Page 48 of Working for the Mob

“That’s fucked up,” he said. I’m surprised Lucy didn’t step back from the intensity radiating off him. “You get that, right’”

“It's okay. I––”

“No. That piece of shit is a selfish coward. Whatever that low-life said about your baking couldn’t have been more wrong. He isn’t fit to have an opinion on how the mud on the bottom of your shoe tastes. You got that?”

Lucy didn’t meet his eyes. She faced down at the bread she was cutting. Art reached across the counter and pulled her chin up to meet her gaze.

“Do you understand?” he demanded of her.

“Yes,” she said, and nodded.

“This is the best damn bread I have tasted in my life. If you keep this up, you’re going to be employed for a long time. You can’t let anyone take that away from you. Okay?”

Lucy nodded again. “Okay.”

“If anyone tells you that you’re not good enough, and I don’t care if it’s at baking, horseshoes, or the damn Sunday crossword, you let me know and I will make sure they never talk to anyone ever again.”

My legs nearly gave out at the speech. From sweeping to life-affirming speeches, Art upped his desirability into the “take me now” category.

“You come get me, too. I’ll ensure they’ll never drink another cup of coffee in the town of Lannington, I can tell you that,” Jamie said, wagging a bread knife at her.

I wanted to break the creep boyfriend’s neck with my bare hands, but I knew my threats didn’t stand next to Art’s and Jamie’s. I thought wildly to give the most reassuring comment I could.

“If you come get me, I’ll sneak into their house at night, cut out their internal organs, and use them to stuff a Thanksgiving turkey,” I said, and everyone fell silent.

They turned to stare at me. Jamie’s mouth hung open like he had never seen me before.

A smile played at the ends of Art’s lips.

“Umm … too far?”

???

“Do you think Art’s right?” Lucy asked me later that night, as the last loaf of bread baked in our oven. “Could this actually be a full-time job for me?”

I didn’t have the energy to respond. I had spent the morning in the shop and the whole day organizing purchase orders. Luckily, Jamie and Henry had come to help Lucy bake.

I knew Jamie showed up because as manager of the café, he felt it was his job to help. He promised to continue helping bake the bread, even after the delivery of the oven to the café.

But I didn’t believe Henry when he said that Art told him to help out. He just wanted to be with Lucy, which was even more obvious since he brought flowers.

“If you keep this up, you could open your own shop,” Jamie said, across the kitchen.

“I’d love that. There are so many things I want to try to bake,” Lucy said.

“I’d eat anything you make,” Henry said, automatically. He stared at Lucy like she was a goddess. Unfortunately, Lucy didn’t know the first thing about running a small business. But I could learn. Maybe after a few years learning from Art and Jamie, I could run it for her.

Lucy stared dreamily at the ceiling while Jamie and Henry put on their coats to leave.

“I forgot to tell you two. My wife is planning a small birthday party on Friday at the speakeasy. We would love if the three of you could join,” he said, and tugged on his scarf.

“You don’t have to bring anything, we just want to see your beautiful faces. And your handsome face,” he added to Henry with a chuckle. “And don’t dream about declining. I know you three don’t have any plans. You can get the details from me in the morning.”

Without waiting for an answer, Jamie, who only lived a couple streets away, stepped into the cold. As the frigid air swept inside the house, I silently thanked Art for chopping our wood––better than thanking him in person.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” Henry asked Lucy, and I silently backed out of the room. Henry wasn’t here to see me.

I went to my room and closed the door behind me to muffle their voices. Although, I could still hear them as I took out clothes to wear after a bath.

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