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“What?”
“The new neighbor. Why don’t you like her? She said you were a dick to her when you guys met.”
“She’s gossiping about me?”
“No, you dumb ass. She just said your first meeting didn’t go well.” Her eyes stay on me, the look nearly suffocating. “Why don’t you like her?” I don’t say anything. “She looks sweet.”
“She looks like trouble.”
“You could use a little bit of trouble.”
“Not her kind.” Hattie’s eyebrows come together.
“You think she’s trouble?” I sigh.
“Who knows. But you know the whispers of Turner. Trouble.” She opens her mouth to argue, probably to say something about how we don’t know her, or that whispers mean nothing, or some other kind of optimistic view that I don’t have the time for. Instead, I continue on, spilling it all. “Plus, a girl like her? Comes from money, had everything given to her.” She’s not buying it.
“She looks like she works hard, Ben. I’ve seen her there over the last month, fixing shit up, doing it all herself.”
“Her daddy definitely bankrolled that place. What does she know about starting a business from scratch? It was basically handed to her, including a built-in adoring fan base from her father.”
“That bothers you, doesn’t it?” I don’t answer. “Why are you so bitter about it?”
“Because I had to work my ass off here.”
“But you didn’t have to. You chose that.” I stop talking, knowing she’s right. I didn’t have to start Coleman Ink from scratch. I had the family construction company in my grasp, ready to be handed over as soon as I wanted. But I turned it down. Turned it down and became the world's biggest disappointment in my father’s eyes.
I shake my head, trying to move that thought out of my mind. This is not the time for a pity party.
“That’s not fair. I still did this all by myself.”
“I’m just saying, just because you think she was handed everything doesn’t mean shewas. You know better than anyone that what you see isn’t always what you get.”
And with those words reverberating in my mind, tinging my actions with guilt, Hattie stands up. “Just . . . don’t be a dick, okay? You don’t know her life.”
And then she’s out the door and I’m stuck with my thoughts and a tray of dessert that looks way too fucking good.
Ten
-Lola-
It’s beena week since the opening.
A week since I was caught in my pajamas, holding a tray of treats and trying to win over my noisy neighbor with whom I got off on the wrong foot.
A week since he broke into my bakery at 7 a.m. and yelled at me wearing nothing but his underwear and holding a baseball bat.
A week since the note.
A week since my dad said he had it handled, a text that came close to midnight.
And despite the insane start to my new business, things have quieted down. Business has slowed in a predictable but profitable way, and more bulk catering orders have come in, which has been an exciting turn of events.
I haven’t heard anything from my dad or Johnny, and Sam said he hasn’t heard any more whispers.
And finally, as Hattie promised, there were no late nights with loud music. I don't know whether that’s because she yelled at her boss for being so loud, as she said she would, or because there isn’t a lot of noise on any given day. I don’t know, but either way, I’m grateful.
Without the loud music, I sleep surprisingly well in this little apartment. Maybe I was always a light sleeper because I never had a place of my own.
