Page 72 of The Second Chance Year

Before I can tell him that what I’m doing is refusing to smile and look pretty while someone tries to sexually assault me, he turns to the crowded restaurant. “Folks,” he says in a booming voice, clapping his hands together. “I apologize for my employee’s unprofessional behavior. I’d like to offer dessert to everyone, on the house.”

“Unprofessional?”I push past him until I’m standing in the center of the dining room. “You know what’s unprofessional? Letting your customers casually grope the women who work for you because they throw their money around. You know what else is unprofessional? The owner of a restaurant trying to coerce his employee to have sex with him in exchange for apromotion.” I level my gaze at him so it’s clear exactly who I’m talking about.

Several people in the dining room gasp.

Xavier comes over and grabs my arm. I jerk away from him as one of the servers—Ethan—runs to my side. “Get your hands off her,” he barks.

I flash him a smile because I appreciate his help, even if I no longer need it.

“This woman is lying,” Xavier announces to the customers. “She’s bitter that she didn’t get a promotion, and she’s making this up.”

“Am I making it up, too?” a voice calls from the back of the restaurant. It’s Sonya, one of the servers. “Because you cornered me in the break room one night and implied I’d lose my job if I didn’t do what you wanted.”

“The same thing happened to me.” The bartender steps out from behind the bar.

Now Xavier is the one sputtering.

The woman from the anniversary couple turns to her companion. “This is disgusting. We’re leaving.” She marches away from the table, and I notice with great satisfaction that the heel of her shoe lands directly on Rob’s foot.

Across the room, another group stands up and tosses their napkins on the table. As they head for the door, several other tables of customers follow.

“Wait!” Xavier calls to the rapidly emptying room, but one by one each table gets to their feet and walks out. He turns to me. “You’re going to regret this.”

I shrug because Xavier can’t hurt me anymore. “Why?” Iask innocently. “Because I’ll never work in this town again?” I shrug. “I have a feeling I’m not the only one.”

And with that, I take a step over Rob—another clown on the floor, thanks to yours truly—and for the last time, I turn and walk out the door.

Chapter 39

Back at Higher Grounds, José Luis is making cappuccino and Kahlúa cocktails behind the bar, and Mrs. Kaminski is sitting in her usual spot at the counter. In front of her is a large glass with a straw, and José Luis keeps topping it off with whatever is left in the bottom of the mixer after he pours the customers’ drinks. When I arrive, he produces another glass and straw, and now I’m downing my own leftover cocktail.

From my perch on the seat beside Mrs. Kaminski, I take it all in. The café is bright and festive, packed with people mingling around the dessert trays, chatting in small groups at the café tables, and dancing to the band onstage. At some point in the evening, José Luis dug up a couple of gold feather boas and plastic New Year’s headbands, and both he and Mrs. Kaminski are wearing them proudly.

Customers come by to rave about my pastries to José Luis, and he points to me. “Theartisteis right here!” he declares in a voice loud enough to make me wonder if he’s also been hitting the Kahlúa.

My phone buzzes on the counter, and I grab it like it contains the secret to the universe. Which, at this point, it does. My universe anyway. Midnight is approaching, and I haven’t heard a word back from Jacob about my rambling message. I check my texts, and my shoulders slump. It’s a message fromOwen, wishing me a happy New Year and asking me what I’m doing.

At Higher Grounds.

Cool.

What are you doing?I’m shamelessly hoping he’ll mention Jacob.

The usual, Owen replies, telling me exactly nothing. Or maybe it’s telling me everything. If Jacob and Owen are together, Jacob would have said something about my message. The fact that my brother is completely silent on the subject doesn’t seem like a very positive development. I drop my phone back on the counter.

Zoe, who’s been absent since I arrived, pushes open the front door of the café with an armful of milk jugs balanced in her hands. I run over and grab two of them to lighten her load.

“Thanks, Sadie.” Zoe hefts the rest of the plastic containers onto the coffee bar, handing one to José Luis to mix up another batch of cappuccino cocktails. “I had to run to the deli down the street. With the mad rush for your pastries over the holidays, we’ve been selling out of drinks, too.” She gives me a grin, her white teeth contrasting against her dark skin. “Not that I’m complaining; you’ve been amazing for business. In fact, if there was any chance you could come in and bake a couple more days a week…”

I turn to look at her, shaping the idea in my head like a ball of focaccia dough.

Zoe holds up a hand, probably taking my silence for lack of interest. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pressure you. I know you’re stretched thin already. And,” Zoe gives me a rueful smile, “baking at Higher Grounds isn’t exactly your dream.”

And suddenly, it’s so clear, I can’t believe I didn’t see it.

“Actually, Zoe, what if itismy dream?”

Zoe rounds the counter so she’s standing on the other side, facing me. “What do you mean?”

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