Page 5 of Bound By Temptation

She wouldn’t care, though, and it wasn’t worth my breath. If she wanted to have a shitty day—hell, shitty life from what I’d heard around town—that was on her. It wouldn’t dim my day because I wouldn’t let it. Sun was out, and there was a cake on the horizon that I needed to work on in a bit.

She was incredibly grouchy, but it was an “all the time thing” instead of a “give me my caffeine fix” thing. It was permanently scratched onto her psyche and on her pinched off face. Life was way too short to be pissed off all the time, but it was hers to live. If she wanted to be miserable, her call.

Everyone had a choice on how to live their lives, and this one didn’t make a very good one, but again, that was her choice.

I got busy making Mrs. Corbo’s drink and heard the bell go off once more. Turning my head, I greeted the next customer, then turned my focus back to the coffee.

I finished the drink and turned back to Mrs. Corbo, gave her the total, and handed her the coffee once she put the money in my hand. Needless to say, I didn’t trust this woman any further than I could throw her.

Trying to keep whatever smile I could muster for her, I gave her the change from her twenty dollar bill.

She crumbled up the bills and put them in her huge purse that could fit a small dog easily. Each time she came in, she had a different one.

“Whore,” she coughed under her breath, and my eyes narrowed. It had been a long time since I’d been called that, and my ass was not going back there.

“Excuse me?” I asked her as she turned away from me and started toward the door.

It pissed me off when she didn’t stop, and my happy bubble appeared to pop as I said rather loudly, “Heard the gas station has some great coffee. Perfect 180(degrees). You should go there next time.”

It was then she turned to me. “Pardon me? Are you kicking me out of your bakery?” She huffed.

“Appears so. And keep your comments to yourself. Being an asshole doesn’t make you pretty.”

She turned on a huff and stormed out the door.

“Nothin’ like pissin’ off the regulars,” my brother Marley commented as he came from the back of the bakery holding two boxes.

“Here ya go.” Marley handed over the two white boxes with “Fallon’s Bakery” in a teal script font over the top of them to a waiting customer. I’d worked endlessly on the logo for this place. It had to be official, legible, and fun. Fallon was written neatly in a cursive, loopy font, and the word bakery was in bold block letters underneath. I absolutely loved it.

“Thanks, and Indie.” Julie, another woman who attended my high school asked.

“Yes?”

“She’s a bitch. To everyone. Never take shit from people like her.”

A smile came to my lips. “Amen sister.”

Julie turned and left the store, and only then did I breathe not realizing I hadn’t in a few beats.

Marley started to go back to his hidey hole, but I grabbed his arm. “Can you clean up the tables out there really quick? Meadow won’t be in for another hour, and I need your help.” I gave him my most dazzling smile.

Seeing the look on his face, I knew that he was going to say something about cleaning. Instead of letting him go on his little word vomit, I put my finger on his lips. “Please,” I said, giving him my best stern look which he thought was hilarious and showed as much when he started laughing.

“Fine.”

My smile widened in triumph.

GramO said you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

Family was family. Being the boss, though, wasn’t always easy. Especially with those who were late.

3

AX

Cuttingthe engine to the Tahoe, I looked up to see Fallon’s Bakery in curvy and bold letters scrolled on top of the building awning. The actual building had been in Sumner forever, or at least as far as I could remember. Dad said it used to be an old mill but sat empty for years until Indie took it over.

Indigo Jamison Fallon.

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