Cupcake Queens Page 5

  Go back outside, I wanted to yell. But instead, I just bent over and bagged his chocolate cream roll, pretending Theresa’s presence was no big deal.

  Maybe he wouldn’t ask. Maybe she wouldn’t say anything. Maybe I could just act like she was another customer.

  Beside me, Marcus darted out to the other side of the counter and headed her off, pulling her to the side and chatting as if they were old friends.

  The energy was so weird that the people that came in with her must have thought they walked into the middle of a performance art show.

  “Here you go, Mr. McCarthy,” I said.

  One of the umbrella people got excited and smacked their companion on the arm before running up to Mr. McCarthy and bopping up and down.

  “Oh, we found you!” The umbrella person’s voice was like a little kid’s when they saw a pony for the first time. Never, not once, did I expect someone would be capable of being that excited by my landlord.

  “Ah, I’m glad you could make it,” he said, as if he knew exactly who they were.

  “This is the bakery I was telling you about, but they are busy right now. So I’ll just give you the details while we tour upstairs.” He took the bag out of my hand and turned around, leading the newcomers toward the front door.

  He seemed to be so distracted that he didn’t notice that my hand was stuck in the air, my breath stuck in my lungs, and my heart was no longer in regular rhythm.

  As soon as the door shut behind the three of them, I yelled, “What did he mean tour? Tour here? In the bakery? Today?”

  Marcus ran over to the front window, pressing his face to the glass.

  “They’re all under the umbrella, looking up at the building. McCarthy is gesturing up and down the street. Now they’re headed to the door to the apartments.”

  His report didn’t help.

  I was in danger of passing out.

  “Someone tell me this isn’t what I think it is.” My voice sounded like it came from far away.

  Which made sense because my mind was heading upstairs with them, trying to figure out how long I had before they would be back, and if it would be enough time to try and hide some of the coolers and all my bags in the office.

  “Ceecee, breathe. Maybe he’s just showing them one of the apartments upstairs.” Marcus turned back to me and patted Theresa on his way past her toward the counter.

  As if it was her cue, she started making her way around the counter and to the back.

  But was it enough? Was her presence and her work enough to get me out of this?

  Theresa

  I brought them in here.

  Would Ceecee care that I didn’t know what was going on?

  My back ached as I dropped all my stuff down. My shoulders yelled so much it took me a minute to stretch everything out before I could even begin to think.

  Her landlord was selling the place, that much seemed clear.

  Maybe Marcus and Ceecee could tell themselves they were just there to look at renting one of the apartments, but I knew better.

  And what would that do to Ceecee’s business? If she was having trouble making payments to her landlord now, how would she ever be able to pay for the space once the new people took over?

  Because no matter how nice the people seemed — weird but nice — they would increase the rent. That’s just the way things worked.

  Getting down to the floor took work, although there was no way around it.

  Once I was down there and my knee was as comfortable as it was going to get, I started on my work. The concern over Ceecee and her situation still ran through the back of my mind.

  “Do you need anything?” Ceecee’s voice came from behind me at the door, and I paused to put the last of the tools I just used back into one of the bags.

  “Actually, could I get something to eat and drink real quick before I move on to the next step?” No need to explain to her that the next step would make everything look worse before I got it looking better.

  “Of course. Come on.” She turned and headed toward the front although I expected her to go to the kitchen.

  “Crap.” The problem with asking for a break and a snack was that I had to get up.

  Shoving up from the ground, I got to where I could kick my leg out behind me and use my arms and other leg to lift myself the rest of the way up from leaning on the toilet seat.

  At least she wasn’t in here to see me look like a fool. But somehow, I needed to get off my knee soon.

  Rounding the corner, I almost wound up back on my butt.

  Marcus jumped back, his hands flying up into fists like he was going to punch me in the face.

  “Geez,” I said, a hand to my heart and a smile tugging at me, “I didn’t think running into someone was a corporal punishment kind of crime.”

  He looked at his own hands and burst out laughing as he lowered them back to his sides.

  “Sorry. Sometimes when I’m startled my reaction is to fight whatever is coming after me.” He shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know why.”

  Jokes popped into my head. I discarded each of them and nodded instead, stepping aside to let him pass.

  We didn’t know each other well enough for me to make some of those jokes and say some of those things.

  I was well aware that not everyone appreciated my sense of humor.

  Marcus continued on to the kitchen and I made my way to the front where Ceecee was putting the lid on a drink from the coffee machine.

  “Theresa, I was distracted and didn’t ask you how you take your coffee, so I just made you a mocha. I hope that’s okay,” Ceecee said, looking over her shoulder at me as she finished prepping my drink. She grabbed the box, handing them both off to me.

  “Actually, I only like mochas because I don’t like coffee. So this is perfect. Thanks.” I took a sip and the warmth of the chocolatey drink heated me from the inside out, helping to chase away some of the leftover chill from getting so soaked on my way in. It sent a shiver through me.

  “You don’t like coffee?” Ceecee asked, tilting her head to the side and looking at me like I just admitted to not liking puppies.

  “Not unless it’s disguised as chocolate.” I held my cup up and did a three-step shuffle to make my way to the little table in the front of the shop.

  “Uh, do you mind sitting in the kitchen and eating?” Ceecee chewed on her bottom lip and twisted her apron in her hands.

  It didn’t matter how nervous she seemed to ask. The question still made me want to help her a lot less. Like I wasn’t good enough to sit in the front of the store. I was just the contractor.

  I nodded and made my way to where she wanted to hide me, deciding I should just do the most important part of the bigger fix in the bathroom and get out of there.

  Trying to be nice, do all that needed done at once, and only charging for the small part seemed like a stupid waste of time if she didn’t want me there.

  In the kitchen, there was a chair under a tall set of open shelving, like it was normally used as a stool.

  Great.

  For some reason, the fact that it was a chair no one usually sat in made me feel worse.

  But at least the chocolate drink drowned my sorrows some. Opening the box, I found a cinnamon roll.

  No appreciation and maybe a wish for me to be gone, but the food was good.

  “Small favors,” I muttered and took a bite out of the cinnamon roll.

  “Hey, can I talk to you really quick?” Marcus whispered from just inside the door as I chewed.

  If I had not witnessed his fight response, I would never have guessed the guy in front of me would be capable of it at that moment.

  With his hands wrapped around each other, the fingers gripping until the knuckles were white and letting go again, he kept looking over his shoulder.

  “Go ahead.” I didn’t know what else to say to someone who seemed like they were running from a bear.

  “Listen, don’t tell her this or she will kill
me,” he said, letting that statement hang in the air. I had no idea how I was supposed to respond so I just sat there for a minute.

  Finally, I realized he was waiting for me to acknowledge his out of place comment.

  “Sure. I won’t say anything.”

  What in the world could he possibly have to say to me?

  “Perfect.” He grabbed a stainless-steel stool from under a large island in the mess of a kitchen and pulled it up right across from me. He was so close our knees almost touched.

  I raised a brow at him and took another bite. It was better to fill my mouth with food than start saying things out of nerves. Because I was pretty sure he was team all boys, and him being this in my face made me want to check if I needed to prepare myself to let him down.

  Whatever this was, the sooner I was out of this place the better. Because this was weird.

  Marcus took a deep breath and said, “I need you to tell me what you think was going on with Mr. McCarthy and his friends.”

  Ceecee

  Marcus always took too long in the kitchen. All he had to do was make another tray of garlic bites.

  But I didn’t have time to do it for him. We got more customers.

  Something about the day—the gloomy rain maybe—seemed to make people need baked goods.

  I wasn’t complaining.

  Whatever the weirdo who didn’t like coffee was doing in my bathroom looked complicated, and that usually meant expensive.

  Now, if I could just stop worrying about Mr. McCarthy, I would be fine.

  “Here you go. Stay dry out there,” I said, handing the box to the tourist in their rain jacket with their umbrella tucked under one arm.

  The chime above the door jingled as they let themselves out. Olivia scooted in around them, shaking her wet hair out of her face and blinking the water from her eyes like a true Washingtonian.

  “I’m surprised to see you here. Don’t you usually work today?” I asked by way of hello.

  “Yes,” she said, the irritation plain in her voice, “But Junior is home and decided to pick up a shift.”

  Olivia’s eyes were wide, her brows high, and her mouth pressed in a grim line.

  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face or the laughter from my voice when I asked, “And that’s not a good thing?”

  “Ugh. Ceecee, if I could just force him never to get near my restaurant again, I would.” She shook her head and stomped across the front area to lean on the counter.

  “That bad?”

  “Whatever you’re imagining, it’s worse than that. How can he possibly have the time when he’s supposed to be in med school?”

  “I got nothing,” I said and shrugged, which at least got her to smile a little.

  “Neither do I. But enough about my brother. I need to ask you for a favor.” Her eyes lit up and all the frustration weighing on her face and shoulders fell away.

  “You sent me someone who was able to fix my fridge and is fixing the toilet. No favor is too big.” I leaned on the counter across from her and put on my biggest smile.

  I meant what I said. The thought of trying to find a contractor and a refrigerator repair service made me want to hide. How did anyone hire someone to fix something if they weren’t sure they were capable of doing the job right?

  Because of Olivia, I knew the person eating in my kitchen was trustworthy.

  Plus, she hadn’t balked at being asked to hide in case my landlord showed up again.

  “Good. Thank you. Because this one might be a pain in the butt.” She looked around at the cases, a line forming between her brows like she was thinking really hard.

  What kind of deep thought process could be brought on by baked goods? I just waited while she looked at everything, content to let her decide how I could be of service to her.

  “Campbell’s aunt, Carmen, is having a birthday on Friday, and I didn’t know about it until now. I want to have some cupcakes, or a cake made for her, but I’m not even sure you do that.” She looked up at me, hope printed in large letters on her face.

  “Yes. I do cakes and cupcakes. Usually only one flavor at a time, but I can make anything. I just don’t advertise it because lots of other cupcake and cakes shops are out there.” I leaned and pointed to a small cake at the far corner of one of the cases.

  “Oh, good.” She went to look in on the cake, the smile on her face growing.

  “So, normally you do custom cake orders?” She looked back at me. Her smile was so big now that her eyes crinkled at the corners.

  “Yes…” For some reason, the giant grin on her face was starting to worry me.

  “Perfect. Then, can you make me a cake and some cupcakes, all with different flavors? That way everyone can have their favorite?”

  I took a relieved breath, not so scary after all.

  “No problem. I do those all the time. How big a cake and how many cupcakes?” I grabbed a pen from the cup on the counter, and the order sheet from just under the edge of the register where it always got tucked away.

  Olivia gave me the specifics for a small get together for Carmen’s birthday and I took down all the details.

  “Have you ever thought about putting up something in here at least to say you do custom work and do at least one more flavor in a day?” she asked, moving back to the one in the case and staring at it with the look of someone who was about to give in and buy something they weren’t planning on.

  “No. Mom tried it once, and it didn’t bring in any additional funds. But the cinnamon rolls…if I could figure out a way to get everyone to want those in the evening too…now that would be great.” I laughed and she smiled before she pointed to the case.

  “Can I take this one home with me tonight? You know, I need a taste test.”

  Theresa

  “Ceecee is afraid that if you’re out there eating and Mr. McCarthy comes back, he’ll remember you and know you’ve been here too long for you to be a normal customer,” Marcus said.

  “Oh.” That made sense, although it made me feel like a jerk for trying to brush him and his questions off.

  “Yeah. So, I thought maybe you had a better idea of what was going on with McCarthy and his little tour. You are involved with real estate.”

  “Not real estate. I’m a contractor. I fix stuff in houses yeah, but just fix and build stuff.” I took another bite of my food and shook my head. He was giving me way too much credit.

  “And you work for your mom’s company.”

  It wasn’t a question. I wondered if he and Ceecee talked about everything, because I was pretty sure I didn’t tell him that.

  “How that is relevant, I don’t follow, but yes,” I said, taking a drink and pretending that he wasn’t starting to worry me enough that I was trying to figure out if the cookie sheet next to me would make a decent weapon.

  “She’s a contractor in this city and she doesn’t know realtors or ever flip properties?” He tilted his head and blinked at me.

  I relaxed.

  “Of course she has. And yes, I get it now. No, I don’t even know those people’s names. But they asked me for directions, and I thought they were tourists. They did say they were in town for a business opportunity though.”

  Marcus slumped back in his chair, chewing on his bottom lip and staring just past my shoulder. Every breath seemed to drain something from him, like his will leeched out with each exhale.

  “Do you think he’s going to sell the building?” he asked, looking back at me.

  I didn’t have to answer. Even if he didn’t already know what that tour looked like, he saw it on my face.

  He dropped his head back and looked up at the ceiling.

  “So, if he can’t force Ceecee out by neglecting the building, and he can’t get her to pay more rent for the space because of the contract he had with her mom, he’ll just sell and let the new owners end the bakery.”

  While the ceiling wasn’t going to talk back to him, neither could I.

&nbs
p; There weren’t words in my vocabulary to help him at the moment.

  Part of me wanted to know him better just so I could feel comfortable patting him on the arm and reassuring him.

  But I didn’t know him, and I couldn’t bring myself to cross that line.

  “I’m sure the new owners have to abide by the contract too,” I said, my voice low because I wasn’t sure. It made sense, but I had no idea. And even if I had the contract in front of me, I probably wouldn’t be able to read through the legal jargon to see to the meaning.

  He sat up and looked at me, nodding his head, but the small smile he gave me didn’t show in his eyes.

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  I took another bite to avoid having to say anything else. He stood up, getting back to his task before he left me in the kitchen, looking around at all the equipment that had seen better days.

  Ceecee’s mom managed to draft a lease contract that kept her rent controlled and even transferred to her daughter. But did she think about what would happen if McCarthy sold the building?

  Few people who owned the kind of money-making space McCarthy did ever sold in Seattle anymore. Even heirs of those who passed away just kept the properties and hired a rental agency to tend to them.

  Why would someone sell a money maker?

  Unless…

  Now it was my turn to look up at the ceiling and wonder about the apartments above.

  McCarthy didn’t live in them. I wondered how leveraged he was. It could have been as simple as he was stuck and needed the money.

  But Marcus gave me an idea.

  I popped the rest of my snack in my mouth and downed the rest of my coffee. I needed to get the smaller part of the work done and figure some things out.

  There was no way I was going to kill myself to do the big fix if it was going to benefit people who planned on putting Ceecee out of business.

  If I could figure out everything I thought I needed to, I might save the day.

  And, if I could do that, maybe I could keep Deacon, Katie, Olivia, and Campbell full of cinnamon rolls forever.