Page 1 of Hazel
1
Hazel
“It’s a disaster.”
“No,” my sister Jade hugs me tight, “it’s just a setback.”
“But we’re meant to be opening in a week.” I look down at the huge pile of soggy debris on the floor in front of me. Twenty-four hours ago this place was beautiful. A nearly-ready-to-open bakery that would have made my mom proud. Now it’s a mess.
“You’ve got this,” Jade says. “Shit happens. It’s how we deal with it that counts.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, “I guess you’re right.”
“Good.” Jade picks up her handbag from the table beside her and flings it over her shoulder. “I really have to be getting to work now. You’ll message me when you’ve spoken to the contractor, right?”
“Right,” I say, “the contractor.”
I shudder at the thought of how much it's going to cost. Me and my sisters have sunk our life savings into this place. All the money we got from our mom’s inheritance too. But now it looks like our dream is never going to come true. Everything down the toilet, before we’ve even had a chance.
Jade kisses me softly on the cheek and heads out the door. I don’t know how she can be so optimistic. This place looks like I war zone. Great big pools of dirty brown water splash beneath my feet as I walk to the storeroom. All our menus are ruined. Our branded paper bags, too. It’s like I’m in a nightmare I can’t wake up from.
For months we’ve been planning and decorating. Getting ready to open. Then, seven days before it’s all complete, a stupid water pipe bursts in the ceiling and we're right back at square one.
I grab a big, black trash bag and some rubber gloves from the storeroom. Maybe things will look better once I've tidied up.
A little bit of music makes the morning go quicker. It takes my mind off the ever-increasing feeling of impending doom. Lets me focus on the task at hand. Bags and bags of ruined merchandise stack up against the back wall. I try and stop myself from calculating how much money I’m throwing away.
It’s not like we’re not insured, but it’s small consolation. Even if the insurance company payout, it won’t be for months and months. By that time, our business might have already failed.
“Mom,” I whisper, hoping she can hear me, “I’m not going to let you down.”
I go back to work with a renewed vigor. Whatever happens, I’m going to do my best. At the end of the day, that’s all I can do. And it’s what my mom would have wanted. It’s how she raised us. And there’s no way in hell she’d let a stupid water pipe get in her way.
Sweat pours down my face as I scrub the floor clean. The acrid tang of cleaning products burn my nose and my eyes. My arms are sore and my back is aching, but I keep on working. A Beyonce song comes on the radio, and I even start to enjoy myself.
“All the single ladies, all the single ladies.” The words fill me with power. The positive message reaching my heart and making me feel invincible. Owning a bakery has been me and my sister's dream since we were children. And no matter what happens, this place is going to be open for business next Saturday.
I get on my hands and knees and scrub at the dirt on the floor. There’s a speck of something black and grimy that won’t budge. Frantically, I rub my scourer over it. My hand moving so fast it’s a blur of pink rubber. My breasts jiggle from side to side as I work. My whole world zeroing down to a fight between me and this one tiny, speck of unwanted filth.
When it’s finally been banished from my not-so-perfect floor, I sit on my heels and let out a long breath. A throat clears behind me and I spin around.
“Excuse me.” A huge man is standing right behind me. The sun is shining through the glass windows and all I can see is his black outline. I stumble as I stand up, backing away from him. His deep voice is a low Irish rumble. Its vibrations penetrate all the way to my core.
Shadowing my eyes with my hand, I look up into his glistening green eyes. My heart skips a beat. I put a hand over my chest. Words try and form in my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he smiles. “My name’s Finn. We spoke on the phone?”
“You’re the contractor?” I ask, my brain finally clicking back into gear. The initial shock of being in the same room as this man begins to pass, but my heart keeps thumping away in my chest.
His huge, tanned arms are covered in dark ink. A bushy tuft of silver, grey hair peaks out the collar of his tight-fitting t-shirt. Dark blue jeans hug his thick, tree-like legs. His hands are massive and strong-looking. A deep scar runs from the side of his big, wide grin all the way to his hairline.
I fold my arms across my chest, suddenly aware of how I must look. My hair’s a mess. I’m dirty and sweaty and I haven’t even had a chance to shower this morning.
His eyes run up and down my body before settling back on my face. My tummy clenches in desire as I watch his tongue glide along his bottom lip.
Then, just as I think I'm about to spontaneously combust under his fiery gaze, he turns and looks at the hole in the ceiling.
He whistles gently. “Quite the mess you have here,” he says, scratching his chin.
