“Bet you make minimum wage at a shit job,” he said, “or else why are you living on stale pastries?”
Which was pretty fucking rich coming from the night clerk at Goose Run Gas. “So you admit your pastries are stale!”
Chase raised one eyebrow. “I tell you thatliterallyevery day. But you keep coming back and being a pain in my ass instead of buying yourself good pastries from somewhere else.”
Fuck that guy, seriously.
“Nowhere else is open,” I reminded him. “And you wouldn’t know a good pastry if it bit you on the ass.”
“Dude, I know that if the pastries are biting me on the ass, they’ve definitely been in that case too long,” he said, looking far too pleased with himself.
That was pretty fucking funny, actually—not that I was going to admit it. Instead I said, “That drink ready? And I’ll take a donut.”
He slapped a lid on the cup and shoved it at me, then found the tongs and bagged the donut. He waited until I’d picked them both up to say, “Seven fifty.”
“What? How is an Americano and a donut seven fifty?” I wondered if he was adding a tip again.
“Two coffees,” he said, his expression bland.
“You’re notseriouslycharging me for the drink that you forgot a cup for? You’re unbelievable.” I put the donut bag down, pulled a five out of my pocket, and dropped it on the counter.
He held my gaze for a minute, and I wondered how far he was willing to push this, but then he shrugged. “I guess I can cut you a break, since you suck at your job so bad that you have to work the graveyard.”
Fucker.
Still, part of me had to admire the sheer size of the balls on the guy.
“That’s it. I’m buying a coffee machine and I won’t be back,” I said and stalked out the door.
But we both knew it was a lie.
The week dragged,and the end couldn’t come soon enough.
In the familiar heat of the South Hill Bakery kitchen, I pressed my hands into the small of my back and leaned back. My spine cracked. I needed this day to be over.
Tyler, the baker who usually worked shifts with me, had been out all week with the flu, so we’d been scrambling to keep up with orders, and I’d had even less sleep than usual. I’d been coming in early and staying late, and now I was tired and cranky and my back hurt, and I hadn’t even had my espresso this morning. Somehow Chase had managed to make the machine come to a grinding halt before it had even started to spit out my usual cup of caffeine and despair.
And for once I didn’t think he’d done it to be a dick. In fact, his brow had creased and he’d mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Sorry.” And now I thought about it, he’d been uncharacteristically quiet all week, shoving my order at me and glaring instead of actively insulting me. Or maybe he’d just picked up on the no-bullshit vibes I was giving off and was smart enough not to piss me off further—which made sense. Chase was a pain in my ass, but I didn’t think he was stupid.
The only thing keeping me going right now was the knowledge that this was my last shift for a while. I’d booked an entire week off, and Mom was taking my little sister Samanthaand me to spend a couple of nights in Hampton Roads at our grandparents’ place to celebrate the end of Sam’s chemo. I couldn’t wait. Except since we were short-staffed, I was staying back for a couple of hours to refill the range of cookies, cupcakes, and brownies that the bakery sold to smaller stores around the area.
I didn’t mind making desserts. It made a nice change from hauling giant bowls of bread dough around, and I’d always preferred this side of baking.
I’d already baked and cooled three batches of Danishes, the chocolate chip cookies were done, and someone else was responsible for packaging everything. I only needed to finish up this batch of brownies. I poured the batter into several large pans and slid them into the industrial oven with a sigh of relief. As I set the timer, I found myself thinking about the sad pastries at Goose Run Gas. And that got me thinking about Chase again and how confident he’d been that my job was shit and I sucked at it.
Well, maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong about the first part. I was getting pretty tired of starting work in the middle of the night. But I happened to be an excellent baker.
It was dumb, since Chase didn’t even know what I did for a job—and why bad pastries offended me so much—but I was still annoyed about his comments, even though it was days later. I was damn good at my job, that was why.
I’d taken the job at South Hill Bakery because last year when Sam had gotten sick, it had made sense for me to work nights so I could be home for most of the day. I could keep her company and give my mom a break. Sure, sometimes keeping Samantha company looked a lot like both of us passed out on the couch in front of a movie, but it gave Mom some breathing space.
It had been a pretty rough year, but thank fuck things were turning around at last. Sam had finally gotten to ring that bellin the hospital that meant she was done with chemo, and I only had the rest of today’s shift to get through before I was on leave. A whole week of just hanging out with Mom and Sam. And sleeping in. I was really looking forward to the sleeping-in part.
I eyed the rack of Danishes and thought of Chase again. His head would probably explode if he ever tasted actual decent pastries instead of the sad, stale shit he sold.
And that was when it hit me. I should take him a box of baked goods and watch him sample them. Wipe that sneer off his face and blow his mind at the same time.
I grabbed a box from under the counter and filled it with cupcakes and a bunch of pastries that would make a French person weep from sheer joy.
