Blake looked up from his desk and frowned at Maddie’s sudden arrival at his workplace. She knew she didn’t pop in very often; this was actually her first visit to his new office in the recently reconstructed Rosewood High School gymnasium, but this was important. She didn’t need him being grumpy about it.
“That’s nice,” he said without missing a beat. “I need a half-man, half-octopus running back with eight arms and sticky suction cups on his fingers so he can’t drop the ball.”
Now it was Maddie’s turn to frown. “I’m being serious, Blake. I need help at the bakery.”
“I’m being se
rious, too. If I didn’t know better, I’d think my boys were rubbing Crisco on their hands before every game.”
Maddie took a few more steps into his office and settled into the guest chair facing his desk. Her gaze strayed to the bookshelves with plaques and trophies, including the one Blake and his team had earned last season when they went to the state championships. They came in second, which was no small feat, but that gave Blake something to shoot for. He never liked to settle for less than number one.
A drive for perfection ran in the family—drilled in by their father. All the kids seemed to be pretty goal-oriented in their professional lives. Well, except for maybe Grant. Grant seemed immune to the family trait, probably because he didn’t give a damn what Daddy thought.
She ignored Blake’s retort and continued. “I would put an ad in the newspaper, but I don’t have time to wait for someone to respond. I need someone to start as soon as possible.”
Blake dropped his pen and a wicked smile spread across his face. “Yeah, I heard someone’s going to be scrubbing dick graffiti off the walls to pay for their crimes against the city.”
Maddie winced at her brother’s crude attempt at humor. “Do you really have to be so coarse? I’m doing community service, yes, and I need someone to watch the shop in the afternoons and on weekends when I have to serve.”
Blake sat back in his chair and gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling for a minute. “I’m not sure I’m going to be much help, Maddie. All my boys are at football practice after school and even if they weren’t, you couldn’t pay me to eat something they baked.”
“What about your students? Do you have someone in your health or PE classes? Or someone I can talk to? Do they even have a home economics class anymore?”
“They have one, although now I believe it’s called family and consumer sciences. You’re in luck, though. I think Mrs. Nelson is teaching that class right now. Let’s walk down there and see if she’s got any shining stars.”
Blake pushed up from his chair and Maddie followed him down the corridors of the high school. It hadn’t been that long since she’d roamed these halls like she owned them. She’d been popular; she’d had a lot of friends; classes weren’t too hard. The only downside was that high school was a poor preparation for the real world. Reality wasn’t so great once she got out into it.
They stopped at a classroom near the school cafeteria. Blake spied in the window for a moment, waving when he caught Mrs. Nelson’s eye. She gestured for them to come into the room. There were about twenty-five students in the class, each of them busily working in pairs around stand mixers. Big bowls of flour, sugar, and other ingredients lined the front of the room, from where they’d taken their measured portions back to their mixers. From the looks of it, they were making chocolate chip cookies.
“Coach!” Mrs. Nelson greeted Maddie’s brother with a slight blush rising to her nearly fifty-year-old cheeks. All the men in the family had that effect on women. Well, all but Simon. He seemed to get the short end of the stick when it came to the Chamberlain sex appeal.
“You’ve picked the perfect day to stop by. The class is making chocolate chip cookies for the football team.”
“That’s great. I know the boys will love it.” Blake smiled and waved to the kids as they baked. “Brenda,” he said quieter, “this is my sister Madelyn. She owns the bakery downtown.”
Brenda Nelson broke into a big grin when she looked at Maddie. She hadn’t been teaching here when Maddie roamed the halls. “Oh, yes. Your cream puffs with raspberries are almost a religious experience. It’s lovely to meet you.”
Maddie beamed at the praise. At her French culinary school, she’d been number one in her class when it came to puff pastries. “Thank you. I’m glad you like them.”
“Brenda, Maddie came by today to ask if I knew of any teenagers who might be interested in helping her at the shop. I figured if there was anyone who would know the right kid, it’d be you.”
Brenda’s blush deepened, and Maddie tried not to roll her eyes. Her brother certainly laid it on thick.
“I’m looking for someone to come in after school for a couple of hours. Maybe some hours on Saturday if they can. I wouldn’t need them to do any baking, at least to start. They’d be minding the counter and the register, so they’d need to be trustworthy enough to handle the money.”
Brenda nodded and glanced around the room at her students. “Hmm . . .” she said thoughtfully. “Gertie?” she called out. “Could you come up here a moment, please?”
Maddie watched as a thin mouse of a girl came out from behind one of the mixers. She had pale skin and long, almost white-blond hair, with chunky glasses that covered half her face.
“Gertie Perkins is my best student. She’s Beverly Perkins’s granddaughter,” Brenda explained.
Maddie could see the resemblance to the women’s boutique owner, although she’d always assumed that Beverly’s platinum-blond hair had been the work of Redken, not nature.
Gertie finally reached the front of the room. “Yes, Mrs. Nelson?”
“Gertie, this is Madelyn Chamberlain. She owns the bakery downtown and she’s looking for some help in the afternoons. I told her you’re my best student and I thought you’d be a great fit. Would you be interested?”
She was, Maddie could tell. The minute she realized what Brenda was asking, a spark lit up in the girl’s light blue eyes that even her big glasses couldn’t hide. “I’d love to,” she said with a grin. “My last class gets out at two thirty, so I could get there by two forty-five or so, after I stop by my locker and walk over to the square. How many hours would you need me?”