Cupcake Queens Page 3

  Until I spotted some of the same treats I was eating with my friends the night before.

  All my interest in gorging myself flew right out of my head chased by memories of a messed-up time that should have been fun.

  Focus, Theresa.

  I was there to do a job, and when I was done, I could go back to relaxing for the weekend.

  No one was behind the counter, but in a hallway toward the back, a girl was bent over messing with something on the floor.

  Her butt was perfectly heart shaped in a pair of stretch pants and an oversized T-shirt draped down that blocked her face.

  Don’t stare. Don’t ogle.

  Oh, it was hard not to.

  The girl whipped up with a wad of fabric in her hand and whirled around to face me.

  Her cheeks up to her hairline were red, her mouth partially open, and her eyes rolled back into her head before she started to topple.

  Lurching forward, I tried to grab for her. My knee brace caught, stopping me from twisting it wrong, but it sent me falling on my ass.

  The girl landed with her head in my lap, blinking at the ceiling.

  “Are you okay?” I asked through gritted teeth, the place where the knee brace strapped against my thigh felt like a terrible rug burn and my tailbone was pissed off.

  “No. That sucked,” she said, her voice sweet and plaintive, with a melodic quality to it that made me assume she was a far better singer than me.

  “You didn't hit your head, but are you sick? Is that why you passed out?” I asked. At the same time, Marcus skidded to a stop on his knees in front of us.

  “Ceecee, we’ve talked about this. You have to eat in the morning.” He took her hands and helped haul her to her feet, leaving me to grab onto the wall to lever myself up with one leg.

  My brace never let me bend that knee far enough for it to help me in moments like this.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m Ceecee. Let me get you something on the house for helping,” she said, her voice breathless and rushed.

  “No, that’s okay.” I turned around and looked at her. The color in her face returned to a less tomatoey shade.

  She was so pretty that I froze.

  This girl had the kind of smile that should have been on a toothpaste commercial and the kind of lips that should have been modeling lipstick, full and a perfect cupid’s bow.

  “Um,” Mason said, looking between us, “Ceecee, this is Theresa. She’s here to fix stuff.”

  Well, that was not very specific. And it made her stand up straighter and eye me with distrust.

  “Oh, you're Olivia’s," she said.

  “Nope.” I was a lot of things, but not Olivia’s. She looked even more suspicious. “I’m just her friend who happens to be a contractor. Campbell is hers.”

  I left out that once upon a time her statement was true, but it had not been that way for a while. And the last person who could have called me their anything other than family or friend didn’t want to be tied down to someone who washed out. Her words, not mine.

  “Are you going to be okay doing this work with your knee in that brace?” she asked, dropping the bundle of fabric in her hand onto a bench and grabbing another from a bin that looked just like it.

  “Yeah, well, until it heals as good as it can, I don't really have a choice.” My voice was more caustic than I intended, but too damn many people were starting to treat me like I was incapable of anything now that I was no longer able to do what I had always wanted.

  Sure, I didn’t know what I was going to do now, long term, but I was still able to do something. I was already doing something, right at that second, and that something was thinking about walking out.

  “Okay,” she said, tying a pink apron with a ridiculous white lace ruffle around her waist. Her name was embroidered on one corner and it said, ‘The Bake Place’ in the center. It looked like the frillier version of the aprons from Olivia’s restaurant. “Well, come on back here, and I’ll show you the problem.”

  I trailed after her into a kitchen that looked like it doubled as a camping store stock room for all the coolers stacked in the corners.

  “Right here is the fridge.” She opened the door of one of the oldest commercial refrigerators I had ever seen still in use.

  We had a few clients that were businesses in the area—some of whom had been around for years—but this fridge might have been older than those businesses were.

  “Do you have any guesses on what the problem is?” I bent to get a look into the dials on the inside of the fridge just to check they were set properly. They looked fine, so that wasn’t the problem.

  “No, not what caused it anyway. It keeps making sounds like it’s running, but it isn't cooling at all.” She wrung the end of the apron between her hands like she was trying to strangle it.

  “Let me pull it out from the wall and see what I can find out. Is this the only thing? Because with an appliance of this age it might be better just to replace it. Often if something starts breaking when it’s this old, other things will soon follow.” I started to shove at the back of the hurking thing, slow-walking it out one side at a time from the wall.

  Ceecee didn't answer me, and I glanced at her only to see her mouth set in a line and her eyebrows drawn together.

  Although I had no idea what I did that pissed her off, she clearly was. So I just focused on what I was doing.

  Which was a damn favor. One that seemed a lot less small at the moment.

  Ceecee

  I couldn’t watch this anymore. I was likely to tell Theresa to get out of here any minute, and it wasn't even her fault.

  Not entirely anyway.

  She didn't know about my financial situation.

  How could she possibly know that to suggest something as simple as replacing the fridge would force me to resort to being angry to keep from crying?

  This whole day was going to be hard. I still wasn't sure how I was going to explain that I also needed her to fix the pipe in the bathroom. And every second she was there, I feared the owner showing up, her notifying him, someone from the Board of Health coming in, something else breaking, and most of all at that second: The bill.

  Some Saturday.

  While she worked, I grabbed a blueberry muffin and went to the office.

  Back here, behind the shut door, I stole a few moments to eat something and get a drink from the water bottle on my desk.

  The whole time, I tried not to think.

  Not about all the things scaring me so much I had nightmares in the few hours of sleep I did manage to get. And not about the fact that Theresa looked a lot like the cheerleader I had a crush on in high school who treated me like crap the first time I got up the nerve to talk to her because I was a fat girl.

  In high school, her name was Vanessa and she had red hair with a smattering of freckles across her nose. But that nose was a tiny turned-up thing like Theresa’s and her eyes were also blue like Theresa’s.

  Theresa had blonde hair and her eyes were lighter blue, almost grey. But she had that same perfect body with the athletic build of someone who spent a lot of time working out. Although, she also had the tool belt and work clothes that gave her a Rosie the Riveter vibe that only managed to make her more intimidating.

  She may have been Olivia’s friend, but my whole body wanted to turn her away and never talk to her again.

  Even though I thought girls like her were beautiful, I knew I would never have a chance with one. To try would only end in terrible disappointment and heartbreak.

  “Ceecee, what all is she here to do?” Marcus asked, wiggling his eyebrows up and down at me as I came back into the front of the store.

  “Stop it. We need some things worked on, that’s all. Don’t get weird.” I shook my head as the chime above the door announced someone coming in.

  We worked hard enough in the first hour that I managed to put what was happening in the kitchen out of my mind.

  “Do you think there will be a lull enough for me to p
op next door and get us coffees?” he asked, moving past me with a box loaded with treats for one of our customers headed to their office. Because I wasn’t the only small business owner who didn’t take weekends.

  “Probably, but first I need to check on her and let her know about the other thing.” I didn't want to tell the customers about all the broken and held-together parts of the bakery.

  Maybe they wouldn't trust the food, or maybe they would turn me in to the health department or the building owner if they knew we didn’t have a working toilet.

  At least the sink was still functioning. If that broke it would be a disaster.

  When the lull finally came, Marcus tapped me on the shoulder and gestured to the kitchen.

  I blew out a breath, puffing away the short tendrils of hair that had fallen from my messy top knot.

  “Go, before we get slammed again so I can get us coffee,” he said, rubbing his hands together and looking like he was going to lick the counter in front of him he was so thirsty.

  “You are ridiculous. Fine,” I said, smiling and shaking my head. At least his antics made me slightly less nervous to talk to her.

  In the kitchen, Theresa was shoving the fridge back into place, adjusting the brace on her knee every time she went from one side to the other in a crab-walking kind of maneuver.

  “How is it going back here?" I asked, cringing at how stilted I sounded. It was like I was reading from the world’s worst script.

  “Well, do you want,” she grunted, shoving the last bit on one side to get it nestled in place, “the good news or the bad news?”

  If I was reading from a terrible script, at least she was too.

  “Bad news,” I said, although I didn't want it at all. In my head I said goodbye to the money Mrs. Williams had given me and the headstone I planned on buying for my mother with it.

  “This thing is not going to last for more than a year or two. I fixed it. You can use it again. But prepare to replace it soon.”

  Somewhere in me I knew this was coming, but I was so happy it was a year or two away and not right that second. I flung my arms around her neck and hugged her.

  Theresa went rigid in my grip, and I stepped back, laughing and trying to pretend this didn’t just reach high levels of awkward.

  “I'm sorry, I know that's not great and I’m working with borrowed time and now I have to budget for that, but you bought me a year before I need to worry about it. So, thank you.”

  Her face was rigid. I couldn't tell if she was scared or angry, or what was going on in her head. But even her bad news had not been as bad as what I was expecting.

  “Can I show you the other thing I need fixed?” My words came out so fast they flowed together, and I wasn't sure she understood me until she nodded.

  “Okay, so I think it's a leak in the water pipe supplying the toilet. I have the main turned on right now, but other than for washing our hands, I haven’t had it on since I discovered the problem yesterday."

  We walked out of the kitchen and through the front door. I spotted one of the neighbors who lived in the apartments upstairs reaching for the handle.

  If they spotted Theresa here, there would be trouble. What if they told the owner? Would I be able to say it was just the fridge and I fixed it so he couldn't shut me down?

  There were too many questions, too many risks, and not even close to enough chance that it wouldn't end in absolute disaster.

  I shuffled to the side and let Theresa get ahead of me in the doorway to the bathroom before I shoved her the rest of the way in the door.

  She stumbled and grunted, catching herself before she fell over.

  Taking a swift breath of relief, I said, “I have to take care of something really quick. I’ll be right back.”

  Catching a glimpse of her face—which looked like a mask of sheer betrayal—I whirled around to the front and met the neighbor at the glass case as she bent to peer into it.

  "Hi, Ceecee,” she said, lifting a hand above her head, her gaze fixed on one of the cinnamon rolls.

  “Good morning. Can I get you one?” I asked, trying to catch my breath.

  Every time I had a run-in with one of my neighbors or my landlord, my chest got tight and it grew hard to breathe. I would have preferred to be as friendly with them as I used to be, but now it felt like if I stepped wrong, I would fall over.

  “Yes, that would be great. I need to get them while I can,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” I bent over and started to box up her cinnamon roll, expecting something about a vacation or a new job where she would be going in early.

  “Has no one told you?” She furrowed her brow and the corners of her mouth turned down. Her chin quivered.

  If I didn’t know better, I would have assumed she was going to cry.

  “No, I thought you knew. Most of us are moving out.” She gestured with a halfhearted wave to the rest of the building above me where four apartments were.

  “But why? And most of us?” I couldn’t make sense out of her words.

  “The rent is going up again. Most of us can’t afford it anymore. But while I’m still here, I want to get more of these perfect cinnamon rolls.” She smiled at me and took the box out of my hands, leaving behind the money for it.

  I didn’t know what to say. There weren’t words for this.

  Of course, I was aware of the landlord raising the rents. He wanted to do the same to me, but he couldn’t. He was trapped by the contract he signed with my mom all those years ago. It was the whole reason I couldn’t afford to give him an excuse to put me out.

  But this?

  I wasn’t expecting him to push the upstairs tenants so hard, upping their rents so much and so often that he would force them out.

  “What is he thinking?” I mumbled, turning around and spotting Theresa standing near the end of the hallway with a piece of pipe in her hand.

  Theresa

  She couldn’t afford me.

  Maybe she got something different out of the conversation she just had, but I knew that look.

  There was desperation in her face. The same kind I saw on the faces of the clients we sometimes got that only wanted a band aid fix when what they needed was a lot more involved, and therefore a lot more expensive.

  Now I understood the hug in the kitchen.

  She couldn’t afford the fridge replacement, and she wouldn’t be able to afford what really needed fixed in the bathroom.

  Although she should have been able to call her terrible landlord who kept increasing the rent. If she was having trouble paying what he expected her to, then she should have been calling on him to do his part and fix the issues in the old building.

  “Hey, sorry about that, let me see how it’s going,” she said, walking with me toward the bathroom.

  “No need. I know what I have to do, and it’s simple really. But I need some parts,” I said, holding up the piece in my hand. Although that wasn’t the whole truth.

  “Oh, okay, well we’ll be here all day, so after you get the parts will you be coming back?” Ceecee asked, her eyes blinking too much and her brows high like she was trying to fight off tears.

  “Yes, I’ll be back today.” I nodded and turned to walk out, not understanding the twisting in my gut at the thought of her crying.

  I wanted to fix all of it for her even though I barely knew her.

  The hug in the kitchen was the first time someone who wasn’t a friend of mine had hugged me since my knee blew out.

  Maybe that was why I suddenly felt like I needed to help. Maybe all it took for me to get attached was a little bit of contact.

  Ceecee and Marcus were talking about coffee as I walked out the front door.

  But I had some planning to do. The first step of which was heading to the shop and getting some supplies. I wasn’t lying about that.

  The second step…I wasn’t sure of yet.

  Although I had a decent idea of where to start.

  My knee started to scream at
me while making my way up the hill to where I parked the truck. The patch of skin that was rubbed raw in the fall with Ceecee made me want to take a detour and bandage my leg.

  It also made me swear under my breath as I realized it was Saturday and I was about to willfully give up an okay parking spot as far as Pike Place parking went. I would likely be screwed trying to find another.

  Some things—no matter how crappy and how much I didn’t want to deal with them— couldn’t be helped.

  By the time I made it to the truck and hauled myself into it, I had to sit with my legs dangling out the open door for a minute and rest my head against the seat.

  Up and down my leg the muscles ached, the bones felt weak like noodles, and the ligaments in my knee—the real problem—felt like they wanted to snap in half again.

  “Please let me get through today. I will baby you tomorrow,” I said out loud to my knee.

  I pulled out my phone and texted Olivia.

  What do you know about The Bake Place?

  She was quick to respond which meant that Joe’s probably wasn’t open yet.

  Ceecee’s mom passed away not that long ago and now she runs it by herself.

  Well, that was interesting, but it didn’t tell me much more than I already knew. And it certainly didn’t explain exactly what was going on.

  How long has it been there? That’s pretty prime retail space.

  Normally anyway. Right at that moment it was the opposite.

  Any time major construction went on in one area of the city, there was some fallout for the businesses because traffic was already challenging around Seattle. During construction? Most people didn’t want to have anything to do with the area being worked on.

  It’s been there forever. I think Ceecee basically grew up in that bakery.

  In some ways, Ceecee was so much like Olivia it was scary.

  For a second, I froze, staring down at my phone and wondering why I wanted to help this girl so bad.

  Yes, I thought she was gorgeous. Yes, I thought the bakery was something that should continue. And yes, it seemed to matter to my friends a lot.

  But it wasn’t as if a girl like Ceecee would ever want to date someone like me. She might not even want to be friends with me.