Cupcake Queens Page 7

  Nope, I was trying to think of a way to save Ceecee.

  I reached for my phone and hesitated before texting Olivia.

  You know I blame you for this.

  My phone dinged with a text faster than I expected. She was usually working.

  So you like her?

  How did I answer that?

  Of course, I liked her. But more than that, her landlord reminded me of my mom, and I wanted to help her stick it to him in a way that made me question how far I had actually come with my mom.

  Did you know she is having trouble with her space?

  There was little chance Olivia knew that, but I had to check.

  What trouble?

  Part of me didn’t think Ceecee would be happy with me talking about this, but I needed to talk to someone and Olivia was good people.

  Her landlord wants to up rents.

  Olivia responded so fast I wondered that she had time to type it out.

  No. I promise I didn’t. But it shouldn’t surprise me. Lots of people are getting priced out right now. I’m having a hard time finding a space too.

  Since when was Olivia looking for a space?

  ??? Is Joe’s moving?!

  Maybe I could have put down my phone and ignored the conversation with her before, but now I stared at the screen, afraid to blink.

  Joe’s couldn’t move.

  That building was like home.

  I knew I could go there with the cheerleading squad, or by myself when my own home had been the toughest, during the time Olivia and I dated and just after it. Joe's was happy and positive.

  Sure, it would probably be the same atmosphere even if the building was different, but there was something to be said for the familiar alcoves and the unique quirks of the place.

  Of course not. My parents own the building.

  I knew that and it still gave me a chance to take a deep breath.

  But Campbell and I would like to live together, and I thought finding an apartment above a space he could use as a pool hall would be perfect.

  Campbell and Olivia wanted to move in together.

  Well, well, look at you. On the hunt for a love nest. If I find anything through Mom, I’ll let you know.

  I leaned my head back, and looked up at the ceiling, not bothering to drop the genuine smile from my face.

  Even if I had been surrounded, I still would have smiled at the good news of Olivia and Campbell doing so well.

  She deserved the best. And even I couldn’t argue that he was the best for her.

  One day, I hoped I would find a relationship like theirs.

  My phone dinged in my hand again.

  That would be so great. Thanks T!

  No one else called me T except Olivia, and it had been a long time since she did. I was glad it was back.

  Of course

  “Theresa, dinner,” Mom called from downstairs, and I had to set my phone aside to strap my brace back on my knee.

  Getting back to my feet made all the aches in my leg return.

  Making my way down the stairs was a special kind of torture, but Mom would never agree to bring me my dinner. Not when she saw me avoiding the stairs as a weakness.

  “If I ever find a cheap space for the bakery, or one for Olivia, it will have an elevator,” I mumbled to myself.

  But it brought me up short at the bottom of the stairs.

  A space that would accommodate a bakery, a pool hall, and some apartments…

  Did such a place exist?

  I picked up the pace heading into the kitchen.

  Mom was putting her dinner on a plate, a glass of wine in her other hand. She glanced up at me, her smile tight.

  “Your dinner is in the bag,” she said and grabbed her plate, turning to walk away.

  “Wait,” I said, getting to the island and leaning on it without letting her know I was favoring my leg.

  She turned back to me with her eyebrows high and the look on her face said I had a limited number of minutes to keep her attention.

  “How hard would it be to find a property—even if it needed work—that could house two small businesses and at least two apartments?”

  If I had thrown her a bomb, I don’t think it would have made quite the impact my question did.

  Mom was never stumped. But she looked as if I just asked her to tell me about the math behind chaos theory.

  “Are you planning on starting a business?” she finally asked, a smile blooming on her face.

  Honesty was probably the best bet, but if I told her the truth, would she be as helpful?

  I doubted it.

  “Yes. I have an idea. And I know someone who has the experience needed to make it a success who would be willing to come on board. But I need to figure out if it’s even feasible first.” In my head I crossed my fingers that she wouldn’t ask for specifics.

  “Grab your dinner and come in the dining room with me,” she said, her grin wide as she turned to head that way.

  Okay, first step was done.

  Now, all I had to do was sell her on the idea of a pool hall with a shark as a partner and the world’s best cinnamon roll bakery next door.

  Sure, because those things went together.

  I sighed and followed after her, crossing my fingers that being this honest with her wouldn’t be a complete disaster.

  Ceecee

  My back was killing me.

  Days of sleeping on my mattress on the floor in the office left me with aches in places I was unaware there were things to ache. I couldn’t fit my box spring in the space I wedged the mattress into so I had no choice, but it sucked.

  Somehow, I needed to rearrange the office so that my mattress wasn’t crammed between the filing cabinets and the wall. Maybe if it was able to lay all the way flat it wouldn’t hurt me so badly.

  I stared at the stupid thing for a few minutes more before I closed up the room and headed into the kitchen.

  Today I was going to get a call back from the power company. Since I was spending all my time here, the last little while was going to be more expensive, and I wanted to know how much more expensive the next bill would be since we just ended a period yesterday. I hoped they would try and estimate for me what the one after that would cost with the increased average too, but I wasn’t sure they would give me that.

  “Please let moving into the office pay off,” I said, closing my eyes and hoping the universe heard me.

  My personal bank account was also supposed to take a massive hit today when I paid for Mom’s headstone. I needed to do it. The ache in my back was nothing compared to the guilt that washed over me every time I thought about how bad of a daughter I was for not doing it.

  The back door opened as I pulled the first batch of dough out to get started on the actual baking.

  “Hey,” Marcus called from the hallway.

  “In here,” I yelled back. There was no sense in letting him walk unawares into the office and making him go through this with me any more than he already was.

  “Did you decide what you’re going to do for Olivia’s order tomorrow?” he asked, coming into the kitchen and tying his apron on.

  “Not yet. It’s hard because I want something that’s a little more than just the usual and I don’t know Dominican flavors the way I should.” I grabbed another batch of dough. The movements of the process in the morning were so automatic that I didn’t have to think about them.

  “Dominican flavors?” He grabbed his own supplies and set up at the other station to start on other things.

  “Yes. Carmen, the birthday girl, is from the Dominican Republic, and I thought it would be nice if at least some of the flavors were something that would bring the tropical, the island, to her here.”

  I had two whole batches of dough rolled out. They took up the entirety of my workspace when I started to turn them into Mom’s famous cinnamon rolls.

  “Oh, I like that idea. So, you’re trying to find a flavor or two that would brighten up her birthday in
the grayness of the weather.” He smiled and set the ovens with practiced movements that I appreciated.

  “Exactly. Food is more than just calories to put in your body.” He nodded along as I said it. I grinned.

  “You always say that. And you know what I always say?” His smile took on a wicked tilt that made me stop and brace myself for whatever he was going to say next.

  “What do you always say?” May as well ask him since he clearly wanted me to, and get it out of the way so I could get back to work.

  “That you should call Theresa.” He cocked his head at me and raised his brows high.

  “Stop, Marcus. That ship has sailed. I told you, I don’t think I’ll see her again.” I finished what I was doing and cut the dough into strips.

  “Ugh. Every party has a pooper. That’s why we invited you.” He stuck his tongue out at me and went back to his work too.

  “Now that, is what you always say.” I shook my head and laughed at him.

  “Come on, Cee. You need to get out. You need to see her again. You know I’m right. You can’t spend every minute of the day here.”

  He may not have known I was living in the office, but his words did make me swallow hard. I felt bad that it was worse than he even knew.

  “Marcus?” I asked, starting to roll the dough up.

  “Yeah?” He turned to me, his face open and unassuming.

  “When was the last time you went on a date?” I asked and his mouth dropped open.

  “Dirty tricks, you.” He turned his back to his work and I laughed.

  “Have you tested any ideas for Carmen’s recipe?” he asked sometime later when we were loading the trays in the front of the store while still more baked in the kitchen.

  “I tried two last night in single batches, but they didn’t work out. I’m going to try some more tonight, I think. What I need is some taste testers,” I said.

  “Taste testers?” He looked around himself and back at me. “I’m right here, Ceecee.”

  Laughing, I bumped into his shoulder and made my way past him to take another tray out of the oven.

  “Yeah, but I need someone who doesn’t automatically love everything I make,” I yelled back at him.

  “Telling you all your recipes are good isn’t a lie if it’s true.” His voice was so strong it bounced off the clean metal surfaces of the kitchen, giving it a strange reverberating quality as if it was the voice of some food god.

  “Just because you’re loud doesn’t make you right.”

  Even his laughter made its way to me.

  But my good humor died while looking around at the kitchen. It was getting harder by the day to keep up with the amount of baking we had to do while one of the ovens was down and we both needed to be at the front so often.

  How was I going to make it work when the weekend and good weather came at the same time, and we were slammed?

  It turned out that I didn’t need to wait for that weekend to find myself in the weeds.

  That day, for the first time in a while, the rain clouds broke by nine in the morning.

  We were so inundated with customers that Marcus was stuck in the front and I was stuck in the kitchen until two in the afternoon.

  By then I needed to order more ingredients, I had my third batch of dough getting ready, and I was dialing Olivia because I didn’t have Theresa’s number.

  Theresa

  “Mom, please. Can you get Wade, Tony, someone else to do it? I need to do this.” I was so close to getting on my knees and begging, or stepping into her face and screaming. I had to hold a hand against my stomach to keep me back.

  “This is your job, Theresa. I can’t give you a bunch of special time off because you’re my daughter. That’s not how business works.” She shook her head and went back to her report.

  Business…

  “I understand that, and I wouldn’t ask except this is part of what I need to do for that business idea I have. There’s no point in looking for the property if I can’t get the business ready for when we have property, right?” Okay, so I lied. But there it was my best chance to get her to let me off the schedule.

  She narrowed her eyes at me, not tilting her head up, just squinting her eyes as she looked at me through her lashes.

  Breathe, I reminded myself.

  Mom was like a shark. She could smell blood in the water.

  The only thing saving me from her sniffing out every single thing I did that that she wouldn’t approve of, was long practice. And that wasn’t foolproof.

  “Fine. But don’t make a habit of this, Theresa. Until you aren’t working for me, you need to actually work for me.” She went back to her report, and I was dismissed.

  I didn’t hustle away because doing so would’ve tipped her off.

  Some stupid, naive part of me couldn’t wait to get to the bakery.

  Part of me had hope that it wasn’t just my work that Ceecee wanted.

  Taking my phone out of my pocket, I texted Olivia.

  Tell Ceecee I’m on my way

  A second later it chimed back at me.

  How did you get your mom to let you out of work?

  Olivia remembered. When we were together it was one of the things that drove her bananas. How my mom’s capital type A and beliefs meant I was capital type A by coercion.

  Anything for business.

  If she only knew how much my mom was doing to help me get my ‘business’ idea off the ground—the one I made up on the spot and had no intention of actually doing—she would have been shocked.

  My phone chimed again.

  I have no idea what that means, but I told Ceecee you’re going to help. And, hey. I think you should not charge her for this one. Let me pick up the tab.

  Outside the house, with my hand on my truck door, I stopped and read the message more than once before I could form a response.

  What are you talking about?

  It didn’t take long for her to text me back, which was good because putting all my weight on my good leg and not moving was starting to be painful.

  She’s good people and if she has to move her business, I’m not sure she has the funds for that. Let me help.

  Chewing on my lip, I thought about it.

  Olivia was doing well. Joe’s was busier than ever, and she used the increase in business to pay off all the restaurant’s debts. She had been working since she was too young to actually do it and she never spent money on anything.

  Meanwhile, I was trying to save up enough to do what I actually wanted to, which was buy a building and fix it up so Campbell could have his pool hall, and Ceecee could have her bakery.

  And Ceecee…Ceecee deserved better than her landlord and better than scraping by.

  Okay. But thank you, Olivia. I mean it. Love you.

  She would know what I meant.

  Love you too. And I’m glad you’re helping her.

  I couldn’t stop the grin that popped onto my face as I climbed into my truck.

  Olivia was right. Ceecee was good people. And I was glad I was helping her, too.

  Especially since it meant I could see her again.

  Although, I did wonder if her landlord would show up again, and what he would think about the little mistake I made with the addresses.

  My smile only grew as I headed to The Bake Place.

  Ceecee

  “She’s on her way,” I said, putting down my phone, biting my lip, and wondering if I made the right decision or not.

  “When will she get here?” Marcus asked, not doing a good job of keeping the smirk off his face.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, throwing a wadded-up napkin at him, “But I am sure that you need to be out front today. Because depending on how long it takes her back here, I could be doing the constant baking thing again.”

  He dropped his head back and looked at the ceiling, his shoulders slumping.

  “Between yesterday and today, I am going to be too tired to do anything after work.”

  “So
rry.” And I was. I hated making him feel like working here was a burden.

  Marcus straightened up and smiled at me.

  “Don’t worry, Cee. You already pay me enough.” He laughed and went out front.

  The pay thing was an ongoing discussion. He complained that I paid him too much, but he didn’t do it too loudly. He knew as well as I did that it was next level expensive to live in the city, and I barely paid him enough to be able to do it. That, and we both knew I needed him and I would pay him more if I could.

  It didn’t matter how much I needed him though. If something didn’t give, if I couldn’t find another way to bring in some more funds, I was going to have to let him go. His salary was my last available expenditure to cut.

  Even thinking about it that way, as an expenditure, made my heart ache.

  Marcus deserved better than working here for the rest of his life.

  He only stayed to help, and every day it looked more and more likely that I was going to have to force his hand to find something that could be better for him.

  But that was letting myself off the hook for hurting him.

  Ugh. I punched the dough in my hands. I had over-kneaded it to the point of turning it into sticky glop.

  “Hey, can you put on some music?” I yelled to Marcus, who whooped in response.

  A stream of wild dance music floated out of the speakers a moment later.

  “Very funny!” I shook my head and finished cleaning up my bad dough mess.

  The music cut off and between it and the next, his laughter was louder than the speakers had been.

  Not long after, the sounds of fun, upbeat oldies started. It was so much better for our mix of customers. And it was what I needed. I took a deep breath and let it take my mind away.

  By the time I was in a groove, the doors were open, Marcus was running around like a headless chicken helping everyone out front, and I was singing along to Lollipop.

  Tingles spread down my arms. It felt like I was being watched.

  Assuming that Marcus was coming in for something, I spun around thinking I could just grab it for him. Seeing Theresa standing in the doorway, I froze. Her tool belt was low on her hips, loaded down with all manner of things I didn’t understand, and she had two bags slung over her shoulders again.