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I peer around the kitchen. Dirty dishes fill the sink, flour dusts the worktable, and I still have bowls of frosting to fill. I continue scraping the cream cheese frosting into the bowl when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I wonder if Hollyn forgot to tell me something. Setting the spatula down, I fish my phone and unlock the screen. Except it isn’t a message from Hollyn. Instead, it’s a message from Trey.
Trey
Beers at Porter’s. Get your ass down here.
A small smile pulls at my lips. I haven’t been back to Harbor Highlands in five years and I’ve either lost touch with all my old friends or they’ve moved away, so I’m ecstatic to have some new friends to hang out with. I type out a reply.
Van
I need to clean up at the bakery and I’ll be down.
Trey
Hurry because when you get here, you’re playing catch up. The longer you take, the more beers you’re drinking.
Shit. I’ve seen these guys drink. They can definitely toss them back. I hustle around the kitchen, first starting with scraping the last of the frosting, wash the dishes, and wipe down all the surfaces. Once everything is done, I take one last glance around the kitchen when I notice a covered bowl still on the counter. I grab it, open the fridge door, move a few things around to make room, and toss it in. I release the door handle. Without a glance back, I flick off the lights and lock up.
NINETEEN
BARTENDER THERAPY
Van
I pull open the back door to the bakery, a smile on my face, excited to spend the day with Hollyn again. When I enter the kitchen, all the excitement drains from my body. She’s standing in front of the worktable, shoulders deflated. That’s when I notice the fridge door open and all of its contents sitting on the steel table, including the containers of frosting we made yesterday.
Something’s not right. I approach her as if she’s a scared animal. Unsure what type of reaction I might get. That’s when a lone tear rolls down her cheek.
“Hey, is everything alright?” My voice is soft, still unsure what the issue is.
Her chest rises as she inhales a slow, deep breath. “No Van, it’s not.”
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? You want to know what’s wrong?” She rises to her full height.
“Yeah. That’s why I asked.”
She turns to face me. “Well, it turns out when you left last night, you didn’t close the fridge. So all night it ran and eventually the motor burned out, causing everything inside to spoil. Including the frosting we need for the cupcakes. That’s what’s wrong.” She whirls around, grabs boxes and containers off the table, and hurls them into the trash.
“I closed the fridge last night. I put the last container of frosting in and closed the door.”
“Well, it wasn’t closed when I came in. There was a box pressed against the door, so it didn’t seal. Did you not double check?”
“No, I didn’t think I had to double check. I shut the door and left to meet up with the guys at Porter’s.”
“Oh, I see.” She grabs a carton of eggs and flings it into the trash. The crunch of eggs breaking fills the room. “Beers with the guys was more important. Glad to see where your priorities lie.”
“What’s the issue? We’ll make more frosting.”
She inhales a deep breath before meeting my gaze. “It’s not only the frosting, Van. We have to spend money for more ingredients, but most of all we need a new fridge.”
“Calm down. Everything will be fine.” I rest my hands on her shoulder. Her head snaps my way. Her eyes narrow, giving me the death glare. Slowly, I pull my hands away and retreat.
“I’m fooling myself. You’re young, know nothing about baking, and know even less about responsibility.” She throws her hands in the air.
I scoff. “You’d be surprised how much I know about responsibility.”
With a hand on her hip, she snarls. “Oh yeah, like what? How to do a keg stand without spilling a drop?”
