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Chapter 14
Adalynn
Sunday mornings are like a tornado that comes from out of nowhere. Things are calm until about eight thirty, then the pre-church rush happens. The rush is over in less than an hour because people stop by on their way to Sunday school. Then it’s silent until about three in the afternoon when people are looking for an after lunch sweet treat.
There have been times I’ve left and then come back, but I’ve found that the lull in the day is a great time to work on trying new recipes and perfecting ones from the week before. I always make the most popular flavors, but I try my best to cycle through new ones every other week. It keeps traffic through the store a little steadier. We have some in town willing to try anything and others who get here early on Tuesdays before their favorites sell out.
I take lots of pictures when I prep my new flavors to use later in the week, to entice people into stopping by, and honestly, I hate that part of the job. I could live happily ever after if all I had to do was bake. I learned long ago that just having something available isn’t enough to get someone to buy it. They need to see it several times. They want to hear people talking about it. They want suggestions and recommendations. It’s why I ask nearly every customer who places a custom order if I can tag them in the town group, thanking them for their purchase. Most agree, and more often than not, they comment, raving about how wonderful their treats were. Word of mouth is so very important for a small business, and I’m grateful for everyone that suggests Fondante’s Inferno over a bigger bakery in the city.
I make custom cakes as well, but the clientele around here are pretty old-school. Some of the younger couples are quick to agree to an order when given a price quote, but a lot kind ofscrunch up their noses and either ask for just cupcakes or say they can make it for less by buying boxed mixes from the local grocery store. I’m changing people’s mindsets, making sure they value my time, but it’s a very slow endeavor.
Madison volunteered me to make her wedding and groom’s cakes, and I told her I’d be offended if she picked someone else. I grin thinking about my friend as I package her orange creamsicle cupcakes. She’s one of the ones who sends me a text and puts in an order before operating hours to ensure she doesn’t miss out.
After setting her order to the side, I head to the back, figuring I have half an hour before the store opens. That’s enough time to get the batch of strawberry cream cheese icing started that I need for a new recipe I found online.
I relish the cool temps in the walk-in cooler for a moment because the back kitchen is already getting warm from the cupcakes in the oven. The ventilation in this old building isn’t that great. I only had so much money to get the store up and running, and my customers’ comfort came first.
I startle as I step out of the cooler and see someone standing there, nearly dropping the butter I grabbed from there.
“Cash?”
His eyes dart up the length of me, and I feel his attention like feathers brushing my skin. Goosebumps travel down my arms and legs, and I fight the urge to straighten my dress.
He doesn’t speak as he walks closer.
Feral.
It’s the only way to describe the look in his eyes as he pulls the packs of butter from my hands and places them on the table beside us.
I clench my hands in fists at my side as his eyes continue to run down my body.
“What’s going—”
I whimper when he reaches up and grips a handful of my hair.
He isn’t hurting me, but it surprises me.
I’m trembling by the time he leans in and whispers in my ear.
“I know you have rules.”
His breath is warm on my neck, and I fight every instinct that’s telling me to lean into it.
“I don’t fucking like rules.”
The cuss word does something right in the center of me, making it nearly impossible to keep my knees from buckling. He normally would hedge that kind of talk, so I know his use of it now is intentional.
“This mouth,” he says, pulling my hair until my head is leaned back.
He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip.
“Is mine to do with as I please.”
I don’t bother trying to close my mouth after that.
“Now get on your knees and open that pretty fucking mouth of yours.”
I slow blink at him, my brain taking a minute to figure out what is going on.
