Page 8 of Cream and Punishment
“Where are the cupcakes for the Miller order, dear?” Gale’s voice croaked, barely audible over the roar of the washer.
I spared her a glance, already preparing myself to yell to be heard. She wore the characteristic pastel pink apron every employee had, complete with the bakery’s logo emblazoned on her pink ball cap. It contrasted beautifully with her brown skin and black hair streaked with gray. Her shoulders were stooped with age, and she seemed to have a perpetual smile on her lips, no matter how faint.
For all my frustrations working here, I couldn’t help but like Gale. She was a great baker. She let me do my own thing most of the time, and she never shied away from butter like a lot of other bakers did in an effort to be more health-conscious. My philosophy was, if you were going to treat yourself to a boatload of carbs and sugar, it better taste amazing. And butter was magical.
“Right side!” I answered, referring to the designated area in the front of the walk-in fridge for all outgoing orders for the day. The rest of the boxes had already been picked up, so it shouldn’t be difficult to find the dozen vanilla buttercream on vanilla sponge.
Her weathered brown face creased in a broad smile as she shuffled on her way. “Thanks, dear.”
I’d returned to my washing when Gale spoke again, now standing by the doors to the front of the house. “Oh, Dekker. I won’t be here tomorrow, remember. I’m going to be out of town until next weekend to help my goddaughter with her new baby. My grandson Seth will be here to help in the afternoons, but you’ll be in charge.”
“Sounds good!” I hollered back, already certain she wouldn’t hear me anyway.
A mix of emotions warred inside me at her reminder. It grated on me I’d be doing all the jobs a manager or owner would with no difference in pay or title. At the same time, I’d been looking forward to this week and a half since Gale had asked me to cover for her. Not much would be different, aside from the fact I could make a treat of the day. I’d have more freedom to do whatever I wanted wherever I wanted. It was all the things I loved about running my own bakery without any of the risks or downsides. I could even interact with customers.
That, I wasn’t so sure about.
Oh, and I’d have to work with Seth, whom I’d never met but heard plenty of stories about. So, if conversation stalled, I could bring up the fact he apparently skied off a chicken coop roof when he was ten and dressed his family’s cat up as a banana for Halloween when he was even younger. Quality ice breakers that weren’t at all creepy or weird, right?
It wasn’t until I was nearly out the door for the end of my shift I realized the box of Lex’s cupcakes were gone. Poof. Kapoot.
After searching the walk-in, prep tables, and shelves all around the kitchen, I’d figured out Gale had grabbed the box of apple snickerdoodle cupcakes instead of the vanilla ones the customer had ordered. Had she thought I said “right there” when I’d answered?
Well,gingersnaps. That wasn’t good.
Now Lex was out of luck, and the lawyers at Miller and Clark would be in for a nice surprise. Assuming they weren’t allergic to cinnamon or apples, of course, or else we could be facing a lawsuit. Exactly what I needed, right? With the way my luck was going, I’d probably have one of the lawyers showing up and slapping me with the paperwork tomorrow.
I wiped an errant curl from my forehead, my stomach already churning with the thought.Deep breath in. Deep breath out.There wasn’t anything I could do about it now, short of ordering yet another Uber and catching a ride to the law firm myself. That would probably end more disastrously than letting fate run its course. Right now, I should worry about walking home since my car was still comatose. Or completely dead forever.
At least my dignity had some company.
The rain held off the entire walk home, plump drops splattering the concrete around me as I made it inside. Blessedly, the early afternoon hour meant I’d completely avoided Max, too.
Maybe my luck was changing after all.
three
Isetthemixingbowl aside, casting another satisfied glance at my latest Franken-cupcake. It may be too chocolatey for Colt, but Lex would probably love it. And, considering I’d lost her real cupcakes to the cold clutches of some lawyers, it was the least I could do.
Okay, maybe not theleastsince the least I could do was nothing and offer a lame apology. But, I’d spent a stupid amount of time since getting home unpacking and organizing, and I needed a stress release. I wasn’t even halfway through since my closet freaked me out. The corners were too dark and mysterious and probably hid secrets and/or dead bodies in them. Or snakes.
Ugh, I hated snakes.
And that’s why my bedroom and living room looked like my suitcases and boxes had been the victims of a chainsaw massacre. I’d love to say there was a method to the madness, but that only applied if the method was “hide as much of the sketchy carpet as possible.” Which, considering the suspicious splotches of unidentified stains, wasn’t a horrible idea. Ignorance was bliss, right? If ignorance kept me safe from the scheming depths of my closet from Hell, it could handle a few stains, too.
I popped the muffin tin into the oven, set the timer on my phone, and stared at the tornado of stuff awaiting me in the living room. Draw whatever conclusions you want from the fact the first and only organized and unpacked room in the whole apartment was the kitchen. I had my priorities straight, okay? Food first, everything else later. I’d made dessert before heating up the frozen pizza calling my name, which only proved my point. Waiting until after dinner to eat dessert was for chumps. Everyone knows the best appetizer is a mouthful of sugar and fat. And I’d fight anyone who said otherwise.
I’m not saying I’dwinunless that “anyone” was ancient or maybe an exceptionally weak toddler, but still. It was the thought that counted.
With so much strewn about the room, I didn’t know where to start. The coats and winter gear taking up residence on the arm of the couch? The stacks of books piled like little skyscrapers by the entrance to the hall? The pile of picture frames that had slid down the couch cushions like an ice cream cone on a hot day? So many options, so little motivation.
Eventually, I settled on unpacking more bathroom stuff so I could shower more luxuriously tonight. Or as luxurious as this place could get. Instead of a quick scrub-and-run, I could actually let my conditioner sit long enough to make a difference for my curls.
Whoo. Living large tonight.
After I took the Franken-cakes out of the oven, I made the mistake of walking into my bedroom.
It wouldn’t have been so bad—demonic closet excluded—except I couldn’t seem to finish one cleaning task at a time. I’d start one, notice something else that needed to be cleaned, do that instead, and repeat the process until I was exhausted, and nothing looked clean.
