Page 50 of Cream and Punishment
I beamed, warmth flooding me from my head to my still-sat-on hand. “I’m glad you came.”
seventeen
Galecamethroughthedouble doors to the bakery’s kitchen, her brow furrowed, and her full lips pursed. Her voice, though warbly with age, carried over the mixer as I creamed the butter and sugar for a fresh batch of molasses cookies. “Dekker, dear?”
I switched off the mixer and took my ear bud out. “Yeah?”
She continued toward me, not reacting at all to my acknowledgement.
“Here we go,” I murmured before clearing my throat and practically yelling. “Do you need something, Gale?”
“What?”
I resisted the urge to shift in embarrassment. By now, I was used to sounding like a whackadoo in the back, casually conversing in a yell I was convinced the customers could hear with no issue. That didn’t make it any more comfortable, though. One of these days, a customer was bound to call the funny farm on my behalf.
“Do you need something?” I repeated even louder.
She’d made her way to me by now, which might have been the only reason I didn’t need to repeat myself again. She leaned against the nearest countertop and rested a hand on her hip.
“I do, in fact.” She met my eye, the steely challenge in hers taking me by surprise and not at all matching her confused expression. “I’ve had customers asking me all week what our treat of the day is.”
My stomach bottomed out. My heart stopped dead in its tracks, forgetting how to move. This wasn’t going to go well. She didn’t sound mad—yet—but it didn’t take a psychic to know how this was going to end.
“And when I tell them that we don’t do a treat of the day, imagine my surprise when they tell me they got one from here just last week.” She arched one eyebrow. “Care to explain?”
I gulped. Adrenaline poured into my bloodstream, ready to do whatever it took to survive the threat. Not that a confrontation with Gale should be considered a threat, but when it came to confrontation in general, my body seemed to miss the memo about what was and wasn’t life-or-death.
You’re really good at this, you know.Max’s words came to mind.They respect you. They’re also wondering what in the world you’re doing here working for someone else. Next came Lex’s remarks, her most recent ones freshest in my memory.Your baking should be shared with the world.
They believed in me. Granted, I’d never told either of them the real reason I’d sold my old place and moved here on a whim. Would that ruin their faith in me?
I took a bracing breath and squared my shoulders. “Yes, actually. I made a treat of the day as a test run while you were gone.”
She squinted her eyes. “You didwhat?”
I hesitated, unsure whether she was asking because she hadn’t heard or because she couldn’t believe my audacity. I settled on the former because, let’s be honest, I had many things. Anxiety. Thin skin. A playlist of eighties rock for every day of the week. An unhealthy love of novelty throw pillows. More ice cream in my freezer than any sole human should have access to throughout their whole life. But never once in my life had I been accused of havingaudacity.
I repeated my statement a little louder, this time adding more to it. “And it was a huge success, Gale. We sold out every day except one.”
Even then, there had only been two dulce de leche-stuffed snickerdoodles left.
I raised my chin, feeling a spark of vindication amidst the panic strumming my nerves like a guitar solo. I’d suggested introducing a treat of the day months ago, and she’d shot it down. Now I’d given her proof that it wasn’t just a good idea, but a potentially lucrative one.
Her shrewd eyes flicked over my face, her expression unmoving. “We already decided we weren’t going to do a treat of the day, remember?”
“Youdecided,” I grumbled, crossing my arms and looking away.
“What was that, dear?” she asked, cupping a hand over her ear. She leaned toward me as if that would help.
I could’ve sworn her lips twitched at the corners and her eyes gleamed. What she found amusing about the situation, I had no idea. So when the miniscule tells vanished without resurfacing, I brushed the thought away.
I opened my mouth to repeat my gripe but stopped short. It wasn’t very respectful or considerate toward the woman who’d given me a job when I so badly needed one last year. If anything, it bordered on snarky. Insubordinate. Sure, she’d have to hire twice as many people to replace me if she fired me, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t do it.
I swallowed down my protest and shook my head. “Nothing. I’m sorry for going against your wishes.” I gritted my teeth and blinked away the sting of imminent tears. I wouldnotcry right now. “It won’t happen again.”
Something I could’ve mistaken for disappointment flashed across her face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. Probably just my stinging eyes blurring my vision.
A smile stretched across her weathered face, and she patted me on the shoulder before turning to leave. “Thanks again for manning the ship while I was gone, dear.” She waved a goodbye, her back already to me. “Good talk. You know how I love our chats.”
