Page 27 of All Mine

Bethany opened it and studied. “It says caramel cappuccino.”

“I don’t care what it says. You entered it wrong on your little machine,” I said. “I ordered a regular latte. Why can’t you get a drink order correct?”

She stared at the ground. “There’s no need for that, sir. I’ll make you another,” she whispered.

“What’s going on here?” Lauren came through the door from the kitchen. I whirled around to face her.

“What’s going on here is that I’m a customer who’s waited an insanely long time, and she still couldn’t get my order right.”

“I got slammed,” Bethany said. Lauren held up her hand to stop the girl and turned to me.

“You don’t get to waltz into my shop and be a dick to my employee. You're just some rich, big-shot who thinks he can wield his power over those he deems less than."

"That is not—"

"What are you even doing in here?"She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Am I not allowed to get a coffee and breakfast in this godforsaken town."

"First you insult my employee,and now you’re dumping on my town?"She threw her hands in the air then placed them on her hips, gripping them like I wanted to. What was wrong with me? Why did my mind immediately head there with this woman?

"How hard is it to get an order right?"

"Oh, please, you don’t know the first thing about a service job. You wouldn’t last a day, no an hour doing this."

"I could do this job with one hand tied behind my back, princess."

"Be here at 3 am."

"What?"

"Put up or shut up."She crossed her arms over her chest.

“What are you in middle school?”

A smug smile slid across her face, and she stared up at me through her lashes. She’s goading me, and I don’t care, falling for it hook, line, and sinker.

"She's not here at 3 am," I said.

"No, that's when I start. Or is that too early for your delicate constitution, Cam?"

"Why don't I start now?"

"Oh no, you need the full experience."

“Come on, Cam, keep up,” Lauren barked. Where did the whole ‘Cam’ thing come from? It needed to stop. This job was crazy. I was running on maybe four hours of sleep, and only masochists willingly woke up at two forty-five in the morning.

And unbeknownst to me, I must be a masochist because there I stood at three-thirty in the fucking morning on a Saturday, wearing a hairnet, and getting bossed around by a five-foot-two cupcake princess. Four ovens were going, and sweat plastered my shirt to my back. There was no way this was up to code. She was a well-oiled machine, and I was a rusted gear slowing down the process.

Lauren had stayed on the other side of the kitchen from me with a tight set jaw since we’d started. Did I make her tense?

"You’re aware the builders didn't design this kitchen for commercial use,” I said. Across the room, her jaw clenched. “I’d make you a custom, professional kitchen with plenty of room from the start.”

She sighed. “I love my bakery. There are special touches and an ambiance that I cannot get in a normal bakery storefront.”

“How so?”

“Come with me,” she said. I followed her through the door and past the front counter. “Not only is there a fireplace in this room.”

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