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“No, no, no, no.” I frantically looked around, trying to figure out what to do. Huck was going to murder me if I clogged his sink againandgot water all over the floor.
I kicked the support leg of the sink. A sad, burbling groan moved up to the surface as a lone bubble popped.
Fuck!
I looked at the swinging doors that separated the kitchen, Huck’s haven, from the busy bakery service area. It was only a matter of time before he came back from stocking the display case and I was busted.
The water level steadily rose. “No, no. Where are you even coming from?” I looked around but couldn’t see how or why the water level in the sink was rising higher and higher.
I dashed away, if I didn’t do something, I was bound to make a bigger mess, and then I’d really be in deep shit. I moved quickly toward the swinging saloon-style doors. I knew toalwaysuse the right side after crashing into Huck. I peeked through the small opening.
The bakery was busy, as always. I looked back at the sink and, of course, the water level was still going up and up.
I cleared my throat. Sylvie looked up and sucked in a deep breath. She was really getting tired of my shit.
“Sylvie, Huck. I need some help back here. Quickly.”
The muscles in Huck’s jaw moved, and he looked at Sylvie. “I got it.”
He followed me through the doors, and I led him to the sink.
“Damn it! What the—hit that switch. On the wall.” He pointed to a small switch nearby, and I immediately flipped it up.
A motorized whir rose from beneath the sink as the water churned, and it finally started to recede. After the water started to go down, the gurgling was replaced with an angry chewing noise that did not sound good.
“Kill it.”
I obeyed, flicking off the switch and then standing there with my hands behind my back.
Huck sighed and rubbed his hands on a dish towel before pressing the heel of one hand into his eye. “The dishwasher’s water line is tied to this sink. You can’t shove shit down the sink and not turn on the disposal. It’ll get clogged, and the dishwater has nowhere to go. Also”—he reached down into the depths of the sink and pulled out a mangled plastic spatula—“this is the food-prep sink, and this is the dish sink. They have to be separate.” He gestured to each sink in the kitchen.
“Got it. I’m sorry, Huck.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s fine.” He really was a nice guy, and I was just fucking it all up.
Feeling low, I quietly finished my cleaning in the back before slipping to the front of the bakery to see if I could help Sylvie with busing tables or anything else to stay out of Huck’s way.
Wiping tables was something I could manage without incident, so I made sure those white tops shined. Bowlegs’s twin was sitting on one of the stools along the large front window, wearing a red T-shirt and worn-in Moon Boots. “Good afternoon.”
He looked at me, confusion clouding his vision.
“I’m Lark.” I used my apron to dry my hand, then held it out.
His wrinkled hand fit into mine. “You the girl who cried for Bowlegs?”
I stifled a grin at the fact even his twin brother called him Bowlegs. Looking at the puffy ski boots he wore in June told me how he likely got his own nickname, Bootsy. “I did.”
“Much appreciated.” He grinned at me and I smiled back.
“Can I get you anything?”
He shook his head. “I’m just resting my legs. Enjoying watching GB have a meltdown.”
My eyes tracked where he was looking, and I spotted Wyatt just outside the bakery. He was pacing along the sidewalk. His hair was a mess and looked like he’d raked his hands through it a thousand times. Penny sat on a cement flower planter, looking annoyed as she picked rocks from the planter and tried to toss them at her dad without him noticing.
Wyatt turned to her and said something that made her scowl even harder. Bootsy and I looked on, fascinated by the chaos of the scene playing out in front of us.
“What do you think is happening?” I whispered to the old man.
