Ceecee
Marcus joined me behind the counter not long after Olivia left.
“We have a special order,” I said, wiping things down and double checking how much we had left for the day in the cases.
“That’s good,” he muttered, not paying attention to me while he put the last tray of garlic rolls in the case.
“I don’t think we’ll have many more customers today. I might shut down early.” I squinted out at the darkening sky. Rain still pelted down.
“Okay, no problem.” He just stood there with his hands empty, staring down at the rolls.
Did he leave his brain in the kitchen?
“Maybe we should have a naked day tomorrow and work in only the aprons,” I said.
“Hmm…”
“What is wrong with you right now?” I yelled and he jumped.
“I…” He looked around and stared back at me, his mouth open a fraction. “What?”
“You didn’t listen to anything I was saying. Come on, Marcus. What’s going on?” I planted my hands on my hips and gave him the murder look. He was never this distracted. I didn’t like it.
“Sorry, Cee.” He ran his hands over his face and popped back out from them with a smile and his focus back. “For some reason, I was just lost in my head.”
The door opened, and I had to let it go. But if he was even remotely not present again, I was going to find out what was making him act like he was drugged. Whether he wanted me to or not.
It was my turn to go on autopilot while we helped some customers. At least I was better at it than he was and at least he stayed engaged while they were there.
Eventually the trickle of constant people died down again.
Night had fully gripped the world through the windows. As the last of the customers opened the door to head out, the sound of the rain was even louder than it had been earlier.
“We are definitely shutting down early today,” I said.
Marcus cut his eyes my way. But he pretended to keep his attention on the register and the breaking up of a roll of coins.
“Are you sure? You’ve been wanting to stay open lately.”
He didn’t say it in a negative way, just as an indifferent query. But still, it stung deep inside me.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to stay open, but there was no way it wouldn’t be cheaper to shut it down for the night than to spend the next three hours open hoping against common sense that someone would come in and buy the rest of the items in the cases.
“Ceecee,” Theresa said from behind me, interrupting my internal waffling while I grimaced at my options.
“Oh, do you need anything?” I asked, turning to her with a smile.
She looked like she was startled and was trying not to show it. With that expression on her face, the tool belt, the general no nonsense look of her, she seemed like someone who no one would want to mess with even though she was so small.
And it made my stomach flop over.
“No, I just wanted to show you that I’m done. Everything works again.”
“Great.” My voice squeaked and Marcus put a hand to his face, hiding what I just knew was an evil grin.
Theresa narrowed her eyes at both of us, but didn’t say a word. Instead, she turned around and headed to the bathroom.
On my way past Marcus, I smacked his arm and he started shaking with silent laughter.
She stood to the side of the door, her bags of stuff in the hall behind her.
“I fixed the problem, and it should hold. But there is a bigger issue with the plumbing. Just keep an eye on it,” she said.
The bathroom looked like it was back to normal, although there was a panel on the wall behind the toilet. But other than that, there was water in the bowl and none on the floor.
Leaning over, I hit the flush, and it worked.
“Seriously, thank you.” I turned to look back at her and we paused, staring at each other for a moment too long.
But she broke the spell with a smile, a nod, and a wave of her hand to follow her to the kitchen.
Hustling after her, I couldn’t get the grin off my face. Having things fixed felt like making the perfect recipe.
Well, if I didn’t think about how much she was about to charge me.
Once we were in the kitchen and standing in front of the fridge, she paused and just looked at me, one corner of her mouth turning up.
I was about to ask her if I needed to buy a new one after all, but then I heard it.
The fridge was running.
“No way. You actually got it to cool.” I grabbed the door handle to throw it open, but she put her hand on mine and made sure the door stayed shut.
Her hand on mine also shut down my brain. I opened and closed my mouth like a dying fish while I stared at her.
“Let it have time to get down to temperature again. It will take less time if you leave the door closed until it does. Then put the food back into it,” she said, her voice softer and more intimate feeling than was necessary for the subject.
But it made my stomach flop again.
And when she pulled her hand back from mine, my fingers itched with the need to grab her hand back.
Instead, I shoved them into the apron and wrapped the fabric around them. Tight.
“Theresa, you saved me by doing this today.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s my job,” she said, shaking her head and looking down at the ground.
“Right. I need to pay you then. How much did it end up being?” I asked, trying to reign in the ridiculous thumping of my heart. Clearly that was a lesson in futility. She didn’t want me. She was just nice and she was just doing her job. I had to remember that.
“Here, I wrote it out for you,” she said, handing me a small paper with the amount of labor and the amount of the items listed out on it.
I swallowed hard. It wasn’t as bad as I was expecting. Not even close.
But having to shell out a few hundred dollars was still hard when that meant reexamining if I would still have enough to put a headstone on my mother’s grave.
Wasting no time—mostly because I really didn’t want to think about it anymore than I already had to—I turned and headed to the front.
At least I was smart enough the night before to move the business checkbook and card to the register so I didn’t have to worry about exposing the office.
Good job last night, me.
Theresa followed behind me, grabbing her bags as she went past them.
She came to the other side of the counter and leaned against it, all her bags dragging her down, while I filled out the check.
With the chime above the door jingling, the cold, wet air from outside swept in and sent the little paper invoice flying down to the floor at my feet.
“Ceecee,” Mr. McCarthy said.
Theresa
Oh, crap.
Ceecee’s face got three shades whiter as I watched her, my back to the door.
Marcus twisted his face into a rictus grin he probably thought looked happy to see the landlord.
I stayed facing forward, frozen and not able to think of a way out of this situation.
“Did you call someone in to work on something? Because if there is a problem, you should tell me."
His voice was laced with a fake sounding sympathy that made me want to lash out, to turn around and tell this guy off.
It no longer mattered if he was in dire need of money, or if he was just greedy. Fake caring was so gross.
One way or another, I was going to help Ceecee get out of this.
“Just on my way home from work and stopped in to see my girl,” I said, waving a lazy hand over my shoulder while I glanced back before leaning across the counter toward Ceecee.
She paused with her hands on the checkbook and pen, her eyes boring through my face like she was trying to figure out what was happening in my brain.
Good luck with that, because I wasn’t really sure what I was doing either.
I tried to put all my persuasive abilities into my eyes and mouthed, ‘Play along.’
“Yep.” She placed her hand on mine, tucking the pen and checkbook under my hands in the process. “But I can help you with something if you need it.”
She looked back over my head at Mr. McCarthy by the door.
The man still had not moved. At least, I didn’t hear any footsteps and she kept looking in the same spot.
How weird was this guy?
My excuse was brilliant. Anyone else would take care of their business quickly and leave people alone.
Apparently, this guy was not going to do that. I turned around and looked at him full on, crossing my arms over my chest and smiling like I was someone other than me. Someone tougher who was a little possessive.
Sure, I could play that part for a bit.
“Nice to see you’re getting out there. I was worried about you after your mother passed.” He nodded at Ceecee and walked further into the room, coming closer to me.
It took everything in me not to show how little I believed his concern for her on my face. Instead, I balled my hands into fists, hidden by my crossed arms.
“And, actually, could I get some of the garlic rolls? I’m having my…friends over for dinner tonight,” he said.
Friends. Interesting way to describe the not exactly tourists from Scottsdale, who themselves said they were only here for business.
I stepped out of the way, leaning on the case by Marcus. He looked at me, eyes wide.
“Do I get an introduction? I’m McCarthy, and I own this building.” He extended a hand for me to shake.
“Theresa,” I said, grabbing his in an overly aggressive way. Most of the men that I worked with hated that.
He took a step back after I broke the contact, an odd array of expressions flitting across his face like he wasn’t sure what to make of me.
“On your way home from work. So, what do you do? Clearly, it isn’t baking,” he said, laughing at his own joke.
“I’m a contractor,” I said. There was no reason to lie about it now. Not as long as he bought my cover story.
Ceecee fumbled with a roll, dropping it back on the tray in the case.
“Well, maybe you can help me too.” He brightened and turned away from Ceecee entirely, his focus narrowed in on me while his face settled into a look of real enjoyment.
“Maybe, what do you need help with?” It was an effort to keep the trepidation out of my voice, but he didn’t seem to notice that the last thing I wanted to do was work for this guy.
“I’ve been in the market for a few fixer properties. Maybe you know of some I could look at?” He looked so excited. I tried to ignore the snarl forming on Ceecee’s face and the horror in Marcus’s eyes.
“You know there are a lot of people trying to get fixers right now.”
He nodded and waved away my warning.
There weren’t any I knew of off the top of my head except…
“Believe it or not, I do know of one. Are you wanting residential, commercial, or something like this that has both?”
Marcus scoffed and turned the noise into a coughing fit, excusing himself to the back when McCarthy looked his way with disgust.
Ceecee wilted and finished ringing up his purchase, putting the box on the counter.
“Preferably both, but almost anything. I’ve been looking around and I think there are some single-family homes that would convert well.”
I nodded and pretended I didn’t want to shake him and yell about the rising rents pricing people out of the city.
“In that case, I know of two properties. One is in Queen Anne and the other is in Fremont. Let me write down the addresses for you.” I shot out a hand, making him jump back and out of the way although the grin and clear greed all over him didn’t diminish at all.
Grabbing the pen from Ceecee and the box with his rolls in it, I jotted down two addresses.
“Thank you so much. This was a very good last-minute decision,” McCarthy said, throwing a wad of bills on the counter that included at least three twenties. It must have been way more than his rolls cost. He snatched up the box and hustled out the front door.
Ceecee sighed behind me.
She was slumped against the counter, her head in her hands. Marcus popped out from around the corner.
“Whoever lives in those buildings, I feel bad for them,” Marcus said and Ceecee nodded without lifting her head.
“No one lives in one of them. I know it because my mom was hired to tear it down and build a bigger building in its place for someone who will never sell it.”
Marcus’s jaw dropped open while Ceecee’s head popped up.
And they both burst out laughing.
“You’re kidding. That was an amazing performance. Thank you for covering for me,” Ceecee said, straightening up and wiping the tears of laughter from the corner of her eyes.
“No problem.” I fidgeted and grabbed my bags again.
She signed her check and handed it to me while Marcus kept laughing.
I smiled at them both and turned to go.
“Hey,” Ceecee said, and I turned around again. “What’s the other address?”
The grin on my face grew and I shoved the check into my pocket.
Ceecee
Theresa’s smile seemed predatory, like she was a crocodile about to snap her mouth closed on a particularly stupid fish that swam into it.
“Sometimes we have very interesting clients,” she said, turning halfway to the door. I thought she was going to leave it at that.
But she said, “Have you ever heard the rumors that some of the clubs in the area are owned by connected men?”
That was it. That was all she said, and she walked out the door.
“Ceecee, did she just say what I think she said?” Marcus asked next to me, all the laughter gone from his voice.
I nodded. Words failed me.
“So… she’s for sure into girls,” Marcus said, and I laughed.
“Yeah, well, no matter how into girls she is, I don’t know if I will ever see her again. I’m not sure that helps me. Her work is done here.” I wandered along the cases, checking to see how much we still had left in them.
“But you’re friends with her friends. You could see her again if you wanted to.” He leaned against the counter and tilted his chin up, staring down his nose at me like he had made some masterful point.
I rolled my eyes and made a mental note to give it one more hour before I closed the doors.
“Manufacturing a way to see her again by pseudo stalking our mutual acquaintances doesn’t scream romantic to me, you weirdo,” I said, raising a brow at him.
“Weirdo is a title I wear with pride. No one, even the tragically normal, wants to be called a normie so you need to do better than that.” He turned on a heel and started to walk down the hall.
“Hey, where are you going?” I called after him.
“To load up the fridge again and see if I can get some of these coolers cleaned out.”
Good point. There was still a lot I needed to do, even if I did shut things down early.
Only two more people came in the next hour, so I called it quits on the day.
Locking the front door, I heard Marcus yell from the kitchen. I dropped the key on the floor and ran.
Grabbing the door jamb to the kitchen so I swung around it and sent myself careening into Marcus as he ran out.
“What’s going on?” I screamed.
At the same time, he yelled, “The oven.”
Over his shoulder, one of the ovens hung open, heat waves poured out of it, and a thin tendril of smoke wafted up from toward the ceiling.
“Not now,” I said, my voice as thin and insubstantial as the smoke.
“I didn’t do anything. I turned it on to preheat so I could make us something to celebrate with, and when I opened it to put it in, there was a snap and the smoke,” he stammered.
Only then did I notice the small batch
of cinnamon rolls spilled on the door to the oven and dripping down the side to the floor.
“Are there enough ovens to keep working?” he asked.
“Yeah — Yes.” I nodded, because yes, there were, and I was going to make it work.
But the truth was, the kitchen already wasn’t as well-appointed as any of my competition and didn’t have nearly the same capacity.
One less oven would mean even more baking during the day because there was no way I would have enough time to make it all beforehand.
And it made even the thought of taking on more custom orders like Olivia’s seem like a terrible idea.
“I need to fix it soon, though,” I said, going closer to the oven, turning it off, and assessing how much of a mess I needed to clean up.
“Good thing we know a capable fixing girl,” Marcus almost yelled in relief.
For some reason he seemed happy, but even if Theresa could fix it, I didn’t have the money to pay for it at the moment.
Marcus didn’t know that.
I had to remind myself that I kept most of my worries about money from him. Because if things got much worse, I was going to have to let him go and try to do everything myself.
But I nodded and gestured to him to go close up.
Even though I loved him, I needed to be alone.
Alone with my broken mess.
I should get used to it.
Theresa
Adjusting the ice pack on my knee meant re-situating my wet hair as I leaned back in my chair.
My room was in a sad state, and I should have cleaned it. But I had zero…no, less than zero interest in doing that at the moment.
In fact, I wasn’t doing anything but getting stuck in my own head.
The whole time I was in the bath, the entire time I was changing into my pajamas and limping around my room, I was actually in the little bakery on Pike.
Downstairs, my mom was going to call me any minute to come get the takeout she ordered for dinner.
But up here, in the same room I grew up in and only left for a little while for college, I wasn’t poring over paperwork for the business or schedules for the crews.
Cupcake Queens Page 6
