Reaching out, I squeeze her arm. “So I go out with Bucky the stinky taxidermist. He gives me stuffed road-kill. It’s one night.”
“I heard he tried to grab Cheryl Ann’s cooch on their very first date. That’s why she ditched him. She should’ve slapped him into next week.” Tabby puts a hand on her hip and does her best Jane Russell glare. “What will you do if Bucky tries to grab you?”
“I’ll throw ice water in his face and go home.” Stepping forward I kiss her cheek. “See you tomorrow.”
“There’s no shame in pretending you don’t hear him knocking.”
“Goodnight, Tabs.”
She grumbles as she leaves, and I walk slowly to the back of the old store where stairs lead to my loft apartment above. After my aunt died, she left this old five and dime store to me. Tabby helped me sell or trash all the shelves and retail furnishings, and I’ve been scrubbing and painting ever since.
Weathered wood painted white makes up the walls of shelves where I keep my meager baking ingredients. Two vintage chandeliers, fake branches, and driftwood arranged in vases are the start of my interior design. One day I imagine having a garland of multi-colored spring roses like Peggy Porschen’s at the entrance.
“One day,” I say softly, dreaming of the lavish London bakery and the lady who owns it.
The only piece of furniture I’ve been able to buy is the heavy wooden table where I do all my mixing, kneading, arranging, decorating…
I kept my aunt’s register and checkout counter for front reception. Slowly, slowly I’m saving up to add a refrigerated case. Last month, I was finally able to buy a second oven so I can cook two cakes at once.
“Just keep swimming.” I push open the heavy door leading to the upstairs where Coco and I will live.
When Mr. Lockwood developed that old stretch of sand, all the tourists moved away from our little village down to the beachfront property. I hope my cakes lure them back here—at least to shop—and if they do, I’ll be a small-town hero pulling tourist dollars back into Our Town.
I walk over to my small table and pick up the photo of me on the beach, looking up, holding my little girl. “That’s the plan, Coco Bean,” I whisper.
I’ll have my daughter and my cake shop, and that’s all I need. One foot in front of the other, and before I know it, my dreams coming true.
* * *