Shit! I forgot—Wyatt shoved a slip of paper under my door last week saying he’d hired someone to paint the storefronts. It’s about time. The three of us pay a tiny fee each month for “beautification,” and I swear, I was beginning to think he’d pocketed that money.
Tiptoeing to the balcony, I peek around the corner to see what’s happening. Down below, on the opposite end of the row, a tallish guy in an ancient-looking grey tee, jeans, and a baseball cap is assembling scaffolding in front of Betty’s market/poboy shop. I can’t see his face, but his arms flex as he twists and hammers the metal rods. Nice physique…
Not that I give a shit.
I only care about two things right now—making my business a huge success and making a home for Coco and me. Men are off my list for the duration.
The shrill whistle of the kettle breaks my concentration, and I skip over to pour the boiling water over the coffee grounds before I head to the bathroom for a quick shower. It’s bright and early, and I’ve got to get busy if I’m going to meet the demand of being a soon to be regionally famous baker.
* * *
Two hours later, all three of the sponges for the spicy chocolate cake are waiting on the cooling rack, and I’m leaning over the heavy wooden table studying a book of decorative frosting techniques when the little bell over my door rings.
Tabby flies inside. “Are you okay?”
She crosses the room reaching for my hands, and the fear in her enormous eyes makes my stomach plunge. Terror shoots through my chest, and I pass her, rushing to the door.
“What happened?” The apron is over my head, and I’m grabbing my shoes. “Is Coco okay? What’s going on?”
“What?” Confusion lines her face. “Coco’s fine—I mean, as far as I know…”
Stopping at the door, I turn and glare at her as my arm drops. “Tabby! What the hell are you thinking barging in here like that and scaring me to death?”
I lean against the glass door, trying to calm my breathing and feeling super annoyed. My heart is beating so fast it hurts.
“Are you serious?” Tabby’s crosses the room to where I stand, studying my expression.
“What the hell, Tabs?”
“What have you been doing today?”
Pushing her hands away, I walk to the table where my book is open to the page on alternative piping nozzles for buttercream roses. “I’ve been working on this cake order since seven. I need a Wilton 2D star tip, but I’d have to order it online…”
She watches me chewing her lip, and I frown. “What small-town drama has you so wound up?”
The bell rings above the door, and in walks my mother holding Coco’s hand, stopping just inside. Her eyes are strained as well.
“Mommy, cake! Let’s make cake!” Coco chants as she skips across the wood floor to me, her long hair bouncing all around.
She’s wearing a bright yellow gingham dress with little strawberries around the smocked collar. I stand and swing her up on my hip.
“What are you doing here?” I give her a quick kiss on her rosebud lips.
“Granny said I can play with you today!”
“She did?” Frowning, I turn to my mother, who is peering through the window in the direction of Betty’s shop. “Doesn’t Coco have preschool?”
My mother’s blue eyes slide from the glass to me, and she hesitates, her chin slightly lifted. She was acting weird last night when we got back from the strand, but Coco had fallen asleep on my shoulder. I didn’t have time for whatever lecture she might offer, so
I went straight to the bathroom, bathed my whining baby and put her to bed before saying a quick goodnight and heading back here to crash.
Walking slowly to where I stand with Coco on my hip, she clutches her square handbag tight against her stomach as if it’s a shield. “I thought you might like to have her with you today.”
“I want her with me every day, but you said preschool is important to get her ready for kindergarten.” I don’t add the tuition is outrageous.
“Missing one day won’t hurt her.” My mother looks at my best friend a moment.
They hold each other’s gaze as if searching for something. I have no idea what, nor do I care. I meant it when I said I want Coco with me all the time, but of course, my mother picks the busiest week of my life to bend her rules.