Page 14 of Losing My Rejection

“These are incredible,” I said, taking a small bite from one of the rolls. “Like way better than anything I’ve ever made. Seriously.”

A small grin pulled at Josh’s lips. “I had your sticky buns at the market,” he replied, shying away. “They were amazing.”

“I bet yours are better,” I said. I didn’t want to push it too far. Instead, I waved him over to the scones. “Can you tell me what flavors you did? That way I can get signs made up for them.”

There were five sheet pans sitting in front of of me, each with a dozen scones on them. Each was a different color with different fillings. Before Josh even started talking, I knew I was going to have to try them all. If they were anything like his cinnamon rolls, they were probably going to blow my fucking mind.

“Lemon poppyseed,” he said, pointing to the first. “Then there’s orange and dark chocolate chip, a classic blueberry, banana nut, and the last one is pumpkin spice with a cream cheese glaze.”

I took a small bite of one from each pan. The citrus flavors were bright, the scones were soft and buttery, and every topping was even more delectable than the last. Everything was perfectly balanced and a fucking joy to eat. The only thing stopping me from eating all of them was the fact that I’d already started a cinnamon roll and planned to eat the entire damn thing for lunch.

“I’m at a loss for words…” I sighed, putting down the pumpkin spice scone. “This is some of the best food I’ve ever tasted.”

“It’s just whatever,” he replied, grinning a little despite himself. “They’re scones, not a painting.”

“They’re the best ones that have ever existed in this shop,” I insisted. “I’ve been running this cafe for four years, baking every single day, and mine have never been this good.” I furrowed my brow. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“And you’ve been cooking for how long?”

“I started when my mom… when I was fourteen,” Josh said, stopping himself partway through. There was a sad expression that ate away the grin he’d been wearing. “I’ve done nearly a little over a year of culinary school too.”

“It must be talent then,” I sighed. “Just pure talent.”

“I don’t think so…”

“It is,” I said firmly. “You’re good. Really good.”

“Does that mean I get the job?”

“If you want it, it’s yours.”

“And the double pay?”

I held out my hand to shake. “I’m a man of my word.”

Josh eyed my hand suspiciously, but took it at last, a big smile on his face for the first time. “I’ll take the job then.”

“I’m more than happy to have you aboard. You’ve got a lot of talent and I guarantee that the people of this town will know your name soon enough. You won’t be a stranger here for long!”

Josh’s smile faded quickly as the words left my mouth and were replaced with a despondent expression. I wanted to kick myself. I should’ve known better than to remind him that he was in Shifter Grove because he had nowhere else to go. I didn’t know his story, but it wasn’t too hard to guess what it might be. Not to mention, he’d only just arrived. His wounds were still fresh and here I was reminding him how far from home he really was.

“Do you… uh… want to keep working today?” I asked, feeling like the biggest asshole in the world. “If not, I understand.”

Josh stared at the ground for a long moment. “No,” he said at last. “I want to go back home–” He froze up. “Back to the hotel I mean.”

I nodded. “No problem. I’ll log your time for your pay. We can take care of the paperwork and the signing bonus when you come back tomorrow. Starting time is at nine o’clock.”

“Right.”

With that, Josh took off his apron, hung it over the hook, and walked out the door, his shoulders sagging at his sides. I’d never seen someone look so depressed walking out of my shop before and my heart broke a little as I watched him.

Next time, I’d make sure not to make such a stupid remark.

Chapter Eight: Josh

Each morning I got up, went to the cafe, and kneaded dough until I couldn’t feel my arms anymore. Then I baked some more. And more. In some ways, it was just what I needed to forget the situation I was in. In other ways it reminded me of what I’d lost and the fact that I wasn’t going to wake up one day and head back into the culinary building at school. There were no chef’s whites waiting for me, just a tan apron with flour dust lining the pockets and Andy.

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