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“It’s okay,” I quickly say. “I need to collect my thoughts anyway.”
“You’re going to do great!” she says with an enthusiastic clap. “Just remember your manners and try to sneak me a piece of their famous cherry pie. It’s to die for!”
I get dressed in my winter gear and slip out the door with a pit in my stomach. This is so horrible. I hate this town already.
The people I pass seem friendly enough, waving as they shovel their snow-filled driveways, but I have a scarf wrapped around my face. If they saw who I was, they certainly wouldn’t be so friendly.
I’m twenty-three and I’ve never really had a job before. I know that’s embarrassing, but in my old life, we had everything. I had a black American Express credit card with no limit since my sixteenth birthday. My father never questioned a purchase. He didn’t even look at the bill. He just paid the balance and didn’t say a word.
Now? Sigh. Now, I’m about to work in a bakery for a few dollars an hour. I have nothing. No money, no personal items, no friends, no boyfriend, and no hope for the future.
I should just run in front of the first car I see driving and end it all.
Once I’m in town, passing the mom and pop shops and the people walking down the snowy sidewalks, I start to get really nervous. I’m having heart palpitations and I’m already getting a headache.
“Shit,” I mutter when I see my new place of employment—Pie In The Sky Bakery.
I abruptly stop on the sidewalk and stare at it with dread. If I stopped abruptly like this in Manhattan, I’d be run over by the swarm of busy people behind me. But here in Bridgeworth Pines, there’s no one behind me. There’s only one other person around and she’s feeding birdseed to the pigeons.
I look back in the direction I came, wondering what would happen if I hitchhiked out of this town and started over somewhere new. Somewhere people won’t know me.
And where the hell is that, huh? It was a worldwide scandal. Your name is tarnished no matter where you go.
The sad truth hits me. I have no choice. This is my best option. I just have to try and make the best of it.
I suck in a breath and open the door.
The delicious smell of baked goods overwhelms me as I step into the bakery, the little bell dinging over my head.
Oh my god, it smells so good. I’m going to get so fat.
The lady behind the counter looks up and smiles when she sees me taking off my hat and unraveling my scarf. She has the same outdated hairdo as my aunt.
I gasp when I realize why that is. There’s probably only one hairdresser in this microscopic town and that’s probably the only hairstyle she knows how to do. Is my hair going to look like that in a few months? No. I’d shave it off before that happens.
“You must be Tracy’s niece,” she says as she wipes her hands on her apron and comes around the counter. “You looked prettier on the news.”
“Thanks?” I say even though that didn’t sound like a compliment at all. “They took all of my makeup and clothes.”
She looks me up and down with a critical stare. “I’ll send you to my hairdresser, Lou. He’s wonderful.”
“Okay,” I say with a fake smile on my face, feeling like I’m going to throw up. “He sounds very… talented.”
“He is and he has the funniest stories about his goat. He’ll have you hooting!”
“Thank you for the opportunity,” I say as I remember Aunt Tracy insisting that I thank her profusely for the opportunity to make pocket change. “I know it was asking a lot considering…”
Lindsay shrugs. “Business has been a bit slow lately, so I don’t mind if people come to gawk at you. Even if they hate your guts, they’ll still buy a coffee and pie, so it’s a win-win.”
“Great,” I say, keeping that fake smile plastered on my face.
She starts showing me around and blasting instructions at me in a rapid-fire tone. I don’t think I even get five percent of it.
In twenty minutes, she’s told me how to make three types of danishes, croissants, six types of pies, and four types of coffee. I’m still struggling to put my name tag on, so all those instructions go flying over my head.
“I’m more of a tactile learner,” I say. “I learn better by doing a task rather than hearing it.”
“Okay,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Then get doing. I need this done by noon. Valentine’s Day is coming up and it’s always a busy time for us.”
She hands me a paper with a ton of stuff scribbled on it. I start to panic as I quickly read it over.
