Page 35 of Forced Knocked-Up Mate

“Okay. What do you want me to do?”

“Just serve customers. The only tricky thing is the cash register, but most people will pay by tapping their card. Just call me over if you need help.”

“Fine,” he mutters. “I just need to pull out these jam tartlets before they get too brown.”

I bite my lip hard to stop myself from grinning. The last thing I want to do is have him think I’m mocking him, though I’m not.

It’s just that hearing him say “jam tartlets” with real concern in his voice is stretching my grip on reality. Maybe I’m cracking up.

“Okay,” I say instead. “I have to keep moving, so I’ll see you out there.”

I struggle to keep up with customer orders, keeping a big smile on my face as I rush from one end of the counter to the other. Just when I’m starting to feel stressed again, Peter arrives with several trays of baked goods. He stacks the windows and then turns to face the line of customers on the other side of the display case.

He’s really making an effort! We might get through today without a disaster after all.

Peter looks right at an elderly old man, his face tense and hostile as he glares at him with his hard green eyes. “What do you want?” Peter asks in a challenging tone.

My heart flips so hard in my chest, all the air goes out of my lungs. I’m utterly mortified, but I’m serving a customer right now. If I stop to chastise Peter, I’ll end up offending two people instead of one.

I pull donuts swiftly out of the case with wax paper, wrapping them for a tired-looking mom surrounded by cute,hyperactive toddlers. I keep half an ear on Peter, trying not to cringe.

“There’s your bread,” Peter snaps, slapping it on the counter. “Want something else?”

“Ah…” the elderly man stammers uncertainly.

“Well, get out, then,” Peter says, pointing at the card reader. “Next!”

My chest tightens so much, I see dark spots at the edges of my vision. I finish serving the busy mom, but before I can get to Peter, another customer appears in front of me.

“Hi,” I say, smiling warmly. “What can I get for you today?”

On the other side of the counter, I hear Peter sigh with exasperation as a customer asks him for a special cake. “Youreallywant me to go to the big case?” he grumbles. “I’m not sure I’d know what a triple-cream layered butter cake even looks like. Why can’t you just have a sponge like a normal person?”

Now mortified, I rush to finish serving my customer, desperate to hurl myself between Peter and the next person. The bell above the door keeps jingling as more people come in. Before I know it, the store fills up completely.

I was right. I have cracked. At some point, I fell straight into hell.

“Look, I really don’t know,” Peter’s voice booms through the air. “Does it look like I know the difference between strawberry and cherry? They’re both red. Just pick one and be done with it.”

“Peter!” I shout, barely stopping myself from screaming. “Can I see you out the back for a second?”

“Yeah, okay,” he says with a shrug. “But I’m pretty busy here, serving customers.”

Oh, is that what you call it?

“I guess you’ll just have to wait,” Peter says to the customer, putting down his tongs. “I don’t know how long. Maybe find another bakery or something if you’re really hungry.”

“Peter!” I almost shriek. “Out the back, now!”

I rush through the kitchen doors, and Peter follows me. I can’t believe how calm he looks. To my shock, he almost looks a little proud.

“How did I do?” he asks. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

I take a deep breath. “I can tell. Uh, Peter, do you think you could… be a bit nicer to people?”

“What do you mean? I am nice.”

“Okay… um, I get that you’re trying really hard, but you’re coming off a bit… ah… hostile.”

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