Page 19 of Any Girl But You
“Let’s do the pastries, then put the frosting in the second tub,” I call out over my shoulder. “Do you see the stacks of pie crusts?”
“Yep! Got them.”
Shoving my work, my livelihood into boxes and coolers, pops beads of sweat across my hairline. “The wedding this Saturday in Duluth is massive. What am I going to do? A quadruple-tiered cake and I have to bake it in layers…” If I had more time, I’d bawl. But right now, I’m on a rescue mission. The tears can wait.
The wedding couple’s day will be totally ruined. Yes, yes, the wedding is not only about the cake, but I’ll bet the cake isone of the top-ten most important parts of the day. I fan the bottom of my shirt, trying to remove the stickiness, but the air-conditioning is out and it’s pointless. “And Phoebe has her baby shower cupcakes for Sunday, and we have so many birthday cakes… I can’t let these people down.”
It’s so flippin’ hot in here. I rip off my shirt to my tank top and toss it on the counter behind me. Did Quinn just give me a look? The kind that flashes once up and down with a pop of red warming her neck? Maybe. But I don’t have the luxury to think any deeper because I’m literally going to ruin the days of so many people. “What will they do? They can’t get replacements now. Do you think I can go to their houses and bake there? Gosh, what the heck am I even saying? I can’t do that. And I have to make so many calls and?—”
“We got this, okay?” Quinn reaches for my hand, and I swear she must have some magical CBD balm laced in her palms, because my pounding heart evens out almost instantly. “Let’s just do things one at a time. I have permits for food prep and a kitchen station, but I don’t have the stove that you probably need. How about you do all the prep at my place, and then bring it back here to bake, if the ovens work?”
I exhale. By some grace of the great cupcake spirit, the electricity to one oven and a few kitchen lights remained unharmed during the chipmunks’ temporary hostile takeover, and Ken never told me I couldn’t use those specific ovens.
Quinn unravels her hair from her ponytail and twists it back up into a floppy bun. “Do you have the orders and information on your laptop?”
I nod.
“Perfect.” Quinn dumps ice in the bottom of a cooler. “Just bring your laptop to my place. We’ll contact all the people on the list and let them know that you’re closed, but they’re still a priority. Maybe you can offer a delivery service?”
How is Quinn being so calm and efficient? I mean, I understand this isn’t her business and she does not have the level of emotional attachment to my bakery that I do, but she is so organized and level-headed that it feels like she’s my manager. It’s exactly what I need right now for my thudding pulse to not jump right out of my skin.
My breath slowly stabilizes. I can make deliveries. Most everything is local, minus the wedding, which I would’ve had to deliver anyway. “Okay, yes, that might work.”
Quinn stacks frozen pastry sheets in the cooler as I drag items out from the freezer. “Do you have deliveries coming in this week? Supplies or products, maybe?”
I push my palm into my forehead. “Ugh. The deliveries. Yes, of course I do. Weekly.” Maybe for once I’ll get lucky and the driver will forget my entire order, not just hazelnuts.
“Okay, we’ll contact them, too.” Quinn snaps the lid shut and fans her face. “So, first thing, we’ll move the perishable items. Then we’ll call the people who have orders this week because word will get out quickly. Then, the deliveries and your staff. Do you need to call insurance?”
My insides revert to burning. Icannotbelieve this is happening. I grab one of the ice cubes and hold it against my neck, the sharp coolness tingling my skin.
“Don’t worry.” Quinn cuffs her T-shirt sleeves to her shoulder then returns to fanning her face. “We got this.”
Do we? Do I? The amount of information and things I have to do is bubbling up and over. I feel off-balance, but when I peek over the coolers at Quinn, her green sparkling eyes hold me in place, centering me. “How are you so calm?”
“Well, I mean, this isn’t my shop, so I can be more objective. But also, this is what I did in New York.” She waves to the stack of coolers. “Organized shit and kept things on a schedule.”
“You did?” I stack the cooler next to the others on the floor and take one last look at my empty fridge. “I’m so curious about your time in New York.”
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Quinn attaches the lid to the cooler and takes a final scan of the kitchen. “But first, let’s secure these items.”
The heavy alleyway fire door swings open, bringing with it fresh, heated air from outside. “Wow, you two made awesome time,” Frankie says, stepping into the kitchen. “Is there anything left to pack?”
“Nope, I think we got it all,” I say. “We should stuff my car as much as possible since I have air-conditioning, and then put the rest of it in the back of your truck?”
“Sounds good,” Frankie says as she lifts two coolers while Quinn and I grab one.
We move lightning fast to load the cars, and ten minutes later, I’m flying down the highway toward Quinn’s farm near Maple Creek. I make a quick call to my four staff members to give them an update after telling them not to come in this morning, then crack open the window and take in several full breaths of the fresh, warm autumn air until my nostrils sting with the wind.What in the actual frick?I still cannot get over that this happened. But now that the immediate crisis is over, the knot that had been cinching my gut all day releases.
“Hey, Siri, call Mom,” I say to my phone, and it rings through my car speakers.
“Honey! I’ve been worried sick. Do you have an update for me?” my mom says through the speaker. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there with you.”
Knowing my mother, this fiasco probably shadowed the joy of her two-day shopping trip to the Mall of America with some of her friends. When I called her this morning in a panic, she told me she’d leave the hotel that moment and be back inSpring Harbors in a few hours to help me. Of course, I told her absolutely not, but also requested that she not call me until I had things under control. I’m kind of surprised she honored my wishes.
“Thank you for not calling and interrupting,” I say and cross lanes to pass a semi. I love my mother so much, but next to the Minnesota Vikings, making hotdish, and going to church bazaars, her favorite pastime is worrying about her kids and Noah. “Quick update. Going to be out of commission for a few weeks?—”
“Oh no! A few weeks?” she says with the faint sound of shoppers chatting in the background. “What are you going to do with the shop?”
