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“Oh no, we will make it happen. Don’t you worry. I’ve been practicing and I’ve almost perfected that recipe. I’ve been making small batches of those cinnamon buns all week, and both Trinity and Peggy were in yesterday and they had one. They said they are almost as good as the ones you made. Oh, and they send their regards, told you to get better soon!”
“Yeah, I’m sure I’m the talk of the town right about now.”
“Honestly, well, yes, you are. But their thoughts are with you, and they wish you a speedy recovery. They are all excited to see that you are healed up and back at work soon.” Melinda giggled.
“Oh have you been able to keep up with all the Baking Crate orders?”
Melinda let out a bit of a sigh. “Yeah, they are coming in fast and furious now though. I think more than last year, from what I remember.”
“I figured they would be. I haven’t gone in to check anything because I know me, I won’t be able to sit here if I do. However, the good news is I ordered a knee scooter. I haven’t said anything to Tristan yet, but I’ll be back at work once it arrives.”
“I’m not gonna lie, I’m happy that you ordered one.” Melinda giggled.
“Listen I’m going to let you go. Get some rest,” I said as I heard the key in the lock. I didn’t want Tristan to think that I was checking up on him.
“Have a good night, and do your best not to drool over that god you’ve got living in your house.”
“Please, once you know him better, or if I told you a bunch of things from school, you’ll be looking at him way differently,” I whispered, while the thought of him standing shirtless in my bedroom the other night invaded my memory.
“Night, Brooke.”
I hung up the phone just as the door flew open. Tristan stood there, bundled in a winter coat, carrying a tray of pizza. He closed the door behind him and smiled. “Hey.”
“Hi, how did everything go?” I asked.
“Fine, just fine. I figured you might be hungry, so I stopped off at a small pizzeria joint. Pepperoni, mushroom, and pineapple.”
I crinkled my nose. “Well, I was good…up until the pineapple part!” I exclaimed.
“Come on, Brooke, tell me you like pineapple.”
“Oh I do, just not on pizza, but I am starving, so I’ll just pick it off.”
Tristan shook his head as he placed the box down on the table and took off his coat. Then he went into the kitchen and returned with two plates and some napkins. I watched as he lifted the lid and pulled two slices out and handed me the plate.
“Thanks.”
He grabbed two for himself and then sat down on the couch.
* * *
It was well after midnight. The house was quiet, the front room dark, and I lay in bed, once again, staring up at the ceiling. Tristan had run me a hot bath after we’d eaten; he’d even gone to the trouble of lighting a few candles and adding some bubble bath, which had shocked me. Then he’d helped me into the bathroom, returned with my book, and left me to get into the bath on my own. Once I’d dried off and changed into my pajamas, he’d come in and helped get me to the bed.
So much of me wanted to hate him, and part of me still did, but now that he was showing a human side to himself, he was becoming more likable.
I let out a breath and rolled onto my side. The wind was blowing and howling fiercely outside. Willow Valley was in line of some horrible winter storms this week and it looked like we were indeed going to get them.
I’d just closed my eyes when my phone gently vibrated against my nightstand. I reached for it and saw a message from Trinity.
TRINITY: Brooke check this out…I think you should be aware of it.
There was a link following her words, so I clicked on it. As I watched the video that had been posted to YouTube, I wanted to die. It was the day of the tryouts, and it showed exactly what had happened. I watched with horror as I saw Tristan stick his legs out just as I went to walk by him. He had done this on purpose. Anger raced through me as I watched it again and again.
When I could no longer take it, I shut it off and rolled over onto my back in a huff. Accident. It had been an accident, he said. Didn’t look like one to me. I wanted to scream, but instead tears slipped from my eyes. I clenched my fists as my body tensed.
I grabbed my phone and was about to put it back when it vibrated again. This time it was an email from my contact at Baking Crate. I frowned. Melinda said they had gotten every single order out on time.
I opened the email and my eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. Ten customer complaints had been sent in due to improper packaging. I noticed there were image attachments, so I clicked on them, each one producing a photo of broken cookies and opened boxes inside of the larger box. As I studied the images, I noticed that there was nowhere near enough packing paper put inside to secure the boxes. Melinda had said she had checked every one.
