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“How about I open another bottle of wine that is free of backwash?”
I grab the bottle back and take a much lighter sip. “Help yourself. I’m gonna stick with this one.”
He stands, reaching over to pat my shoulder. “Hopefully, we can convince you to stay.”
“Not a chance if Mom and Dad don’t stop with the googly-eyes and touchy-feely, lovey-dovey shit. It’s grossing me out. Our parents have a more active sex life than I do.”
He winces, his face taking on a distorted grimace. “On that note, I’m moving to whiskey.”
I giggle into my bottle and try to remember the last time Evin and I had a real night together. It’s been way too long.
No matter what happens in the next few months, I’m going to enjoy this time with my family. And, hopefully, avoid Pierce.
•—•—•—•—•
The beauty of running my own business and starting fresh is having some freedom to do whatever I want. Baking and creating delicacies have never felt like a job to me, but the administrative aspect has been my least favorite part. My OCD tendencies don’t allow me to hire an assistant, and that’s why I’ve decided to be more selective with my clientele in Charleston.
I used to work fifteen-hour days, but I did have some help. A few part-time employees helped make it work, and my business lawyer, who is also my best friend, was an asset.
Evin wasn’t kidding; Mr. Rosen is dying to get my desserts in his restaurant. And he isn’t alone. I scroll through my emails and groan at the number of responses I need to send.
“Bad news in the world of sweets?” Mom attempts to be funny.
“Kinda,” I mutter, not paying attention to her.
“You’re going to get premature wrinkles with that scowl. I’m too young to have a daughter that looks like a pug.”
“Don’t you need to take a nap? Or rest? Or do something that a woman who recently went through major surgery does that doesn’t involve nagging the shit out of her daughter?’
“Nope, I’m all tapped up on rest. The therapist was easy on me today.”
“Remind me to fire her tomorrow.”
She takes the chair next to me, peering over my shoulder. “Fill me in.”
“I’m wanted.”
“Being wanted is a good thing. Billy said your stuff is flying out of his store.”
“Yes, but look at my inbox. All these are requests to meet and discuss business proposals.”
“Seems like a good problem to have.”
“But I’m not ready to take on this much. My load is perfect right now. I’ve got it under control.”
She takes my hand, pulling my attention from the computer screen. Concern is written all over her face. “You always have it under control, but would it be bad to have some help?”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me help you.”
“I’m here to help you, not the other way around.”
“And I love you for it. I love having our dinners every night and knowing you are close if there’s a problem. But we both know I’m better and getting stronger every day. Cooking my dinners, cleaning the house, organizing my therapy and home healthcare—it’s great. But it’s coming to an end. Let me help.”
“You can’t come to the bakery all day, Mom. It’s too much.”
“No, but I can take some of the administrative work off your plate. I can check your emails, respond the way you want, and with a little training from Stephanie, maybe help with other stuff.”
I sit stunned at her suggestion. “Are you proposing working for me? You hated working for Dad.”
“First of all, I didn’t work for your dad. I worked with your dad in our business. Secondly, I didn’t hate it. I just wanted to keep control of the two rugrats we birthed, and he was needy.”
“Evin was the rugrat. I was the angel,” I correct her.
She pats my hand, smiling widely. “If you say so.”
“You’d want to help me?”
“It would keep me busy. Since I’ll probably never ride a horse again and my free time is about to drive me batty, it would be a good thing.”
“What about me being here in the afternoons? Our time together?”
“If you had three more hours a day in the bakery, how much more could you produce?”
I do the calculations in my head and think about my ovens, the freezers, and the time I could work with creating new things. “Probably enough to take on three new businesses, with the understanding they had to be afternoon clients. No specialty orders at this point. Weekend orders will be delivered on Friday afternoons, and I’m keeping my Saturdays and Sundays free.”
“Okay.”
“And no huge celebration clients.”
“Yet.”
“None!” I emphasize loudly.
“I think you are underestimating your ability to handle new clients.”
“I think you are underestimating what my current business load is. I am happy with petit fours, cookies, truffles, and chocolate-covered fruits, which, by the way, have to be refrigerated.”
