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Nudging Brittany aside, I set down the box of cookies and type up Brett's order into the register.
"Two dozen Crescent Moons," I say.
Brett grips his credit card in his hand, and his eyes trace my face, his smile finally gone. "Everything okay back there?" he asks.
"Of course," I lie.
Brittany throws an arm around my shoulders. "Fridge is working fine, now," she says, as if that's what he was asking about. "I'm still disappointed you didn't get to work on it for us, but what can you do?" She shakes me playfully. "Thisone wanted to get a professional."
"Well," Brett says, finally slotting his card into the reader. "Denise deserves only the best."
My eyes catch the pink logo on the box once again. I never realized it before, but she looks a lot like my mother.
"Everything I make here is made with love," Mom used to tell me, leaning over a tray of something hot from the oven, just like the lady on the box. "Love is only worth so much without someone to give it to. That's why I made this bakery, Denise. To give everyone in Barton Beach a little bit of my love for you."
Love.
Sadness wraps around my throat.
I glance at Brittany. "Hey, Brittany. If you don't mind, could you check on the kitchen? Make sure things are still running smoothly?"
"Of course, boss," she says, and with one last wink at Brett, she heads back to the kitchens.
The machine beeps, telling Brett to take his card from the reader. As he does so, his receipt prints, and I tear it out of the slot.
I hand it to him, and as he grasps it, his fingers touching mine like they did back at the bar just a few days ago, I look him right in the eye. Refusing to let myself falter.
Picking up the box, he turns slowly and heads for the door. Another customer enters the bakery, the bell jingling above their head, and I try to quickly calm myself before talking to them. I remind myself I have a reputation to uphold.
Unfortunately, Brett seems to think the same about himself. He whips around to look at me once more, taking a few steps back in my direction. "You know, Denise, I thought that you were—"
But the new customer cuts him off, bumping past him in her haste to get to me.
"Are you the manager?" she asks, her voice snippy and her lips pinched in a frown. She drops a pastry box on the counter.
"Yes," I say sourly sweet, my eyes avoiding Brett's completely. "Welcome to the Sugar Breeze. Can I help you?"
The woman taps the box with a long-nailed finger. "You sold me this cake three days ago," she snips, ripping a receipt from her pocket and waving it in my face. "I'd like a full refund."
And somewhere beyond her grimacing face, I hear the chiming of the bell above the door once again. Brett has finally left.
CHAPTER12
Brett
"So, we're all in agreement, then?" Harris asks.
His heavily lined face sags in a frown as he looks from me at one end of the conference table to the screen hanging above the other.
I can see Austin’s mouth twitching on the other end of the video call, struggling to hold his smile in position. To remain professional through our negotiations.
I'm not even trying to force a smile at all.
"Yes, Mr. Harris," Austin says, his voice smothered in canned politeness. "I agree. It all sounds great to me."
My discomfort slithers in my stomach like a snake once again, and my fingers clench into fists in my lap.
Harris' eyes meet mine again, pointed and probing. He's waiting for me to speak up.
