glowing. Looks good on you.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“Did he really not pin you down for another non-date date?”
“No pinning me down. Do you think he’s playing hard to get?”
“Playing hard to get? Really?”
“Sorry, I know it sounds stupid.”
“He said he wasn’t going to bail on you.”
“Saying and doing are not the same.”
“You haven’t given him enough time to prove he means what he says.”
“My head hurts.”
“Oh, sorry. I’ll be quiet.”
“Not actually. It was just a figure of speech.”
“Do you want to grab a cup of coffee—not coffee—tea or something? Stop and celebrate our second success as a catering team?”
I grinned at her. “You’re sweet to try and distract me.”
“It’s not working, is it?”
I shook my head.
Jazz detoured down the street toward the bakery. “Ugh, will they ever fix the road?”
“At least they’re not drilling at the ass-crack of dawn anymore,” I remarked. “That was fun…”
We parked in the back lot of the bakery and then unloaded everything from her car.
“Brielle and I are going to hang out tonight,” she said. “If you decide you want to come, we’ll be at her apartment. Just chilling. Nothing crazy.”
“You mean, no Irish step-dancing?” I teased.
“She lives on the top floor. That would just be cruel to her downstairs neighbor.”
“Unless he’s a jerk.” I smiled.
I locked the back door after she left, and then I sat down in the small office. I didn’t want to look at spreadsheets or bills, but I’d pushed things as far as I could. It was uncomfortable, living with outstanding loans over your head. One unforeseen setback and the banks could bury you.
There was just enough money in my business account to pay the monthly loan payment I’d taken out using the building as collateral. The building was paid off, but I’d borrowed against it to renovate the upstairs apartment, upgrade the electrical and plumbing and convert Dad’s old leather workshop and studio into a bakery.
I’d put the health-code violation fine on a business credit card, and I was floating most of my other expenses. If only I could clone myself so I could take every catering job that came my way, I just might have a shot at saving the place I’d inherited after my father passed.
My phone rang, startling me out of my reverie.
It was a number I didn’t recognize, but so many people had been calling recently to discuss potential catering jobs that I didn’t hesitate to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hello,” a male voice said. “This is Kurt Antol.”
I instinctively looked around like I expected to see him loitering outside the bakery. “Hello. What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. It’s what I can do for you.”
“I don’t need anything.”
“I noticed your bakery has been closed the last few days. That wouldn’t have anything to do with your recent health inspection, would it?”
“How did you know about the health inspection?”
“You have a Grade Pending sign in your window,” he reminded me.
“Why did you call?” I asked.
He paused for a moment and then said, “I’d like to make you an offer. An offer to buy your building.”
“It’s not for sale.”
Kurt chuckled. “Everything’s for sale. Call me anytime to discuss this further.”
“I won’t call you.”
“We’ll see.”
I didn’t set an alarm. I turned my phone on silent, ensuring that nothing was going to wake me up. I slept in for the first time in months, and it felt glorious. When I did finally come to, I looked at my phone and snorted in amusement.
Apparently, sleeping in for me was seven-fifteen.
I sat up in bed. My stomach churned immediately and I ran for the bathroom.
Clammy with my muscles quivering, I wiped my mouth and rinsed it out.
My phone pinged.
I slathered my toothbrush with toothpaste and stuck it into my mouth and walked back to the bed and nightstand.
The screen was lit up with a message from Slash.
Buy you breakfast?
My stomach lurched again—this time out of nerves, not morning sickness.
To dine or not to dine with Slash?
Maybe I shouldn’t have been thinking so much about it. It was just food.
Sure.
His reply was immediate. La Creperie. 8 a.m.
Bossy, I typed back.
You chose Ernie’s. It’s my choice this time.
A moment later, another text came through. Oh, and I know you like it when I’m bossy.
Twenty minutes later, I was unlocking my car when I noticed I had a flat tire. I went over to examine it. “Shit,” I muttered.
Shaking my head, I pulled out my phone and called Slash. “Hey, I’m sorry. Something came up and I can’t make it to breakfast.”
“What came up?”
“I have a flat tire.”
“Hang tight. I’ll come and get you.”
“I’m not riding a motorcycle.”
“Woman, you’re pregnant with my baby. I’m not going to put you on the back of my bike in your condition. I’m borrowing a car, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Do you have a spare?”
I winced even though he couldn’t see me. “No. I never got around to getting one.”
He sighed. “Be there in a few.”
Slash hung up, and I glared at the screen.
Why did I feel like there was a lecture coming my way?
I headed back to the apartment to wait for him. When I got a text that he was downstairs, I shoved a half-finished piece of rye toast into my mouth and went to meet him.
A black sedan was idling, and Slash was standing by my car, studying it. He wore a pair of jeans and a black shirt, along with his leather cut. I wondered how many clothes he owned and where he kept them.
He arched a brow.
I swallowed the last bit of toast. “You really expect a pregnant woman to wait for food?”
“No. No, I don’t.” Slash smiled and then tugged me into his arms.
I sighed against his chest.
“Morning,” he greeted.
“Morning.”
“Feeling okay?” he asked.
“I had my first bout of morning sickness,” I admitted. “Hence the toast.”
His hand wormed its way to the back of my neck and he gave it a tender squeeze. “Rough morning for you, huh? First the puke. Then the flat tire.”
I sighed. “Yeah. I don’t have a spare, and I don’t have AAA.”
“Give me your car keys.”
I leaned back to stare up at him. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to get two prospects to take care of this for you while we’re at breakfast.”
“I don’t need prospects taking care of my car.”
“You just said you don’t have a spare or AAA.”
“I did say that,” I agreed. “But I also know Horace Jackson. He owns a garage. I just catered his wedding anniversary party. I was going to call and ask—”
“Do you want to spend your morning getting this sorted, or do you want to hand off your keys and make it someone else’s problem? It will just get solved for you, and you won’t have to lift a finger.”
“Someone else’s problem? You mean your problem.”
He shrugged. “I can handle this for you without breaking a sweat. Take the offer, Brooklyn.”
I nibbled on my lip a moment, but finally relented. Was I really going to look a gift horse in the mouth?
I took a step away from Slash, but only so I could fish my keys out of my purse. I handed them over to him. Slash went to my car, unlocked it, and then put the keys into the visor.
“Okay, hop in the sedan.”
“Wait a second,” I said. “You can’t leave my car unlocked.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because you left the keys in the car. What if someone steals it?”
“They’d be doing you a favor. Locks are for honest people, anyway.”
I glared at him.
“Relax. The boys will be here in ten minutes.”
I arched a brow. “Ten minutes?”
He cocked a grin. “Yeah. I had them leave a few minutes after me, just to give me some time to talk you into accepting my help.”
“You didn’t have to talk me into it.”
“No?”
“Well, maybe a little,” I said with a laugh. “I can be stubborn.”
“Yeah, I know that. I remember from the night of the party when you didn’t want to go to the clinic.” He walked to the passenger side of the sedan and opened it for me.
“Thanks,” I said, climbing in.
The vehicle was spacious and smelled new.
“Whose car is this?”
Slash buckled his seat belt. “Joni’s.”
“Who’s Joni?”
“Ah, you didn’t meet her the night of the party then. Joni is Zip’s Old Lady. Zip is Vice President of the Blue Angels.”
“Got it.” I nodded.
We drove for a few minutes and then Slash’s phone chimed. He pulled it out to check it when we were stopped at a light signal. “The prospects got your car.”
“Great. Thanks. I know you think the car is a piece of shit, and it is a piece of shit, but it’s all I’ve got. It still runs and I consider that a win. Besides, I have other more pressing concerns at the moment.”
I looked out the window.
“There’s never enough time. There’s never enough money. There’s never… enough.”
Without saying a word, Slash reached over and grasped my hand. And when he laced his fingers through mine, I suddenly didn’t feel like all my mistakes were staring me in the face. I suddenly didn’t feel like I was a failure.
I suddenly didn’t feel alone.