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Enjoy being a traitor, Jesse. And how about a big Fuck You, Nate.
Gah.
Well, this day turned out to be garbage, didn’t it?
ChapterSeven
Jesse
“Nate. What the hell?”
Someone shouts, “Hey, back of the line, mister.” I ignore it.
I need to talk to my son.
“A little busy, as you can see, Pops.”
Pops. Since when does he call me Pops?
“Since when do you make donuts?” I ask.
Messily scooping out some donuts from an unmarked box and plopping them onto a paper towel, Nate curses as powdered sugar goes everywhere. “Ah…since about six-thirty this morning.”
“You’ve never gotten up that early in your life. Are you on drugs? Where’d the donuts come from? And where the hell did you get an espresso machine?”
I take a closer look and see that the thing is powered by an emergency generator that looks suspiciously like something from the utility shed at Jesse J Ranch, dammit. But one thing at a time.
He scoffs. “Not everything I do is about drugs, Dad. I was inspired. By you, in fact.”
“By me?” Now he’s really lost it.
“You’ve got your big fancy empire, and now I’m starting a small one. Maybe one day I’ll have a big one,” he says, handing over donuts and almost forgetting to take the customer’s money.
“You don’t know how to cook,” I point out.
“I don’t have to know anything about cooking to make donuts.”
Taking a closer look, these donuts look familiar.
“Are these…are these from Sweetie Pies? The ones I brought home yesterday?”
“No!” Nate shouts. Yeah, they totally are. He repackaged them and is reselling the donuts that I bought. Wonderful.
I have half a mind to take him by the ear and drive him home.
“You’re doing this to get back at me,” I grit out.
“Why would this be getting back at you?”
“Because I’m dating the baker?” I point out.
“So you admit it! You’re both ridiculous. She paid for you to spite me for canceling our date, which was never set in stone to begin with. And now you’re mad that I’m competing with your girlfriend.”
Customers are now growing impatient, waiting on the espresso machine. God knows where he got this one, and it’s not as if he knows how to operate one. The thing makes a troubling gurgling noise, letting me know I shouldn’t be so worried that Nate might threaten Mariam’s business. Time for round three of déjà vu: I suddenly recognize this machine.
“Nate, where the hell did the espresso maker come from?”
He scoffs. “Dominique wasn’t using it!”
