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Suddenly, a small bundle of fur comes bounding from the back, its tail wagging eagerly as it approaches Grandad. The little dog now dances on its hind legs, showing its excitement. I watch as my grandfather bends down to greet it.
“Oh, you are a cutie,” he gushes. “What’s his name?” He looks up at Piper.
“Gizmo. He’s been running the show since the day I adopted him years ago. He stays in my office while I’m here, and I allow him out here after closing so we don’t get health department violations,” Piper explains as my eyes collide with hers. “He normally isn’t great with strangers even though he was trained to be a service dog,” she says as my grandfather picks the dog up to cuddle the tiny pup in his arms.
As a cute blush rises on her cheeks, I find myself intrigued. She seems so sweet and innocent, yet she looped me into a lie the first three minutes of our acquaintance. Piper stands about six inches shorter than me with dirty blonde hair and a slight curve to her figure. I have to admit, she’s charming in a way that draws me in.
“So, I suppose we should properly introduce ourselves,” Piper says, holding out her hand. “Piper Griffin, the owner here at Blissful Bakes,” she says with a smile.
“Gene Mercer,” Grandad says, taking her hand.
All color drains from Piper’s face. “I’m sorry. You’re…like the…” she stutters then looks at me.
“I’m Caleb Mercer,” I tell her.
“I called Dominic Blackwell earlier. He should be here shortly to meet us,” Grandad says.
I can see the shock on her face and wonder if I should offer her a chair or something. “Are you okay?”
“I didn’t know who you were,” she whispers hoarsely. “I promise I didn’t mean to imply we were dating—well, I did mean to do that because my mother was trying to find me a date for my sister’s wedding and…” she trails off then shakes her head. “Well, I wouldn’t have roped you into a fake relationship if I knew who you were.”
I feel the urge to tease her back for catching me off guard when I first walked into the bakery. “Why? Am I not good enough for you?” I smirk.
“Yes—no,” she sighs. “I mean, I wouldn’t put you on the spot. Please don’t evict me,” she pleads, turning to my grandfather.
“You’re fine, my dear,” my grandfather reassures her. “I want to have a chat with Dominic and you face-to-face. I’ve been in business way too long to waste time with back-and-forth games. We’ll sit down and sort it out here. I received your letter.” He pulls it out of his pocket. “We’ll confront Dominic with all of this and decide on how to resolve it right now.”
“I don’t think Dominic will like that—” she stops abruptly when a rapping on the door draws all our attention. “I guess we’ll find out now,” she says as I watch her blow out a breath and move to open the door.
“She’s fun,” Grandad comments under his breath, “and beautiful to boot.”
“Don’t even start,” I murmur as I see Dominic ignore Piper and come straight to us.
“Mr. Mercer,” Dominic addresses Grandad, offering his hand, which my grandfather shakes. “And you are?” He turns to me.
“Caleb Mercer,” I tell him, shaking his sweaty, weak hand.
“May I ask what brings you to Rustic Ridge without notifying me prior?” Dominic asks in an entitled tone that immediately ignites my anger.
“Do I need to inform you when I’m coming to check on my properties?” my grandfather retorts. “Your father knew that from time to time, I would visit town to see how things were going. You may not know, but a large portion of my wealth is invested in real estate across the country.”
“I took over for my father a while ago, and I’ve only met you once in person,” Dominic tries to deflect. “I’m willing and ready to give you a tour of any of the properties you’d like to see. However, I don’t believe this is any of Piper’s business.”
“Actually, Piper is absolutely part of this,” Grandad interjects. “Care to explain the little rent dispute you have going on with her? Something about her utilizing the second part of this building for a profitable venture now, so the rent will need to go up according to the new contract. I believe,” he checks the note in his hand, “you even threatened to find someone better suited to using the space. And since you manage most of the commercial space available in Rustic Ridge, you implied you would put her out of business if she didn’t pay the increased rate. What do you have to say for yourself?”
My grandfather shows no sign of slowing down in his old age. He manages to rattle off all those accusations while simultaneously petting Gizmo and staring down the shady man in front of us. Dominic is one of those men who puts on a show but lacks substance, from his fake watch to his subpar loafers—all is an effort to put forward a façade that doesn’t hold up when put to the test.
“Yes, the space that has been unused or used for simply storage is now being used for a robust cookie box subscription,” Dominic explains. “The current lease doesn’t include that space in the rate, as it would require renovation. It’s directly tied to the bakery, as you and my father agreed it was rented together. That doesn’t seem like good business sense to me,” Dominic argues persuasively.
“Hmmm, so are you proposing she pay you twice the current market rate because she’s successful? What would happen if she was, say—a nonprofit? Would the rate differ?” Grandad questions.
Dominic clears his throat. “She isn’t a nonprofit.”
“Answer the question,” I demand.
“Maybe it would be slightly lower,” he concedes.
“And tell me this,” my grandfather says holding out some paperwork to him. “Where is that rent increase indicated on my profit and loss statement for this year that you sent me three days ago? I see a section for future rental rates that require my approval, yet,” he leans in close to Dominic, “it’s been blank since you took over from your father. How many businesses in this town are actually paying what you’ve stated here?”
