had to turn tricks to support Bailey, it should be me.
As if I wasn’t feeling guilty enough, it looked as if Shelly had a crazy client obsessed with her. The same black car parked on the street at odd hours. One bright day I caught the glare from a camera lens aimed at our apartment building. I ran inside with Bailey, and the car drove away. I considered calling the cops, but we knew they wouldn’t do anything. Besides, both Shelly and I had an aversion to cops, though for a slightly different reason.
My “date nights” had gone to shit. And the man who’d done it, well, I’d broken up with him. Or maybe he’d broken up with me. Had we ever been dating? The more time passed, the hazier it became. But I did know that I needed to get fucked.
I could go to the club, but after the last trip I was gun-shy. Some slut I was—amateur.
I’d had a rough couple of weeks. Bitchy was the least I could do.
The detailed construction of gum paste calla lilies distracted me. Rick called out from his office, “Hey, get out of here, kid.”
I glanced up—it was fifteen minutes past the end of my shift.
“One sec.” I stroked my brush from the inner curl to the tip, leaving a striated peach coloration. Tomorrow I’d paint light pink blush onto the tips. Perfect for the wedding cupcakes they’d adorn. Once the paint dried enough to set it down, I laid the flower on the tray with the others.
The sky had darkened to dusk by the time Rick came out of his office. “What are you still doing here?”
“Just cleaning up.”
“Hey.” His hand stopped mine on a package of food coloring. His eyes were missing their usual playful glint. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”
I sighed. “Would it be possible for me to get a raise?” He didn’t respond right away. “Or maybe just get some extra shifts?”
“Are things that bad?”
“It’s just that Bailey had an ER trip a couple of weeks ago, and things are a little tight.”
He ran his hand through his hair.
“Never mind,” I said. “I’ll work it out.”
“No, you deserve a raise, but you know things have been slow around here. We’re already short on staff just to stay open. But I’ll take a look at the books, okay? I’ll see what I can do.” Maybe the bakery wasn’t as busy as it once was, but I’d honestly thought he was just being cheap before. Now I felt greedy, asking more if the bakery was truly struggling. Even if he did find me an extra fifty cents an hour, it wasn’t going to solve my cash-flow problems.
“Thanks, Rick. You’re a good guy.” I was relieved to see the creases ease from his face. Worry didn’t look good on him. On a whim I kissed his cheek. He caught my arm as I pulled back.
“You smell like sugar,” he murmured. My breath caught. What the hell was he doing?
I tried to laugh. “Everything here smells like sugar.”
“I’m glad you told me what the problem was. I’ll do what I can, but I wish it was more.” I wish it was enough was what I heard in his voice. And sadness.
I wasn’t sure I could handle the cause of it. Aiming for casual, I leaned back, and he loosened his grip on my arm.
“You do plenty,” I said. “Where would I be without this job?”
“Not seeing my sorry ass every day, that’s for sure.” He turned and went back into his office. His words were light enough but without any real good humor.
Rick could be a jerk sometimes, but mostly he was decent. And happy. After all, a guy who owned a bakery but didn’t bake, that was right out of one of Bailey’s Dr. Seuss books. But money was tight, and maybe the bakery was in trouble. Colin was right—everyone had problems.
Outside the back door of the bakery, I checked left and right along the alleyway. Empty as usual. I walked along the brick wall, skirting away from the smelly Dumpsters until I reached the employee parking lot. I got in my car and breathed in some air. It was musty but safe.
I drove home on autopilot, shedding the tension of
As if I wasn’t feeling guilty enough, it looked as if Shelly had a crazy client obsessed with her. The same black car parked on the street at odd hours. One bright day I caught the glare from a camera lens aimed at our apartment building. I ran inside with Bailey, and the car drove away. I considered calling the cops, but we knew they wouldn’t do anything. Besides, both Shelly and I had an aversion to cops, though for a slightly different reason.
My “date nights” had gone to shit. And the man who’d done it, well, I’d broken up with him. Or maybe he’d broken up with me. Had we ever been dating? The more time passed, the hazier it became. But I did know that I needed to get fucked.
I could go to the club, but after the last trip I was gun-shy. Some slut I was—amateur.
I’d had a rough couple of weeks. Bitchy was the least I could do.
The detailed construction of gum paste calla lilies distracted me. Rick called out from his office, “Hey, get out of here, kid.”
I glanced up—it was fifteen minutes past the end of my shift.
“One sec.” I stroked my brush from the inner curl to the tip, leaving a striated peach coloration. Tomorrow I’d paint light pink blush onto the tips. Perfect for the wedding cupcakes they’d adorn. Once the paint dried enough to set it down, I laid the flower on the tray with the others.
The sky had darkened to dusk by the time Rick came out of his office. “What are you still doing here?”
“Just cleaning up.”
“Hey.” His hand stopped mine on a package of food coloring. His eyes were missing their usual playful glint. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”
I sighed. “Would it be possible for me to get a raise?” He didn’t respond right away. “Or maybe just get some extra shifts?”
“Are things that bad?”
“It’s just that Bailey had an ER trip a couple of weeks ago, and things are a little tight.”
He ran his hand through his hair.
“Never mind,” I said. “I’ll work it out.”
“No, you deserve a raise, but you know things have been slow around here. We’re already short on staff just to stay open. But I’ll take a look at the books, okay? I’ll see what I can do.” Maybe the bakery wasn’t as busy as it once was, but I’d honestly thought he was just being cheap before. Now I felt greedy, asking more if the bakery was truly struggling. Even if he did find me an extra fifty cents an hour, it wasn’t going to solve my cash-flow problems.
“Thanks, Rick. You’re a good guy.” I was relieved to see the creases ease from his face. Worry didn’t look good on him. On a whim I kissed his cheek. He caught my arm as I pulled back.
“You smell like sugar,” he murmured. My breath caught. What the hell was he doing?
I tried to laugh. “Everything here smells like sugar.”
“I’m glad you told me what the problem was. I’ll do what I can, but I wish it was more.” I wish it was enough was what I heard in his voice. And sadness.
I wasn’t sure I could handle the cause of it. Aiming for casual, I leaned back, and he loosened his grip on my arm.
“You do plenty,” I said. “Where would I be without this job?”
“Not seeing my sorry ass every day, that’s for sure.” He turned and went back into his office. His words were light enough but without any real good humor.
Rick could be a jerk sometimes, but mostly he was decent. And happy. After all, a guy who owned a bakery but didn’t bake, that was right out of one of Bailey’s Dr. Seuss books. But money was tight, and maybe the bakery was in trouble. Colin was right—everyone had problems.
Outside the back door of the bakery, I checked left and right along the alleyway. Empty as usual. I walked along the brick wall, skirting away from the smelly Dumpsters until I reached the employee parking lot. I got in my car and breathed in some air. It was musty but safe.
I drove home on autopilot, shedding the tension of
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