Page 8 of We Can Do
“No, it was marked as canceled so it wasn’t made or delivered. It was your username that canceled the order so I assumed you knew.”
“Show me.” The words come out steady, but inside, panic and anger are wrestling for dominance. We can’t lose the coffee shop’s business. They’re one of our biggest consistent orders—the kind that keeps the lights on and lets me make payroll without sweating.
Lawrence pulls up the tablet, and there it is in damning red letters: CANCELED. The timestamp shows yesterday evening. The username shows mine.
“I didn’t cancel that order.” My voice is firm, certain.
“Do you think the system glitched or something?” Lawrence’s forehead creases with concern.
“No.” The word comes out hard, final. “I think someone did it intentionally to sabotage me.”
Deep breath. I can fix this. I’ll call the owner, apologize profusely, offer a discount that’ll hurt but not kill us. Work through the night to get their order ready. It’s worth it. Rye Again has to succeed.
A groan escapes before I can stop it. Could this day get any worse?
The soft clearing of a throat pulls my attention back. Alexis. I’d actually forgotten she was here, witnessing this disaster. More material for a bad review. Perfect.
She shifts the bread bag into the crook of her arm, movements sudden and jerky as she fumbles for her phone. “Um, Noah? I’m so sorry to interrupt but I have something to show you.”
The screen she turns toward me is a spiderweb of cracks, making me squint to read the text. But once the words come into focus, they might as well be printed in neon.
Noah Reynolds’ new bread book.
My stomach drops straight through the floor. “Where did you get that?”
There’s only one explanation. Only one possibility. I just don’t want to believe it.
Her sigh carries the weight of revelation. “I’m your new editor, Noah. I didn’t know until you mentioned your book, and then I looked at the brief the publisher sent me.”
“You’re my... new...” The words stick in my throat like poorly mixed dough, but my mouth needs something to do. Something to stop the spinning, the reeling, the complete implosion of everything.
My hand moves without thought, grabbing the bread slice from Alexis’s hand. The whole thing goes into my mouth at once—jalapeño heat, garlic depth, the perfect crumb structure I’d normally savor all hitting at once in a desperate attempt to buy time, to process, to do anything but stand here gaping at the woman who ruined me once and apparently gets a second shot.
I shouldn’t have asked if this day could get any worse.
Because it just did.
Chapter Five
Alexis
“I mean, it cost so much.” Flick holds up the mangled skein, smokey blue and plum fibers tangled beyond salvation. “And it was a special order skein from India.”
“So you’re getting rid of the cat, right?” Maya asks, not even glancing up from her knitting needles.
Flick’s jaw drops. “What? No.”
Hannah chuckles, the sound warm as the herbal tea she’s always brewing for us. “She’s kidding, Flick. We know you aren’t getting rid of Cat, no matter how many expensive skeins she destroys.”
A chuckle ripples through our Chronic Pain Crafters meeting like a wave—Maya first, then Hannah, Devin, Flick, and finally me. I’m the last to laugh, and only because I force the sound through my throat.
While my fingers are busy crocheting a cover for my hot water bottle and my friends are busy discussing life updates, I’m sitting here worrying about the upcoming meeting with Noah. After finding out that I’m his new editor, he canceled our morning meeting and told me he needed to regroup. His voiceon the phone had been clipped, professional, each word careful and measured.
I figured that would be the end of that. He’d tell the publishing house that I’m insufferable and I would never be offered a job through them again. Word would spread through the publishing world—it’s smaller than people think—and all future chances of editing cookbooks would go down the drain. I’d have to kiss my hopes of quitting freelancing and my part-time job at the paper goodbye.
For two days, I assumed this was exactly what happened. Until I opened my email and found a message from Noah asking if we could dive into work on Saturday.
My relief is... only part of the picture.
