AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
“No! When are you closing? Why didn’t you tell me that you would be closing?”
“Closing what?” I don’t understand what’s happening. Has she lost her mind?
Missy huffs at me. “The bakery, obviously. With the building being sold, you’re closing down.”
My stomach twists painfully as I suddenly feel sick. I saw Gene this morning when he stopped by for his usual coffee on his way to a bocce ball game. He didn’t say anything about selling my building or leaving me without a place to run my business. It’s hard to believe that this is really happening. Besides, Caleb would have mentioned it…wouldn’t he?
“Okay, slow down and start from the beginning. Where did you hear this information?” I ask Missy, desperately hoping that it’s just some gossip she heard through the grapevine. “You know that sometimes things you hear from a friend of a friend, of a cousin, can be slightly distorted.”
“No, I heard it from Nolan. He said he’ll be busy all day because all of Gene’s properties in the area are all going on the market,” she says, giving me a pointed look. “All of them, which includes your building, right? It’s great news for us since Nolan gets a commission, and we can afford a bigger house now! But I’m sorry for you.”
“Did he say I was getting kicked out?” I struggle to keep my composure and think logically.
“I mean, if they’re selling, chances are the new owners will want to use the space,” Missy replies with a shrug as if it’s obvious. “Besides, you could end up with another Dominic, and who knows how much rent they’ll charge you then.” She pauses before adding, “I think you should prepare for the worst and close up shop before it’s too late.”
“So all the properties are being sold? Your positive that’s what Nolan said?”
“Definitely,” she says as her phone rings, and she puts it to her ear.
“I’m on my way,” she says before hanging up. She turns, ready to walk out. “We can talk later. I’m sure Mom and Dad would let you move back in, and we can discuss your next steps. I know this is difficult, but we’ll figure it out,” she says before she’s out the door.
“Of course,” I mumble.
“You didn’t know? Caleb didn’t tell you?” Mia asks, concern evident in her voice.
“No, I had no idea,” I reply, realizing that this news will be just as devastating for her. “But we’ll figure something out, I promise. Don’t panic yet.”
“Of course,” she says, but the way she bites her lip and turns back to her tasks tells me otherwise.
“Seriously,” I mutter, putting my headphones back on. “I can’t believe he didn’t have the decency to tell us in person. You think you know someone, and then they just stab you in the heart,” I continue, using a butter knife to scrape up a ruined flower.
I’m not sure who I’m angrier at—Caleb or myself. He should have told me about this; I thought we were friends, maybe even leading to more. But no, that was just for show. Somewhere along the way, I got caught up in that façade. I was delusional to miss what was actually happening around me. Now I see the truth.
As I lean over the table to pipe a flower, my heart feels heavy with the realization that I let myself get carried away by false hopes. I won’t make that mistake again.
Plop!
I am pushing the frosting bag too hard, and purple icing spurts out at me. Letting out a frustrated groan, I grab a knife to fix the mess. After taking a moment to stretch my shoulders, I try again. Suddenly, someone taps my shoulder from behind, causing me to spin around in surprise and accidentally squeeze the piping even harder. More purple frosting shoots out, this time all over Caleb’s white T-shirt.
“What in the world?” I demand, feeling annoyed.
Caleb puts his hands up in surrender as we both stare at the massive blob of frosting making its way down his shirt and onto his shorts before landing on the floor with a splat. I take my headphones out of my ears.
“Sorry, did I startle you?” He grins sheepishly and turns to grab a dishrag to clean up the mess.
“You think?” I mutter. “I’ve already had to do these flowers multiple times.”
“Are you okay?” he questions, glancing up at me.
“Peachy,” I reply through gritted teeth.
“Uh oh, are those flowers for a real cake, or is this stress baking again?” he asks, and the fact that he makes it sound like we are friends annoys me.
We can’t be friends; if we were, he would have told me about the life-changing news that is about to come my way. I would have done the same for him in a heartbeat. But apparently, our views on this strange friendship (or whatever it is) are very different. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how angry and hurt I am. I won’t plead or beg. He’s already made it clear where he stands by not informing me about his grandfather’s decision to list all his properties.
“They were supposed to be for a real cake,” I mutter, rolling my shoulders to give the row of flowers one last shot. “And practice for Missy’s cake.”
