That's what I told myself last night, lying awake at 2 AM.
This is a partnership. An opportunity pout together by Big Mike and the Snow Leopards. This is something that could possibly even begoodfor the bakery.
Good exposure, good foot traffic, goodgrowth.
I shove that thought down so hard it probably has whiplash.
Because once upon a time, I had dreams too. Dreams bigger than a single storefront on Main Street in a tiny town like Chilmore.
I had a food blog once. Afollowing. I had plans for expansion, franchises, maybe even a cookbook deal if I played my cards right.
Before my husband left me to fend for myself, I was going to besomebody. Not just the tired woman in the dirty apron who forgot to eat lunch again because there's nobody else to cover the counter.
But today will be okay.
I've handled difficult customers before. So I sure as hell can handle one overgrown hockey player.
I grab Morgan's jacket from the hook by the door, checking the pockets for contraband as she reappears, minty-fresh and victorious.
"So like… Is he going to be here every day now?"
"Who?"
"The ambassador man!" Morgan rolls her eyes, as she grabs her jacket and shoves her arms through the sleeves. "I hope he's nice."
"He's just here to... help. With the bakery."
Morgan's grin sharpens. "So heisThe Help."
"Morgan."
"Ambassador Help?"
"Get. Your. Shoes. On."
She cackles and I wonder, not for the first time, if I'm raising a daughter or a tiny supervillain.
I grab her backpack, my coffee, and herd us both toward the stairs that lead down to the bakery. The scent of the fresh bread I threw in the oven before Morgan woke up wraps around us as we descend.
"The school bus will be here in eight minutes," I tell Morgan. "I just have to get these muffins—"
The bell above the door chimes and I freeze mid-sentence.
"Mom! He'searly."
Colt Lane, in all his muscular glory, is standing inmybakery at six-forty-something in the morning, wearing a Snow Leopards tracksuit that has no business looking that good on anyone.
The fading bruise around his eye has mellowed even more since yesterday, and his sandy blonde hair is styled already. Did he really wake up early to style his hair like that?!
"OH MY GOD."
Morgan's shriek from behind me is loud enough to wake the dead, the neighbors, and probably half of Chilmore.
"Mom.MOM." Her fingers dig into my arm with the grip strength of a professional wrestler. "The Help is the dude from the billboard at the airport! ThegiantSnow Leopard's one!"
I open my mouth to correct her, but Colt's grin stops me. He gives Morgan a little salute, and unfortunately for me, he's completely unbothered by being referred to as 'The Help.'
"You don't remember me?"
