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Every single item I baked this morning and restocked this afternoon is gone.
Gone.
Sold.
It only took a couple of farmers’ market trips with a little card attached to every item sold to build my business.
Although every day is not this way, just this one, just this Valentine’s Day. I made a little extra, more than usual, because my daily business has been steadily increasing, but I never imagined it would completely explode.
Like a volcano eruption.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I lift my butt off the floor and pull it out. As I slide my thumb across the screen, I can’t wipe the stupid smile off my lips before I bring the device to my ear.
“Hey, love,” I whisper.
“You sound exhausted.”
I am, but not for only one reason, for more.
For two.
Placing my hand against my belly, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as I try to hide the smile, but then I decide to release my lip because nobody is here to see my goofy-ass smile anyway, so there is no sense in hiding it.
“I am,” I exhale. “I sold out. Everything I had in the case is gone.”
There is a moment of silence when I wait for his reaction. I’m not sure what he’s going to say. What he’s thinking. So I wait. Then he lets out a whoop, and my heart begins to slam against my chest.
“Hell yeah,” he calls out. “I fuckin’ knew you would do it, sweetness. I fuckin’ knew it.”
Crossing my legs, I shake my head and pinch my eyes closed because he did know it. He knew it. He believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. He rooted for me when I was ready to walk away from my whole life’s dream.
“You did, Elvis,” I agree as tears spring to my eyes and begin to roll down my cheeks.
I thought I’d had the best day of my life, bakery-wise, at least three times before today, but they weren’t. Not by a long shot. This is the best day. This day right here. Best day ever.
“I’ll be there in about an hour. That give you enough time to clean up?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I exhale.
There is a silence before he clears his throat. “Love you, sweetness. Proud of you.”
Elvis ends the call without another word. I don’t know how to respond to his praise. I’m still not used to it, even though I love it.
I love the way he supports me.
We get looks when I walk beside him. At first, I thought that maybe it was because of our large age difference; fourteen years can be considered salacious, but then I realized it was because of his cut. The vest he wears.
It’s the name Dark Horse MC that’s stitched on the patch across his shoulders more than anything.
Even though Pineville is small, and I’ve lived here my whole life, the Dark Horse MC was always lore to me. This thing you do not talk about, you don’t see, and you do not touch. I never paid much attention to them because I was busy trying to build my life, my bakery.
But now, I notice them. I notice all of them and the way other people do as well. They’re scared, the MC is feared, but mostly, people seem to stare in fascination. Forcing myself to my feet, I move around the bakery, touch every solid surface and revel.
I can’t believe this is real.
Eventually, I begin to clean everything up, and by the time Elvis is using his key to let himself through the front door, I’m placing the last clean bowl back on the shelf. Lifting my head, I look up at him. He watches me from the opposite side of the counter.
“You ready, baby?” he asks.
