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“Now if only we could get a hundred more customers a day like him, we might have a shot at keeping your bakery open.”
I whirled to look at her.
She shrugged. “The initial buzz has died down. It’s obvious we’re struggling.”
“You’re not struggling.I’mstruggling. You don’t have to go down with this ship, Jazz. This is my ship and I’m the one that drove it straight into a fucking iceberg.”
“You jump, I jump, Jack,” she quoted. “We haven’t tried everything.”
I sighed. “The opening was so promising. And now with the city tearing up the sidewalk and part of the street, we’re not going to get any foot traffic. Everything is just going to go to waste, and this dream I’ve built—”
“Hey, stop.” She squeezed my hand. “You’re talented. You’ve got the drive. We’ll turn this around.”
My lip wobbled. “Thanks, Jazz. That means a lot. Sometimes it feels like…”
“Like you’re in this shit storm alone? Yeah, I get that. Isoget that.”
* * *
The next day, I was jumpy and on edge from Kurt Antol’s impromptu visit. I hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning, wondering if he was going to come into the bakery again.
Who had a business card that didn’t tell the world what he did for a living? That was the entire point of a business card—to dobusiness.
“You are going to love me,” Jazz said, jarring me out of my thoughts as she came onto the floor from the back entrance. She tied a green apron around her waist and adjusted the collar of her red buttoned-up shirt.
I pushed a wayward strand of hair that had escaped my braid behind my ear. “Am I?”
She nodded, a grin beaming across her face. “I saw my best friend last night, and she mentioned her parents were throwing a thirty-fifth wedding anniversary party.”
“Okay?”
“The caterer they hired to do the cake got food poisoning! Isn’t that great?”
“Not for the caterer,” I said.
She looked horrified. “No, not for her, obviously. But they’re kind of desperate. I mentioned you to Brielle.”
“You mentioned mewhat? I don’t make wedding cakes. I don’t even cater.”
“Wow, you’re really good at selling yourself. You didn’t even ask me how much they’re willing to pay. Come on, be open minded.”
“How doyouknow how much they’re willing to pay? Did your friend tell you?”
“No. I called her parents directly and spoke to them. I already agreed on your behalf that you’d take the job. Hope that’s okay!”
“Youwhat?” I yelled, startling the young professional sitting in the corner on his laptop. He looked up and glanced around but quickly went back to typing.
She grabbed my wrist and pulled me off the floor into the back kitchen.
“Look, are you really in a position to turn down work?” Her brown eyes were earnest. “I negotiated a higher rate, knowing this isn’t something you normally do and that it’s last minute.”
“Did they balk?”
“They were hesitant, sure. And then I told them about your credentials. Culinary Institute of America graduate. Pastry sous chef for two years at The Rex Hotel in Manhattan under a two-star pastry chef—all of it.”
“I hate the wedding industry.”
“I know.”
