Bake or Die

by January Daphne

  “Wake up, Willa! Come on, open your eyes, Willa!”

  Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me up into the sunshine. I gasped for air, feeling it burn all the way down to the base of my lungs. Coughing, I clung to Connor as he pulled me towards the shore. Once he was able to stand in the water, he scooped his arm underneath my knees, carrying me like I was some kind of damsel in distress.

  Which I wasn’t, by the way.

  I squirmed in his grasp, hating how out of control I felt. “I can walk,” I protested. “Put me down.”

  “No,” he barked.

  “Connor!” The world spun around me as he hauled me back to solid ground.

  His soaked boots sunk deep into the mud. Frigid water poured off us, but I couldn’t feel the cold. I was all hocked up on adrenaline.

  “You almost drowned out there. What is wrong with you?” His voice was all sharp edges.

  “Stop yelling at me.” I wiped the water from my eyes, blinking.

  “Stop moving so I don’t have to yell at you!” Connor held me tighter, tilting me closer to his warm chest. He trudged past the dirt bike and knelt down on a spot covered in spongy lichen. He set me down, but kept his arms around me. “You’re shivering. We’ve got to get you somewhere warm.”

  My teeth chattered as I sucked in another full breath of air. “You’re shivering, too.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” Connor’s brown hair stuck to his forehead. He’d taken off his jacket and his damp cotton t-shirt clung to every inch of his torso.

  I wasn’t too far gone to notice that.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen, and please don’t argue with me. We don’t have time for that,” Connor said, his voice calmer now. “Unless you figure out how to magically warm yourself up again, your body temperature is going to drop very quickly.”

  I shook my head, feeling utterly humiliated. “I felt really drained. I can’t do magic. Something happened to me in the lake.”

  “Yeah, I know, Willa. I was there. You almost drowned.” Connor smoothed the hair from my forehead in a gesture that felt far too intimate for me.

  “No, I saw something,” I said.

  Connor rubbed his hands up and down over my arms and back. “We’ll talk about it once I get you home.” By now, his shoulders were trembling as much as mine were. “You’re going to take off your wet jacket and put mine on. It’s dry. Then we’re driving back, understood?”

  “What are you going to wear?”

  “I’ll put on something at your place,” Connor replied.

  “Your shirt’s soaked. You’ll freeze on the way home.”

  “Willa, shut up. Just shut up and put on the jacket.” He set me down on the soft lichen and tossed his fleece on top of me.

  “Fine,” I muttered as he headed over to where I left my shoes.

  I turned my back to him, quickly yanking down the jacket zipper and peeling it off. Goosebumps spread over my reddening arms. Then I tugged on Connor’s fleece, savoring the extra bit of warmth.

  Connor was back by my side handing me my phone and keys as he strapped his gun back onto… wherever he had it hidden on him before.

  “Where are my boots?” I looked over to where I’d taken off my shoes before going into the lake.

  Connor dragged me over to his bike and thrust the helmet in my hands. “I don’t know.”

  “They were right by all the other stuff.” I pointed at the spot by the lake where I’d waded in.

  “What did I say about arguing?” Connor gripped my shoulders. “Get on the bike, Willa. We’ll talk at home.”

  13

  “We’ve got plenty of buttermilk biscuits ready to go. There’s bacon, eggs, and cheese in the cooler. What do you say we open up the doors?” Wes caught the Denali Bake Shop apron I tossed in his direction.

  “Ready when you are.” I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, unlocked the front door, and flipped the open sign. “I’ll handle the register and brew a pot of coffee. You handle the food stuff.”

  “We’ll do espresso, too.” Wes shook out his apron, holding it out in front of him.

  “No, let’s keep things simple,” I said.

  “Don’t you want to see my rosetta?” Wes smoothed down the hem of his white t-shirt that looked like it came out of a Fruit of the Loom three-pack.

  Apparently, yesterday’s button down had been the only remotely professional shirt in his possession.

  Not like this undershirt looked bad.

  Not bad at all.

  “Your what?” I asked, skeptical.

  “My rosetta,” Wes said. “Latte art?”

  “Like when you make designs in the foam?”

  “You poor, sheltered woman,” Wes crooned. “Yes, designs in the foam.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “And you can do that?”

  Wes nodded. “I learned in prison.”

  My lips quirked up. “You are so full of it.”

  Wes winked. “How do you know? Have you been to prison?”

  “OK. We can try doing espresso today, but only if you stop talking about how you went to prison. It’s going to make people uneasy.” I couldn’t for the life of me say no to Wes’ delightful enthusiasm. “And you’re in charge of the latte rosettas and all that. It’s been twelve years since I’ve used those espresso machines.”

  “Deal.” Wes pulled the pink apron over his head and tied it around his waist.

  Who knew this ex-felon with tattooed biceps could look so good in a pastel apron? I thought.

  Wes folded his arms, leaning his hip against the counter. “What are you smiling at?”

  “That’s a nice color on you,” I commented.

  “That’s sweet of you to say.” Wes puffed out his chest, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  I felt a seed of hope begin to grow inside of me. Maybe this new life wouldn’t be completely miserable.

  “Not every guy can pull off a pink apron.” I grabbed my own apron and tied the strings in a bow at the small of my back.

  A playful dimple appeared on Wes’ face. “Samantha Craven, you have my permission to pull off anything I’m wearing, any time you want.”

  “Wes, stop flirting.” I flushed, turning my face away before he could see.

  He tossed a small towel over his shoulder and slid past me on his way to the kitchen. “You started it.”

  I groaned, trying to hide how amusing I found him. “Go cook something. Someone could walk in at any moment, and we’d better have a breakfast sandwich to serve them.”

  I grabbed my phone to connect to the bluetooth speaker. I selected my Taylor Swift Folklore playlist because it felt appropriate for a coffee shop.

  Next, I tested out the digital tablet that served as the register. It was straightforward enough. I found the screen with the food items, hit the pay button, and clicked through to the tips screen.

  Just like being back in high school, I thought. It was surreal to think that just last week I was negotiating million dollar deals with Hollywood A-listers.

  As far as jobs went, this bakery wasn’t so bad. I loved chatting with my neighbors and the tourists. My friends from school would hang out in the cafe. It was fun sneaking them free drinks and sitting down to gossip with them when my mom wasn’t watching.

  I wasn’t fourteen anymore, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy my time at the bakery.

  When life gives you lemons, hire someone hot and muscular to bake you lemons bars.

  That was how the saying went, right?

  The first customers trickled in, and I saw lots of familiar faces. Molly Weathers, a pretty brunette whose mom owned a nearby fine dining restaurant, breezed in pushing a stroller. “Oh my goodness, if I hadn’t seen you with my own eyes I would have never believed it! Samantha Craven is back at the bakery!”

  I practically leapt over the counter to give her a hug. “Molly, look at you!” Nestled in the carriage were with two tiny sleeping babies swaddled in pastel blankets. “They’re so tiny! Twins?”<
br />
  Molly nodded, unzipping her puffy down vest. “Eight weeks old. I’m still working off that baby weight, but you should have seen me before. I wouldn’t have been able to fit through that door.”

  I bent over the stroller, grinning like an idiot as I admired the tiny fingers and noses. Both had on a patterned stocking hat that matched their blankets. They slept peacefully with their squinty eyelids shut.

  “Cuteness overload,” I whispered.

  “Sure, right now they’re cute. You will not believe how messy babies are. I probably spend eighty percent of my time cleaning up bodily fluids and the other twenty percent getting them to stop wailing. That leaves zero percent of my time for sleep.”

  I started cracking up. Her expression was so serious. “It can’t be that bad.”

  She gripped my shoulder. “No, Sam. It is.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating.”

  Her eyes widened as she stepped closer. “Sam, listen to me.” She lowered her voice. “The things I’ve seen in their diapers. It’s out of a horror movie.”

  That just made me burst into laughter all over again.

  Molly smiled, tugged at a corner of the blanket higher up over her babies. “But don’t listen to me. You should have one. Babies are great.”

  “Maybe someday.” I folded my arms.

  Molly paused, shifted her weight. “I heard about your mom. I don’t know if you feel like talking about it, but I’m here for whatever you need.”

  “Thank you,” I said politely. “I’m trying not to think about it too much right now. Willa’s up here, too. We’re focusing on running the bakery.” I stepped back around to the register. “Want a breakfast sandwich? Maybe two? It’s on the house.”

  “You’re the sweetest,” Molly said. “I’ll just take one. Leo’s at work.”

  I looked over my shoulder to see if Wes heard the order. He gave me a quick nod while he flipped over a few sizzling bacon strips.

  I turned my attention back to Molly. “Did you say Leo? Leo Stevens?”

  “Yes, Leo Stevens,” she grinned. “And I’m Molly Stevens now. We got married right out of high school. I knew I had to scoop him up before someone else did.”

  I played with the end of my ponytail. “A lot happened in twelve years, huh?”

  She shook her head. “Hardly. Everyone got married, had kids. Couple people started businesses up here. Other than that, nothing ever happens in this town.”

  Clearly, Molly wasn’t privy to the supernatural disturbances in the area. I envied her.

  Just then, Wes hustled out of the kitchen, a plate in his hand. On it was a greasy-looking biscuit with two crispy pieces of bacon, a perfectly folded egg scrambled with peppers and onions, and a thick slice of cheddar cheese.

  It looked heavenly and smelled even better.

  But Molly wasn’t looking at the food. She absently took the plate, her eyes doing an embarrassingly obvious up-down on Wes as her lips formed an O.

  “Hi,” she said to Wes. “You’re new.”

  “This is Wes Greenwood. He’s our new baker,” I said.

  Wes wiped his hand on his apron and accepted her handshake. “It’s a pleasure.” Wes' eyes slid to the sleeping babies. “And who are these little monsters?”

  “Alexis and Amanda,” Molly said, beaming with pride.

  “Oh, they look like troublemakers,” Wes said as he stepped around the counter and leaned over the stroller.

  One of the infants opened her eyes and reached her pudgy arms up towards Wes.

  Wes glanced up at Molly. “May I?”

  She nodded.

  Wes’ stretched out his finger and the baby grabbed onto it with her shaky rosy hands. “Nice to meet you, too, Miss Stevens.” He chuckled at the baby.

  As soon as Wes turned his attention to the babies, Molly caught my eye and mouthed, Oh-em-gee.

  I gave her a quick head shake, hoping that would discourage her from ogling the poor guy.

  Molly leaned back to scope out Wes’ behind. Where did you find him? she mouthed.

  I glared at her, shaking my head more aggressively now. I prayed Wes wouldn’t choose that moment to look up from the sleeping twins. The guy was already way too flirty for my comfort level. The last thing I needed was Molly egging him on.

  He was cute with those babies, though. I hadn’t expected the big, beefy man to get so mushy around babies.

  Molly wasn’t deterred at all by my silent reproach. She held up her left hand and pointed at her ring finger. No ring, she mouthed.

  Giving up on the head-shake, I pressed my hand to my forehead. “Wes, you should probably check on the bacon. I think I smell burning.”

  “Yes, Wes, you should check your meat,” Molly said gleefully.

  I shot her a horrified look.

  What? she mouthed back.

  Wes smiled as he gently uncurled the baby’s hand from his fingers and tucked her arm into the blankets. “Alexis, Amanda, you two be nice to your mother,” Wes said.

  Then he touched Molly’s shoulder as he strolled back to the kitchen. “You let me know how the sandwich is.”

  “Wes, the bacon.” I gestured to the kitchen.

  “Yes, sausage, too,” Molly added, clearly enjoying this joke way too much.

  I cleared my throat. “There’s no sausage cooking, Molly. It’s just bacon, and it’s burning.”

  A wicked grin spread across Wes' face as he caught onto the innuendo. “Sam, you seem very concerned with my meat.”

  That was when Molly completely lost it, leaning on her stroller as she cackled.

  “You two are so immature.” I felt my face flush to probably about the same color as my lipstick.

  Wes shrugged. “We’re just talking about meat. We do serve that here last time I checked.”

  “Stop talking about your meat and get back to work!” I hissed, digging my fingers into Wes’ elbow as I guided him back to the kitchen.

  “My, my, what did I walk in on?” a male voice said.

  I got back up to the counter just in time to see a man in black creased dress pants, shiny shoes, and a white button-down step into the shop. “Hello Mrs. Stevens,” he said with a polite nod.

  “Morning, Logan.” Molly plucked a napkin out of the dispenser and a pen off the counter. She jotted down a phone number and held the napkin out to me. “That’s my number. Text me and I’ll give you the details for this week’s book club.”

  “Book club?” I said.

  She grabbed the plate with the breakfast sandwich and balanced it on her arm. “I promise, it’s a lot more fun that it sounds. This week we’re reading a very dirty vampire romance.”

  “Molly, I think that’s the last thing you should be reading.” I slid the napkin with her number into my apron.

  “I’ll tell the girls you’re in.” Molly gave me a wave as she wheeled her stroller to a corner table.

  The man Molly had called Logan stepped up to the counter, hands in his pockets, eyebrows lifted with interest. “A dirty vampire romance?”

  “Not your cup of tea, huh?” I tapped on the register screen and glanced up at him expectantly.

  “I suppose it depends on my mood,” he said with a smirk.

  “What can I get for you? We have whatever you see in the case and breakfast sandwiches,” I asked, eager to steer the conversation to safer topics.

  He pressed his knuckles into the counters as he leaned forward. “You wouldn’t happen to have any sourdough today, would you?”

  I stiffened, my guard immediately going up. “No, not for sale,” I said.

  “Very well,” he said amicably. “Now which lovely Craven sister do I have the pleasure of speaking to—Wilhelmina or Samantha?”

  “I’m Samantha,” I said. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “My name is Logan Graves, and I’m the owner of the Denali Goddess Resort and Spa.” He straightened his tie. “It’s nice to see this place up and running after that terrible tragedy.”

  There
was something off about this guy. Maybe it was his looks. He had shimmering blond hair—angelic almost—and watchful blue eyes that were so vivid, they looked photoshopped. His face was smooth and classically handsome. He looked young, late twenties, but he moved like a man with poise and experience.

  It made me uneasy.

  Logan smiled. “I have a staff meeting for the seasonal employees in about twenty minutes, and I suppose I should feed them.” The morning sunshine sparkled against his neatly-combed blond hair. “Do you have enough for twenty-seven breakfast sandwiches?” he asked. “I don’t want to wipe you out.”

  “We’ve got enough,” I said, happy to have the business.

  Logan pulled a leather wallet out of his pocket “Are you doing coffee yet?”

  “We have drip,” I said, ringing him up for the sandwiches. “But if you’re feeling adventurous, Wes can make you espresso.”

  “Drip is fine. Rebecca used to sell me coffee in a large togo container with a spout. Do you still have those?” Logan asked.

  I glanced over my shoulder. “Wes, have you seen any cardboard containers for coffee?”

  Wes banged the spatula on the griddle, startling me. Then he snatched up a knife and aggressively chopped up a bell pepper.

  “Wes?” I called.

  He pursed his lips, shooting me an irritated look. “Yes, we have those.”

  What’s his problem? I wondered.

  I turned back to Logan. “Anything else?”

  “That’s it for now.” Logan handed me a very thick metal American Express card. “Add a thirty percent tip to that, too, would you please?”

  I smiled. “You don’t have to do that.”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s a tax write-off, and everyone over at the Denali Goddess Resort loves your bakery. Rebecca, God rest her soul, had a great relationship with my company. I’d love to keep that going with you. Perhaps we can discuss some cross-promotion ideas sometime?”

  “Did you know my mom?” I asked.

  He nodded once. “Not well, I’m afraid. Just in a professional sense, as business owners.”