Chapter Seven
Frankie
I hoist the clear containers up and practically throw them at Cynthia. She wants more, she can get fucked or go get them herself. Taylor halts what shes doing, eyes widening, and I know she’s dying to ask what the hell happened, but Cynthia can be a bitch when it comes to employees talking while working. We will have to wait until she’s midway through packing cookies and ready to pawn the workload off on someone else.
Getting back to the last of my orders, I arrange vanilla cupcakes on a board so when I decorate them, they will look like a bouquet of pink roses. I eye the clock on the wall above the sink, and like some sick joke, it taunts me by reminding me I still have an hour and a half left in my shift. I want to be done with this day, but then I’m reminded I can’t even return to my apartment, cuddle my cat, and burrow under a pile of blankets. I should have looked online for motels with rooms available on my lunch, but this whole day has been a nightmare at every turn. There’s one not too far from here that a lot of construction guys stay at. I’ll swing by after my shift and hope they have some availability. I’d love to be staying at a swankier place in town, but minimum wage and all prohibits that.
Right on cue, Cynthia drops everything in the middle of finishing up the cookies and announces she needs to run up to the office to see Blair, the store manager, before he leaves for the day. No sooner is she out of sight than Taylor is next to me, her workstation abandoned.
“Ok, what the fuck is going on?” I’m not sure if she’s referring to me returning from the meat department or the day in general, but I’m going to omit some truths here and stick to the easiest topic.
“Have you ever spoke to Noah?” I ask her as I struggle to box the giant pull-away cupcake creation. Taylor helps me by holding the box in place as I ease the board in, careful not to bump the sides and ruin my hard work.
“The butcher?” she asks as she takes the top lid and secures it for me while I walk to the opposite side to print a label.
“Yeah,” I say, slapping the price tag to the side and carrying the oversized box to the cooler.
“He talks?” She laughs.
“Not much. He uttered two words to me when I went to get the containers for Cynthia,” I state, wiping my table with a rag before arranging a dozen grab-and-go cupcakes containers across the top.
“Well, he definitely isn’t known around here for his conversational skills.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“He is hot as fuck, though; I wouldn’t mind spending some quiet time with him.” She smiles, and the innuendo isn’t lost on me. I slap at her playfully, but I can’t deny my mind didn’t go there a time or two today, as well, despite his standoffish attitude.
“Is that what had you so upset?”
“Well, yes and no. It’s been a weird day from the start, but I had an odd encounter with him at lunch… then just now. I don’t know. I’ve never had a problem with him before, and he's been here for a few years, but today has been different.” I load the cupcakes into the containers, fixing my piping bag with a star tip and filling it with vanilla icing.
Taylor moves back to her station to start the end of the day clean-up while I swirl icing on top of each cupcake. “Different how?”
I pause, trying to think of how to articulate why today is so distinct. “It’s like it’s the first time he’s acknowledged me, but it doesn’t feel like it was in a good way, you know? It was like my presence angered him. Anytime we’ve crossed paths in the past, we’ve just walked past each other, heads down, like neither of us existed to the other. But today? It’s like he was royally pissed I had the gall to be in the same vicinity. It's just been very strange, and I don’t know how to feel about it.”
Noah has always been just around the edges, here but not. He showed up, did his job, and left. He didn’t engage in any out of work activities. He didn’t come to Christmas parties or family picnics, and hey, I get it. I’m not the most social person, either. Honestly, I didn’t even give it that much thought besides the odd time he would come up in conversation because every woman here practically melts when they see him.
“That is odd. Maybe he has a thing for you, but it's like some bully romance where he’s fighting it. So it comes out all aggressive, but he ends up being this super obsessed, overprotective guy who would burn the world down for you.”
I laugh out loud, ‘cause this girl. “Ok, you’re delusional and need to stop reading so much smut. This is the real world. Guys don’t behave like that. If he acts like he doesn’t like you, it means he doesn’t.”
“Hey, with the way the dating pool has been lately, I would rather live in my land of delulu.” Taylor shrugs as she carries her baking sheets to the sink to be washed.
Somehow, I managed to get everything done by the end of my shift, including extras for the evening staff, just in case. Stations are clean, dishes are done, and the rest? Not my problem. It’s my weekend off.
“What are you doing tonight?” Taylor asks as we hide out near the schedule, away from prying eyes that could catch us standing around.
“Nothing,” I absentmindedly pick at the skin around my nail. I should tell her that I’m not staying at my apartment tonight because some psychopath sent me a fucking heart in a box this morning, and until the police catch the perpetrator or confirm it was some cruel joke, I get to stay at some ratty ass motel. But something is holding me back from saying the words out loud.
“Some bands playing at Threshold tonight. It’s free cover charge for women. And it’s half-price drinks all night. You wanna go?” She looks at me, hopeful.
“I don’t know, Tay; I’ve had a shit day. I don’t think I’m really in the mood.”
“Even more reason to come. Cheap drinks, hot band members…” she trails off like she thinks that’s all it takes to bait me. Yes, I am a sucker for alt guys, rockers, anything that screams I’m bad news and you probably shouldn’t take me home to meet your mom . Maybe it’s some deep-rooted childhood trauma that makes me choose guys who are walking red flags. Like a big eff you to my parents.
“I’ll think about it,” I say to placate her.
She flashes me that megawatt smile and claps enthusiastically, “Good, if you want, we can get ready at my place and take an Uber over, that way we don’t have to worry about a designated driver.”
There’s suddenly a bunch of commotion and I peek around the corner to watch as managers from each department run towards the back of the building. Shortly after, Blair hurriedly guides a group of paramedics and firefighters through the traffic doors, stretcher and medical equipment in tow.
“What’s going on?” I look back at Taylor, confused.
“I have no clue.” She’s just as perplexed.
Customers have all but abandoned their shopping, each one stopped in the aisles trying to peer through the swinging flap doors.
“I’m going to check it out,” I whisper.
I sneak through the narrow passage between our cooler and cabinets, and through the small door that connects bakery to the back. The paramedics and firefighters are all huddled around the baler. The firefighters are working together to open it while the medics are on standby. All of the managers stand idle, each one looking white as a ghost. Cynthia has her arms wrapped around herself, like she’s trying to hold it together.
“Everyone clear the area,” one of the firefighters calls out and the group collectively takes a wide berth. The paramedics step in, kneeling, but I can’t quite see past all the bodies to make out what’s happening.
Scanning the area, my eyes land on Noah, standing outside the meat department. He’s leaning casually against a pallet of paper towels. While everyone is in a flurry of chaos, he remains calm, stoic, even, as he regards the happenings with a sense of detachment, not a glint of emotion across his face. My brows crease as I try to figure out this enigma of a man.
He looks up and catches me staring, and I feel all color drain from my face. He doesn’t adjust his position or change his facial expression, but those blues behind his glasses bore into me, making it feel like my skin is being licked by flames from his gaze alone.
A loud gasp breaks our eye contact. Then, before I know it, everyone is being directed out of the back by the firefighters. They take a wide stance, blocking the view. Whatever it is, it’s really fucking bad.
“Hey, come on, I need your help getting the customers to the front of the store.” Cynthia’s hands clasp around my shoulders, pushing me back towards the bakery.
“Do you know what happened?”
“Luke. He got stuck in the baler.”
“What?”
I look behind me, towards Noah, catching his back as he, too, walks away from the scene.
“ Can I have your attention please; will all customers grab your items and proceed to the front of the store to be checked out. I repeat, will all customers proceed to the front of the store to be checked out,” a voice booms out over the PA system.
“What the hell is going on?” Taylor asks as we both walk out of the bakery, looking for any stragglers who are lingering.
“Luke got stuck in the baler,” I say.
“How do you get stuck in a baler?”
“I don’t know.” All I do know is something doesn’t sit right. The baler is a machine used to compress all our cardboard into bales. Everyone needs to do a safety module when hired before operating it. It has a ton of security features, including a caged door that rolls down before the machine can be turned on. You would literally need to crawl inside or unlock and swing the bottom door out to be stuck in it. Or be thrown in, a little voice in the back of my head says.