Page 44 of How to Break My Heart
Argh, the spiraling only adds to my mood. I purposely inhale again, desperate for the scent to ignite my happy senses. But this morning, I feel like a truck has run over me.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Billie greets me with a lopsided grin. “You look—”
“Tired?” I sigh while scrubbing my hands under the faucet. With my elbow, I knock the paper towel dispenser to dry my hands, and put on disposable gloves so I can help Billie with the toppings. I get to work sprinkling chocolate flakes on the fresh batch Billie retrieved from the fryer, which has already cooled down and been iced. “I had a date last night.”
Billie jerks her head back with an incredulous stare. “A date? Well, this explains why you’re tired.”
It takes me a moment to realize what she means. The coffee is clearly not working its magic just yet. I’m not usually one to drink more than two cups a day, but today might be different.
“Oh no,” I say, shaking my head. “It didn’t end up that way. I mean, we didn’t,you know.”
“So, this date was with who exactly?”
“Dr. Wilde…” I tell her, then quickly correct myself. “I mean, Marco.”
Billie whistles. “That escalated quickly.”
I pause my movements with chocolate still in my hands. “Do you think so? There’s no rule to say we can’t date. Well, there is, but I won’t be visiting him as my doctor anymore, so technically, he doesn’t doctor me or whatever. You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. He won’t lose his license if you’re not his patient.”
Billie slides another tray over to me. This batch is the pineapple donuts—my absolute favorite. The yellow glaze contains a small amount of pineapple juice, which gives it a sweet and tropical flavor. We added it to the menu only recently, after a customer from Australia mentioned them from her childhood. As soon as Billie heard the story, she started creating the amazing treat. There are never any left by the end of the day, making our pineapple donuts one of our bestsellers.
I suggested we use the extra dough to make mini balls as a take-out snack item. These are great for kids and the tourist crowd who use the town as a quick stopover on road trips. I even designed a to-go cup as a souvenir item. My idea was to give them a memento to remember us by, and hopefully, they’ll return or tell their friends.
“Anyway, the date kinda went well…” I trail off, unsure just how much information to reveal. “I haven’t heard from him since.”
“What do you mean ‘kinda went well’? And I don’t think him not texting you in, what”—she looks at her watch—“eight or ten hours is a problem.” Billie gasps, pointing her wooden spoon at me. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking for red flags.”
I huff. “I don’t look for red flags, okay? They get waved in my face, which is impossible to ignore.”
“Okay, so explain why you think it didn’t end well?”
“I never said it didn’t end well. It’s just…” I hesitate again, then blurt out, “Maddy’s older brother showed up and ruined the evening.”
Billie tilts her head in confusion. “How did he ruin it?”
“Long story,” I mutter, then exhale loudly. “He’s coming here this morning because we need to get some wedding stuff sorted. We have to have some sort of code. If I need an out, I will ask if you ordered the extra cinnamon, okay?”
“Um… sure. And then what?” Billie pokes her head near the oven door to check the last remaining batch. “Is there a reason why you would need an out?”
“It’s Maddy’s brother. Ialwaysneed an out. The guy is a pain in my ass. If the code is used, tell him we need to end our meeting because I need to help with an urgent delivery issue.”
“Why don’t you just tell Maddy you don’t get along?” Billie questions like it’s no big deal. “I know she’s your best friend, surely she will understand.”
“Maddy has enough on her plate,” I answer softly, then sigh. “We’re adults. I’m sure we can get through this and then never have to see each other again.”
The oven dings again, pulling my attention to the clock.Seven o’clock on the dot.Right on cue, our regulars are gathered outside, peering in, eager to be let through the door.
I open the doors and greet Mrs. Brimsley first. She has her Yorkshire terrier, Gloria, sitting inside her purse. Gloria is by far the most well-behaved dog I have ever met. Not once have I heard her bark or fuss over the attention she gets for being so cute. With a pink bow and diamanté collar, she is definitely the queen of the Brimsley household.
Mrs. Brimsley is a well-loved socialite in town. I always go out of my way to treat her nicely, so she tells her social clubs, which will bring us more business.
“Hello, my dear.” She steps into the store with a smile. “I hope you’ve got those delicious balls for me this morning.”
