Page 13 of Solitude

“Thanks, boss.”

She scowls at me. “You know I hate that.”

“You are literally the boss, Gwen. Better get used to it.”

She’s grumbling under her breath as she walks out, and I shake my head.

While Edith’s bookstore is a bit drab in decor and all dark, muted colors, Sugar is the opposite. Spruced up with greenery and wildflowers that Gwen buys in pre-made bouquets from Bluebird Ranch every couple of weeks, the shop is tranquil and homey. There’s macrame hanging from the ceiling and a neon pink sign that reads SUGAR in pretty cursive writing on the back wall. The windows have twinkling lights around the frame that give the coziest atmosphere especially when the sun begins to set, and Gwen dims the harsh overhead lights.

I know Gwen has a lot of pressure on her shoulders to be successful in Magnolia Hollow thanks to Mrs. Betty, her grandmother, being equal to a royal figure in our small town. That’s a big legacy to try to follow up.

Fortunately, it’s all worked out in Gwen’s favor. She’s been able to renovate the shop and draw in enough customers to not only make a livable wage but also to pay back her loans to the bank and her grandmother. All because of her family name.

She’d rather know she made it on her own through hard work and determination, and her delicious cupcakes, than feel like she’s piggybacking off of her namesake.

Sometimes I don’t think Gwen’s even realized just how much she’s benefited from her last name though. She’s drawn in new faces through her social media page and good ass cupcakes, but people three towns over who have become loyal customers have done so simply becausethey know Mrs. Betty Rigby is a wonderful, generous woman.

Other reasons too, obviously, but that’s the gist.

Peeking my head around the corner, I watch Gwen hand a coffee and a small, pink box to a tall, light-haired, broad shouldered man with a rosy hue to her cheeks.

It’s strange to see people coming in and out of the shop that we don’t intimately know considering how small Magnolia Hollow is, but it happens especially in the summer months. He looks entirely too sullen to be traveling from out of state just for the cupcakes.

It actually looks a little comical to see him standing next to Gwen of all people.

There’s no better way to describe Gwendolyn Rigby other than cute. Couldn’t think of a better word for her if I tried.

Her medium length, brown hair is in two, shiny braids with pale pink bows tied on the ends, and her bangs flip perfectly off her face like you have your hairstylist do for you at the salon but can never actually manage to recreate at home. Well, Gwen can. Her makeup looks similar to how it does every day–pink eyeliner, rosy cheeks, pink tinted lip balm, and mascara. All of it just accentuates her slanted, upturned eyes and button nose.

She’s wearing a hot pink Sugar tank top and denim overalls she’s cuffed at the bottom to show off her pink platform sandals, and I genuinely cannot think of a single word beyond cute to describe Gwen’s style.

She takes her love for the color pink to a whole new level, and I love that about her.

She’s unapologetically herself in all aspects of life.

“Hey, want to help me replace the flowers?” Gwen asks after she spots me watching her. Her soft voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I make my way over to where she’s standing at the counter. Grabbing an apron off the wall, I tie it around my waist and pick up one of the dead petals from the floor.

“I guess it’s time, huh?” I say then flick the petal back to the floor and watch it fall slowly. “Did you already get new flowers?”

“No, so if you think you can hold down the fort, I’ll go grab some from Beth. Shouldn’t be gone too long.”

I roll my eyes and gesture toward the door. “Please go. I can manage without you for an hour.”

“It will not take me an hour to go to Bluebird and back.”

Snorting, I push at her shoulder again. “Yeah, right. You and I both know how much Beth loves to chit chat.”

She winces and looks at me hopefully. “Hey… You wouldn’t want to go to Bluebird and grab flowers, would you?”

“No.”

“As your boss–”

“Fine.”

Gwen sighs, overdramatic and drawn out as she yanks her apron off and hangs it. “No, no. I’m going. I should go.”

Igrin. “You should. You are the boss after all.”

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