Tessa couldn’t catch her breath. All the progress she’d made toward independence, being her own woman, and here were the two people who mattered most to her in the world, standing around deciding her future without any input from Tessa herself.
It was maddening and humiliating, at least partly because Tessa didn’t actually know what she wanted her future to look like.
“Oh, sugar!” Patty looked startled, one thin hand fluttering up toward her chest as if her heart were thumping erratically. “You startled me. What are you doing back here?”
“I came to check on the focaccia dough,” Tessa answered mechanically. “It’s almost done with its first rise and I didn’t want you to be the one who had to pound it down. And that’s not the point! You two. What are you doing, talking about me like I’m a child who can’t make decisions for myself?”
Patty flinched and Johnny held up his hands as if Tessa had turned a gun on him.
“It’s not like that, sugar—”
“Come on, honey, I didn’t mean it like that—”
They were both so apologetic, turning pleading eyes on her and raising “who me?” brows in her direction. Instantly flushed with guilt, Tessa struggled to stick to her point. “I know neither of you meant to run me down or make me sound like an incompetent infant—and I know I’ve needed you both to take care of me in the past. I’m not denying that. But I thought I’d made it clear how important it is to me to start making my own way in the world. Johnny, this is a huge part of why I left, and Patty, I didn’t settle here so I could trade one guardian angel for another. Thank you, both, for everything you’ve done for me and the many opportunities you’ve given me, but please, just … stop.”
Patty and Johnny exchanged pained glances, and Patty shooed him forward with a flip of her blue-veined hand.
“I get it, sweetheart.” Tessa had never heard that tone from Johnny before, rough and graveled, but careful. “At least, I’m trying to.”
Tessa couldn’t help it. She melted like a lemon glaze over a hot buttermilk pound cake. “Well, I realize this is a big shift that I kind of threw at you all of a sudden. It’s understandable that it would take some time to get used to the new me.”
“I promise, I’m working on it.”
Tessa’s heart felt tender inside her chest, like a bruise. “I know you are. And I promise you I’ll try, too, with the couples counseling. I mean it. So let’s just see where this goes, okay?”
The slight smile Johnny gave her didn’t seem to reach his beautiful dark eyes, but before Tessa could do more than frown in concern, Patty cleared her throat.
Tessa looked over at her new friend and mentor, and felt the tips of her fingers go cold and numb at the sight of the usually vibrant, vivacious woman hunched against the counter. Most times, Patty seemed more like a force of nature than an older lady whose doctors were worried about her health. But every now and then, Tessa caught a glimpse that reminded her that Patty was doing the work of a woman half her age, and it was wearing on her frail body.
“Why don’t you close up early today, Patty?” Tessa urged, stepping up to the counter to wrap a tentative arm around the older woman’s shoulders. Patty’s bones felt frighteningly prominent under the bulky weave of her oatmeal-colored linen sweater, and Tessa held her gently. “Or I could clock back in and take the afternoon shift. Give you a rest.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Tessa saw Johnny shift his weight. He bit down on whatever he was about to say, though, locking eyes with Patty. Who sighed wearily under Tessa’s arm and said, “That’s sweet of you, sugar, but you’ve already got an appointment this afternoon. To talk about your marriage while learning how to braid a horse’s mane, or some such.”
The spark of gratitude in Johnny’s gaze made Tessa bite back a sigh. He and Patty were still conspiring to run her life, in some way Tessa couldn’t quite understand. Well, it was something to bring up in their therapy session, maybe.
“Before we head out,” Johnny said, “I think Patty’s got something to say to you.”
“What’s up, Patty?”
Tessa frowned when Patty hesitated. It wasn’t like her forthright boss to hold back on saying her piece. She glanced at Johnny, who seemed to know something about it, but he merely shook his head slightly and pulled out his wallet.
“I’ll wait outside. What do I owe you for the scone, Miss Patty?”
“You already paid,” Patty argued. “Straight talk and a new understanding. I’d say that more than compensates me for a scone and half a cinnamon muffin.”
They regarded each other for a quiet heartbeat, and Tessa had the strange feeling that they knew each other better than should be possible after meeting only the night before.
Finally, Johnny nodded and stuck his hands in his jacket pockets before heading for the door. He stepped out, turning his face up to the sunshine, and Tessa dragged her gaze back to Patty.
“Okay. Tell me what’s going on with you.”
“I wasn’t planning to say anything just yet.” Patty fiddled with an empty coin wrapper, her knobby-knuckled fingers uncharacteristically nervous. “I know you’re not really in a position to do anything about it right now, and I keep hoping maybe I’ll get all the way back on my feet.”
A chill of dread skittered down Tessa’s spine. “Tell me.”
Patty waved away her concern the way she always did. “Nothing new, just the same old, same old from Doc Hathaway. Shouldn’t stress, shouldn’t work too hard, shouldn’t be on my feet all day.” She snorted. “Man’s clearly never run his own business. Or baked a loaf of bread.”
“That’s what I’m here for, though. To take some of that burden off your shoulders.” And off your poor, tired heart, Tessa finished silently.
Patty reached out and clasped Tessa’s hand. “And you do it beautifully. When I set that ad for help a year ago, I didn’t really expect to find someone. I had no hope that I’d be able to find anybody who I could stand to work beside every day, to train up and share my precious recipes with—but then there you were. And you were perfect.”
Tears burned at the backs of Tessa’s eyes, but it was the fear clutching at Tessa’s throat that choked off her voice.
It sounded an awful lot like Patty was saying good-bye.
“Goodness, don’t look like that!” Patty’s other hand came up to join their clasped hands so she could tug Tessa toward the stool behind the counter and press her to sit down. “I’m not dying or anything. Well, I suppose I will eventually, but in the meantime I intend to live a good, happy life with as much health as I can cobble together. Which is where you come in.”
“Anything,” Tessa said desperately, squeezing Patty’s fingers tight. “Whatever I can do to help you, I’ll do it.”
Patty laughed a little, but her thin lips were turned down at the corners. “Not so fast, sugar. What I’m asking isn’t a small thing, and you might not be ready. But your man is right—I need to talk to you about it now so you have all the information you need to make a real decision about your future. Keeping it from you wouldn’t be doing you any favors. And you were right, it wouldn’t be respecting you as the woman you’ve worked so hard to become.”
“Thanks, Patty. That means more to me than you can possibly know.”
Patty leaned in for a short, strong hug, dropping her grip on Tessa’s hand to clasp her shoulders and look her straight in the eye. “Okay, here goes. On my doctor’s advice and after taking stock of these old bones of mine, I’ve decided I’d like to retire.”
The bombshell rocked the foundation of Tessa’s new world. “But … Patty Cakes can’t exist without Patty!”
A wry look came into Patty’s shrewd eyes. “Oh, sugar. Patty Cakes has been more yours than mine for at least half a year. You already do most of the baking, all the heavy lifting, and the books. All I do anymore is help customers, and some days, to be honest, even that feels like too much for me.”
Remorse mixed with worry to form a toxic cocktail in the pit of Tessa’s stomach. “I’m so sorry, Patty. I can take on more front counter work!”
“With what time? You’re already here from dawn till dusk, most days.” Patty shook her head. “That’s no kind of life for a young woman. It doesn’t make sense to ask any employee, no matter how devoted, to work like that. You’d burn out inside of a year.”
“So we hire more help! Or we reduce our open hours—except we can’t afford to do that, can we.”
It wasn’t a question. Tessa had been taking care of the bakery’s finances, with Patty’s help, for three months. She knew as well as anyone the delicate balance of work hours and sales needed for a small business like Patty Cakes to turn a sustainable profit.
“I have another solution,” Patty said slowly. “Something I’ve been thinking about for a long time now, and I want you to consider it carefully. It might not be what you want—but you’ve more than earned the chance to make up your own mind about it.”
Hope shafted through Tessa’s chest like a ray of sunlight. “Patty, come on. The suspense is killing me, here! What’s this big solution?”
Patty’s dark eyes were bright with the moisture of unshed tears, but the tremulous smile on her lips was genuine.
Then she opened her mouth and changed Tessa’s life.
* * *
Marcus held his breath and flicked the main breaker.
Nothing happened.
Cursing on a long sigh, he let his head drop against the metal box holding the breaker switches. God only knew what he’d tripped this time. He was starting to think there were mice in the walls, snacking on different wires all day long.
“Careful you don’t get sweat on those switches,” an unfamiliar female voice sang out from behind him. “You could get electrocuted and thrown halfway across the room! And then I’d have to do CPR, which I don’t really know how to do, although I don’t see how it could be that hard and I watch TV so obviously I know the basics. But…”
Marcus straightened and rounded on the intruder. Second time in as many days that someone showed up here unannounced, getting the drop on him. Unacceptable.
He had no idea what his face was doing, but whatever the girl saw there cut off her babble like she was connected to the switch he’d just flipped.
“We’re not open,” he said, eyeing her. With her fresh-faced, freckled complexion and her red hair pulled up in a simple ponytail, she looked like she was barely old enough to be standing in a bar at all.
“Oh, I know.” The quick, wide smile lit up the room. Marcus refused to be charmed. “I’m here to welcome you to the neighborhood! I mean, to welcome you back to the neighborhood. Welcome home, Marcus.”
Every muscle went taut, adrenaline flooding him with no outlet. He had no idea who this girl was. How did she know his name?
Her blinding smile faded into a rueful wince. “You don’t remember me. I mean, why would you? My name’s Quinn, not that you called me that. Not that you called me much of anything!”
The slightly nervous babble of her voice faded in Marcus’s ears as she held out a hopeful hand with something dangling from it. In the darkness, it was just a solid shape at the bottom of his field of vision and his body reacted without conscious thought.
Marcus stepped smoothly forward, directly into the girl’s personal space, close enough to foul her aim and make their two bodies into a single target. She gasped as he simultaneously snagged the package from her loosened fingers, registering only that it was light and the contents shifted inside with the movement.
He blinked and realized he had his other hand curved around the base of the girl’s slender, white throat. His thumb rested against her fluttering pulse, tracking the hummingbird-fast beat of her heart. He felt it when she swallowed, first in his palm and then, a moment later, in his groin.
What the hell?
This close, he could make out the red-gold gleam of her hair and the darker sweep of her eyelashes framing wide, indigo-blue eyes. Her lips parted and he caught the flicker of her pink tongue, wetting her bottom lip. If he tightened his hand, he could crush her windpipe—but she didn’t struggle or pull away. She only watched him with that fathomless stare, as if … God.
As if she trusted him not to hurt her.
Which he wouldn’t, because his rational mind categorized her as Not a Threat in the next instant. An instant or so too late to keep from looking like an antisocial monster, unfortunately.
Marcus stepped back abruptly, dropping his hand and releasing her. He should apologize. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew it was weird, at best, to react like that to someone bringing—what was in the box? Crap, it was from the bakery.
“They’re cupcakes,” she offered, her bright voice a little thready and faint now.
Of course they were cupcakes. Marcus pressed his eyes closed for a brief moment. “Thanks…”
“Quinn,” she prompted, that smile peeking out again. Was she crazy? Or was she just trying not to rile up the nutjob by mentioning the way he’d come within a hairsbreadth of taking her down like an armed assailant?
“I don’t eat cupcakes,” he said bluntly, thrusting the package back toward her. He wasn’t embarrassed. He just didn’t have time to fool around with whatever this visit was.
“Oh.” Face downcast, Quinn took the box back. “I knew I should have gone with the cream cheese brownies.”
Unwilling amusement caught at Marcus’s breath, but he didn’t let it show. “I don’t eat brownies, either. You take the cupcakes home. Enjoy. I appreciate the thought.”
Her nose wrinkled in a way Marcus did not find adorable at all. “I never liked that phrase, about it being the thought that counts. I mean, thoughts are nice, but not as nice as chocolate! At least, if you like chocolate, which I guess you don’t. You’re probably one of those people who always orders the lemon dessert at a restaurant. Oh! Miss Patty has lemon bars, sometimes!”
Something like desperation was simmering under Marcus’s skin. He needed to get rid of this girl before she did something awful. Like making him smile. “I don’t have much of a sweet tooth. And I’ve got a lot of work to do here, so…”
“Sure, of course.” The sunny smile didn’t seem to have been dimmed by Marcus’s bad attitude. “Actually, that’s what I’m here about. Work.”
He frowned. “I don’t need any help.”
Especially not from a slim wisp of a redheaded girl. Although his keen observational skills informed by his up-close glimpse of her had showed her to be older than he’d thought at first. Not a girl, but a young woman, emphasis on the young. Mid-twenties, he’d estimate.
She would’ve only been, what, ten years old when he left home that last time? The thought teased at his memory. A little girl, red braids tied with pink ribbons to match the bright pink of the bicycle that was always lying on its side in the front yard of the house next door …
“Harper,” Marcus rasped, putting it together. “Quinn Harper. I remember you. You’ve changed.”
Pleased, Quinn clutched the box of cupcakes to her chest. Marcus’s eyes dropped to it automatically, then lingered for an uncomfortably warm second. That definitely had changed.
“I grew up,” she said cheerfully. “Well, sort of. Depends who you talk to.”
He was willing to bet it did. There was something almost unbearably young about Quinn. Not a sense of immaturity, exactly, although he’d bet good money that she was pretty inexperienced when it came to some of the harsher realities of life.
“Oops,” she was saying, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “Probably not the smartest thing to say to a prospective employer, huh? But it’s not like it’s a secret and you’d be bound to find out eventually.”
Wait. Prospective employer. What? Marcus shook his head, feeling like he’d gone a few too many rounds in the sparring ring. “Find out what?”
“Let’s just say my work history is a little … eclectic,” Quinn said, as if she were confiding in him. “Like, we’re talking patchwork quilt, not solid down comforter. Personally, I think it’s a strength. I know a little about a lot of subjects, and I’m a quick learner! Plus, this time I have actual experience. I went to college—to be honest, a lot of college, because it took me a while to settle on a major—and I paid my own way after the first four years.”
Marcus was starting to feel as if he’d been asleep through the first half of this conversation. He’d obviously missed some key information. “Look, I’ve got things covered here. So why don’t you run along home to your mommy and daddy like a good girl.”
“I don’t live with my parents!” Quinn propped her hands on her hips, indignant. “Well. Okay, technically that’s because they’re out of town or I guess I would be living with them since I’m living in their house, but I’m hoping to be able to afford a place of my own by the time they come home! Which is where you come in.”
She was relentless. “I’m not hiring you. Get out.”
“How do you know you don’t want to hire me unless you give me a tryout?”
Marcus blinked, blinded by her smile and the cheery pragmatism in her expectant gaze. “What are you planning to do for a tryout? Rewire my lighting?”
Actually, if she could do that, he might have to reconsider. But no, she was shaking her head and laughing, a gurgling hoot of a laugh that should have been irritating. It was irritating. Marcus was nothing but irritated, damn it.
“No! Although I know how to stretch a canvas over an easel, identify poisonous mushrooms, and count to a thousand in French if any of that’s relevant. But for my tryout for the bartending gig, I thought I’d, you know, mix you a cocktail.”
“It ain’t that kind of bar, little girl.”
“I know how to pull a Guinness, too,” she wheedled. “And I pour a perfect ounce-and-a-half shot without looking, every time.”
Against his will, Marcus felt his interest piqued. “Bull. Prove it.”
He knew it was a tactical blunder the instant Quinn’s face lit up. “I will! And if I can do it, you’ll hire me?”
Marcus snorted. “If you can do it ten times in a row, without looking, I’ll think about hiring you. On a probationary basis.”
Without waiting for further invitation, Quinn ducked around behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of Jack.
Five minutes later, she leaned her elbows on the polished zinc bar and waggled the bottle sympathetically. “That makes fifteen. I can keep going if you want, but we’re going to need a new bottle.”
Marcus stared down at the fifteen glasses of bourbon. Some were shot glasses, some were tall, slim double shots. There was bourbon—a perfect ounce and a half, to be exact—in wineglasses and beer steins, pilsner glasses and highballs. He shook his head, still having a hard time believing it, even though he’d measured each pour himself.
He might be a monster, he might be terse, bad tempered, and antisocial, with a past so ugly even he didn’t like looking at it … but he was a man of his word.
Putting out his hand with a sense of impending doom, he looked Quinn straight in the eye. “I guess this means you’re hired.”