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“What do you mean did I go alone? Of course, I went alone.”
“No wingman?”
I shook my head.
“Why not?”
She appeared hurt that I hadn’t even thought to ask her.
“I just wanted to go it alone,” I said truthfully. “I almost chickened out, but I went anyway.”
“Why?”
I nibbled my lip. I’d kept the truth about the bakery from her, and I didn’t want to burden her with my problems. My financial straits had nothing to do with her, and as much as I liked her, the inner workings of my business weren’t for her to know.
“Sometimes you just have to change it up,” I said finally. “So, I changed it up.”
“How did you hear about the party? It’s not like you run with that crowd.”
“Two women came in here the other day, and I overheard them talking about it. I kind of made a mental note…” I shrugged. “Anyway, I went to the party. I was just about to get a drink when those two guys came barreling out the front door, swinging at each other. I have no idea what they were fighting about, but they knocked into me and sent me to the ground. I hit my head, and one of the bikers took me to see a doctor at the Waco Health & Wellness Clinic.”
I absently rubbed the back of my head. It was tender, but I was no worse for wear.
“Okay, my turn. I wasn’t entirely truthful when I grilled you about last night,” she said.
“No?”
“No. I got here early this morning to open, and I saw a guy in a leather cut coming from the direction of your apartment. He got into a car. I guess someone picked him up.”
“Ah,” I said.
“Next time you go to a Blue Angels party, please take me.”
“There won’t be a next time,” I stated. “It was a one-time deal. A one-time lapse in judgement. Now, if you need me, I’ll be in the back skinning peaches.”
* * *
“You mind if I take my ten?” Jazz asked. She brushed at an errant dark strand of hair at her temple.
I wiped my wet hands on a dishrag. “Not at all.”
Jazz smiled and headed out the back door, phone in hand. I went up to the front. The display case was still mostly full and the few tables for customers were empty. It reminded me that I’d promised myself I’d look over the spreadsheets soon. One thing about running a business was that the numbers never lied. But I didn’t need tiny little boxes with angry red numbers to tell me what I already knew.
My bakery was in trouble. Real trouble. Trouble I wasn’t sure how to claw my way out of.
I took the citrus spray and spritzed the counter, wiping down the area around and underneath the espresso maker.
The opening of the bakery had been promising, with a line of customers outside the door. I’d been working round the clock at a breakneck pace, and the four people I’d hired to help run the front while I baked in the back had been completely sustainable financially. The holidays had been insane—my books were clean and money was pouring in. And then it seemed like out of nowhere the customers had just stopped showing up. It was like someone had switched off a faucet and there was only a small drip of people coming in.
It had stayed like that for weeks, and I’d had to let go of three of my four employees. I’d kept Jazz because of a delicate family situation, but if things didn’t change, I’d have to let her go too.
The doorbell jangled, and I pasted a smile on my face despite my exhaustion.
“Hello,” I greeted the customer.
The man wore a three-piece gray suit and a thick black tie. His dark hair was slicked back from his face, showing off a sharp nose and a high forehead. Coffee-colored eyes peered at me from beneath bushy eyebrows.
“Good afternoon,” he said, his gaze surveying me for a moment and then looking around the bakery.
