Page 8 of No Going Back
Dianna parked in her designated spot behind The Baking Rack, using her key to get in through the door tucked into the back of the building. It was the same thing she did every morning six days a week. Rain or shine. Sickness or health. She was here, proving at least one of the insults Martin loved to cut her down with was a lie.
She definitely wasn’t lazy.
After hanging her purse on the hook beside the door and lacing her keys next to it, Dianna went to work flipping on the lights and the ovens, moving through a routine that felt like breathing at this point. She started up the warmers and went to work unwrapping the first tray of cinnamon rolls she’d baked before leaving last night. It had taken some trial and error, but she’d finally figured out the best process for every item she offered, toeing the line between offering the freshest food possible, while also allowing her time to sleep.
Occasionally.
It took about thirty minutes to get everything up and running on a normal day, but today she only had fifteen. Which meant by the time the doors were unlocked and people were filtering in, the coffee wasn’t completely brewed and she only had two trays of cinnamon rolls warmed with the next round baking in the oven. But it would just have to be okay because there was only one of her to go around.
Dianna took her place at the register, plastered on a smile, and greeted the first person in line. Even on a day like today, where she was tired and running late, that first sale still held a special place for her. It meant she was succeeding. Accomplishing something she’d allowed another person to make her believe wasn’t possible.
Unfortunately, an hour into the day that glow of accomplishment was starting to wear off. All the coffee she’d brewed up was gone and she was behind on the cinnamon rolls, forcing her to take a break from the register to refill the carafes and rotate out the trays of risen buns, pulling one from the oven before sliding the next one in. It was impossible not to feel rushed as the line of people continued to grow, filling the bakery before moving out the door.
That was when the thoughts she’d been learning to muffle started to creep back in.
Maybe shewasn’tcapable of doing this.
Maybe shewaslazy. Maybe she wasn’t as skilled of a baker as she thought. Maybe she wasn’t good at multitasking. Maybe this business was destined to fail just like the one before it.
Maybe Martin was right.
“Hey.”
A surprisingly loud voice pulled her from the cycle of thoughts still trying to rule her life. Dianna glanced up from where she was smearing the tray of freshly baked cinnamon rolls with icing, to find a woman a little older than her standing behind the counter. “Can I help you?”
The woman was pretty with full lips and strawberry blonde hair. She eyed the pan of rolls, using the hair tie around one wrist to twist her natural curls into a bun at the top of her head. “No, but I bet I can help you.”
Dianna blinked, glancing from where the woman stood, looking effortlessly casual and cool in a pair of worn jeans and an old concert T-shirt, to the line of people still accumulating. “What do you want to help me with?”
The woman shrugged. “Whatever. I worked in a coffee shop before and I’m pretty sure I can spread icing on cinnamon rolls.” Her smile turned sympathetic. “And I definitely know what it looks like to be overwhelmed as fuck, so put me to work.”
Any other time she might have rejected the offer, but things were quickly getting out of control and the collection of people waiting outside certainly wasn’t going to shrink. Not unless they walked away. And the fear of losing out on a possible customer was even greater than the fear of allowing someone else in her kitchen.
At least at this moment.
Dianna passed over the spatula. “I already added the full amount of frosting, it just needs to be spread around.”
The woman hesitated. “I probably need to wash my hands real quick.”
Dianna cringed inwardly. “Right.” How in the hell could she forget something so simple? “The sink’s through that door on the wall.” She clenched her fists, determined not to miss something basic again. “Grab an apron while you’re at it.”
She finished up the frosting while the woman was gone, digging a server into one bun and loosening it from the tray so they would be easy to dish out.
By the time she was picking the pan up from the counter, the woman was back, tying on her apron with a smile.
“I’m Janie.”
Dianna automatically smiled back even though her mind was spinning and her stress level was climbing. “Dianna.”
Janie stole away the cinnamon rolls, taking them to the glass case. “I already knew that. I’ve heard nothing but good things about the magical Dianna who bakes the most amazing cinnamon rolls in town.” She leaned down, sliding open the case before setting the still warm pan onto the trivet inside. “It looks like everyone else in town heard the same thing.”
Dianna blew out a breath. “They do seem to be pretty popular.” It was a good thing. It should be anyway. This was what she dreamed of. Doing what she loved most every day. Running a business that paid her bills and made her feel fulfilled and capable.
But the more popular The Baking Rack got, the less capable she felt. It was an outcome she hadn’t foreseen and wasn’t really sure how to deal with.
Janie closed the door to the case and clapped her hands together. “What next?”
Dianna’s brain stumbled. So much of what she did was automatic at this point, and trying to explain it to someone else was overwhelming. It was also terrifying. She’d let another person into her business once and it had a devastating outcome.
