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“That’s right, and now because of you, they are threatening to close mine.”
I looked at her, shock lining my face. “Because of five little wrecked orders?” I asked.
“Ten.”
“Still…it was only ten.”
“Yes, it was only ten. However, it was ten in the same day. So, as per their contract, my account may be closed because of ten little orders. Luckily for me, they know my work, so they are considering overlooking it.”
“Wow…”
Brooke stood there, frowning at me. I had no idea that they were that strict. Yet I felt they were overreacting a little bit.
“Wow what?” she asked, her intense eyes, never leaving mine.
“Perhaps they should understand that shit happens when you ship things.” I shrugged.
I could see the fire in her eyes. The tears were now gone. She wheeled her scooter an inch toward me and continued as she spoke.
“You know, I remember you back in school. No regard for anything you did. It was fine then, but this? This is my livelihood. This is how I pay my bills, my mortgage, for my car, buy my food. This isn’t just a little side project I have going. I know you probably don’t care, but you have no idea how hard I’ve worked to accomplish what I’ve done, nor do you know what I’ve had to give up to get what I have. I have employees who count on a paycheck to look after their families. You’re not messing with a grade this time,” she said, poking me hard in the chest with her index finger.
“I know that.”
“Do you? Do you actually understand that? Do you actually understand that if my Baking Crate account gets closed down that my life will be impacted and so will the others?”
“Yes, of course, I do.”
“Then smarten the hell up or leave.” Immediately, she pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes tight. “I’ve got a headache. I’ve got to get out of here!” she yelled, wheeling her way across the kitchen.
I wanted to call out to her, to apologize. I hadn’t quite grasped exactly how hard it had been for her to build this place. How could I? I also hadn’t truly grasped what this place meant to her, how important it was.
I jumped as the back door slammed shut, then I took a look around at the small pile of dishes that were in the sink and over to the cookies trays I’d been told to wash for the past few days and hung my head.
I thought about Melinda, how kind she’d been to me, even though I’d probably been nothing more than a pain in her ass. Then I thought about Cici. We hadn’t worked together much, but she seemed like she was a sweet girl. Then I thought about one of the prep cooks who had shared the fact that her brother was ill and she was working only to help with medical expenses. All those people counted on Brooke, and here I was not giving a single fuck about anything I did.
I sat down on the chair I normally used to have my coffee and looked at the book Brooke had given me. When I originally looked at it, I’d skimmed through it, rolling my eyes at every single thing that she’d written. I’d purposely not packed those boxes tight enough because I hadn’t cared enough. Then my brother’s words floated through my mind, how I didn’t care about anyone but myself, and that someday when it would really matter, it would catch up to me. He’d been right. This entire time, I’d been here helping her for one reason. I’d been praying that she didn’t go after the magazine or me. It was about damage control to protect only one person, and that was me.
Something had to change.
I flipped the light on and began loading all the cookie trays into the machine one by one. Then I ran and got the book Brooke had given me and flipped it to the cleaning chapter. I followed the directions to set the machine, then I went over to the sink and began washing all that was there.
After that, I made the solution to mop the floor and took my time cleaning every single corner, under racks and out into the storefront. These things had all been my responsibility, and I’d half-assed it just like I normally would in my own life.
Then I went over to the printer and pulled off all the orders that had come through online. I set them all out and grabbed some paper and a pencil and began marking down all the cookies we’d need to fill the boxes, along with amounts.
I planned to make this right. I had to. It was no longer about protecting me. Now it was about protecting her and her employees. I had to prove to her that I actually cared, and that was going to start right now.
Brooke
When I’d gotten home, I popped two headache pills and heated up some soup I’d had in the freezer. I was angry and frustrated with myself that I’d allowed myself to think Tristan had changed. My body ached as I put in a load of laundry and sat down with my soup and a bottle of wine in front of the TV. I flipped the channels until I came to some silly cheesy Christmas movie. I let out a sigh and broke some crackers up into my soup. I literally felt that I was living one of these silly movies, only I feared that my ending wasn’t going to turn out as well as it did for the characters.
Once I’d eaten my soup, I flipped the fireplace on. It was cold and snowy out, and I just wanted to be warm and comfortable and get lost in my oversized comfy couch. I grabbed the blanket that I kept on the back of the couch and threw it over myself, and then I arranged the pillows and relaxed against them. It took time but eventually my body to begin to relax.
I blinked. The room was dark. I had no idea where I was, so I sat up and looked around the familiar room. How had I gotten into my bedroom, I wondered. I didn’t remember coming to bed, yet here I was, tucked under the covers. Kicking the covers off me, I looked down to see I was in my pajamas. Last I remembered, I was in my sweats.
I grabbed my knee scooter and made my way into the bathroom. I took a few minutes to put my hair up and get dressed. As I approached the bedroom door, I noticed my sweats were laying on the small chair just inside my door. I let out a sigh and noticed that the lights were not on yet in the other room, and I glanced to the clock. It was only four.
I quietly opened the door and rolled out into the living room where Tristan was sound asleep on the couch. I stood there, not wanting to wake him, and just watched him. He slept shirtless; the blankets stopped at his waste. I took in his broad shoulders, chiseled chest, and abs. Then I looked up to his face. He had a darker complexion and very chiseled features. I actually found him more handsome now than I did when we were younger. It was too bad that everything changed when he opened his mouth, I thought to myself as I looked at his full, bowed lips.
