Chapter 1
One
Grace, Present Day, Age 34
“C rap!”
Brushing a rogue strand of hair out of my face with the back of my hand, my eyes find the clock on the wall, realizing how late I’m running. A fact only confirmed when Sara Beth, one of my employees, rounds the corner.
“Girl, if you don’t leave in like”—she checks the time on her smart watch—“right freaking now, you’re going to be late.”
She grabs her apron from the hook on the wall, tying it around her waist as I groan and tug the trash bag out of the bin in the corner. “I know, I know. I lost track of time, but I’m leaving as soon as I take this to the dumpster. Don’t worry.”
The truth is, it’s been a hectic day. A hectic day that is wholly my fault. Two separate orders came in this morning, both rushes that needed to be done today . Apparently, one forgot it was her grandma’s 80th birthday, and the other “swore” she placed the order with me online, but didn’t.
Spoiler alert: I don’t have online ordering, and I never have.
She was lying, but it was for her boss’s retirement party, and I couldn’t say no. Especially when her boss is Richard Meyers, our town’s beloved fire chief. But honestly, fire chief or not, I can never say no; it’s how I always find myself in these predicaments. So, in addition to all the regular baking I do on a daily basis to keep the bakery stocked and the other orders I already had on the books, I had to squeeze in a twelve-inch round cake with fondant decorations and three dozen red velvet cupcakes.
In my mind, it was doable. I was going to get it all done with time to spare so I wouldn’t be late to the first PTA meeting of the year at my kids’ school. This will be my third year on the PTA, and I’m notoriously late to these meetings. I swear, Maggie Ulrich, the bitchy, obnoxiously perfect, and always on time PTA president is going to have my head if I follow the pattern of the previous years. I can’t even count how many times that woman has given me a stern talking to in the last two years.
Sure, I’d find it a hell of a lot easier to be on time if I was a stay-at-home mom with all school-age kids. Not that being a stay-at-home mom doesn’t have its own set of challenges, but it’s easy for her, a married housewife with enough money to hire maids and landscapers, to judge me, a single mom and business owner, when she’s never walked even a step in my shoes.
Plus, her daughter was rude to my kid last year, and she didn’t do anything to remedy the situation, so I just don’t like her in general.
Trash bag tied and in hand, I push the back door open using my hip, then prop it open with my foot as I toss the black bag into the dumpster that’s nearly overflowing. As soon as the bag makes it inside, something startles under the pile, and a blur of black and white jumps out. A panicked, high-pitched scream claws up my throat as I jump back, my ass slamming into the door. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest as my eyes scan the area, trying to find out what the heck that was, but I’m not quick enough. The fluffy blur races inside before I can stop it, and it’s only once it’s inside that I realize what it is.
A raccoon.
“Oh, god.” There’s a raccoon in the kitchen. “Sara Beth!” I call out as I grab the broom off the rack on the wall to my left. “Sara Beth, emergency back here!”
The little fucker is running everywhere . Under the tables, the cooling racks, around the industrial mixers. It’s small, doesn’t quite look like a baby, but not a fully grown one either. Can raccoons be toddlers? It’s definitely a toddler; it’s behaving like one too. While waiting for Sara Beth to get back here, I keep the door open with the rubber stopper, praying like hell that it doesn’t send out some raccoon bat signal to its buddies.
“You need to get out of here,” I whisper-yell as I chase it around the kitchen with the broom. God, he’s fast. “You cannot be in here! What if you have rabies ?”
Knowing there are customers up front, I’m trying my hardest to keep my voice down, but the panic rises in my chest as the seconds drone on. This… creature was literally just in the dumpster, and now it’s running around my freaking bakery.
What if he runs to the front? Oh my gosh, and what if he bites one of my customers?
I could get shut down for this. I could lose my business.
Could I go to jail? Surely, if a customer gets bitten in my establishment by a dumpster living raccoon, that may or may not have rabies, I’d go to jail for that. Or prison.
Oh, fuck. I’m not cut out for prison.
I’m too soft. Too much of a people pleaser. I’d become someone’s bitch, for sure. Someone with horribly offensive and poorly executed tattoos and rotten teeth. Her name would be Donna or Hilda.
“Sara Beth!” I shriek again.
Thankfully, a moment later, she enters through the swinging door that separates the kitchen from the lobby, eyes wide as she takes in my frantic state. “Sorry, I was helping a customer. What’s up?”
“There’s a racc?—”
Before I have a chance to finish the sentence, said raccoon zips past us, Sara Beth’s gaze darting down at the mini creature.
“Oh, shit. There’s a raccoon.”
“Exactly. I need you to help me get it out of here!”
“How did it get in here in the first place?” she asks, eyebrows clear up to her hairline.
“Sara Beth!” I groan. “Help now, questions later, please!”
That kicks her into gear, but between the two of us, it still takes us close to fifteen minutes to corral the tiny little shit and swoop his butt out the back door. Sweat drips down my back by the time we’re done, and I’m not convinced my heart rate will go back to a normal level any time soon. With my back against the door, I heave out a sigh.”
“Holy shit.” Sara Beth chuckles. “I can’t believe that happened.”
“Yeah, me neither,” I murmur breathlessly. “We need to sanitize everything back here ASAP.”
“Grace, you gotta go,” she says, reminding me that I’m now definitely going to be late to the PTA meeting.
Wonderful. This year is already off to such a good start.
“I can’t leave you with all of this by yourself.”
“I’ll text Maci. She’ll run down and help me out.” Grabbing her phone from her back pocket, she quickly types out a message. “She’s got nothing better to do tonight, but you do. Go.”
My shoulders slump. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Your girlfriend is going to hate me,” I half joke.
“Not if I send her home with the last lemon layer cake in the case out there.” She huffs out a small laugh. “It’s her favorite.”
“Deal. Thank you so much.”
Waving me off, she says, “Hey, it’s what you pay me for. Now, get out of here.”
After I toss my dirty apron in the hamper in the laundry room, I grab my keys and purse, making sure my phone is tucked away in there, and run out the door. Luckily, the school is only a three-minute drive from the bakery, but three minutes or twenty, I’m still late, no matter how you look at it. Pulling into a spot, I jump out of the car and run toward the entrance. In my quick haste, I shove my keys into my purse, but as I do, I accidentally set off the alarm.
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Fumbling with the key fob, I look over my shoulder as I press the button to shut the annoying sound off, and as my luck would have it today, I collide right into something. Or rather, someone. Whipping my head back around, my mood declines even further as I look at the man I ran into.
“Typically, if you’re running, you should pay attention in front of you, not behind,” Conway drawls in that infuriatingly smug, grumbly way he does.
“Obviously,” I sneer, tossing the keys back into my purse now that the alarm is silenced. “I know you’re getting old, and your hearing is probably going bad, but I’m sure you heard the blaring noise that was my car alarm.”
“You’re pleasant as ever this evening, I see,” he deadpans as he holds the door open for me. It’s maddening.
Not as maddening as the fact that he looks ridiculously hot. Clearly, he just came from the job site. His graphite t-shirt has tiny holes from wear around the collar and the hem and it’s covered in dried paint, along with his worn-out jeans and scuffed up steel-toe work boots. He’s a mess, and if it were anybody else, they’d look disgusting. But Conway, the very bane of my goddamn existence? Well, of course, he looks mouthwatering, which only adds to my annoyance.
In the gym, where the meetings are held, I groan to myself when I take in how full it is. My face heats as nearly every person in this room turns to check out who’s walking in tardy. Jesus, is every single parent in the entire school here tonight?
“So nice of you both to join us,” Maggie freaking Ulrich calls out from the front, standing behind a podium like she’s the President of the United States about to give a press conference, not lead the Blossom Beach Elementary School PTA meeting. “Please take a seat so we can resume.”
Conway gestures in front of him, wearing a grin I want to sucker punch off his obnoxiously attractive face. “After you,” he drawls.
Fuck his southern gentleman manners. They can go to hell right alongside him and Maggie.
It takes a few seconds max to realize the only available seats are right next to each other in the very back of the room. Lovely. I drop down into the uncomfortable plastic folding chair, grinding my molars as Conway does the same beside me. He’s a massive guy, at least six-foot-two, maybe three, and husky. Even with my legs crossed and me trying to stay as far away from him as possible, his thigh still invades my space. It doesn’t help that he’s manspreading like he’s in a freaking recliner about to watch Sunday football.
Maggie clears her throat from behind the podium, and when I lift my gaze, I find her already watching me. Of course she is. Whatever she’s about to say is going to send me over the edge, I know it. With a fake smile plastered on her face, she says, “To catch you both up to speed, we were assigning tasks to each parent for the year. Unlike last year, where we assigned and re-assessed each quarter, the ladies and I have decided it would be easiest to assign for the whole year.”
The ladies, referring to Maggie’s posse of judgmental, holier-than-thou friends, Trisha Taylor and Carly-Anne Peters, the Vice President and Secretary of the PTA. Also known as Maggie’s little minions.
Annoyance fills my veins as her attention remains solely focused on me. Lifting a thumbs-up in the air, I say, “Sounds good, Mag-Pie. Think I’m plenty up to speed now.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Conway scrub a hand over his mouth as he clears his throat, presumably trying to hide a chuckle.
Annoying.
Maggie narrows her eyes at the sound of the nickname she picked up in college and has always hated. “Yes, well, we were nearly finished assigning tasks before you graced us with your presence, but lucky for you, there’s still one task left.”
So lucky for me.
“The responsibility of organizing the fundraisers for the year is up for grabs, and as I’m sure you’re aware, Grace and Conway, fundraisers and help from our generous community are what run this school and assist in giving our kids the fun activities and field trips they deserve without expecting too much from the parents. It’s a big responsibility.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I don’t like where this is going, especially since she addressed both of us.
“Therefore,” she continues, “I’m assigning that task to the two of you. It’s a great deal of planning and organizing, and it’s far too much work for one person to handle. Besides, I know how flustered you get when you’re overwhelmed, Grace.” This bitch. “Expect an email from me later tonight regarding what all this task entails.” And then she adds while giving us a satisfied smirk, “I think I speak for all the parents when I say, I’m looking forward to seeing what you both come up with together.”
My eye twitches as she finishes the rest of the meeting, the vein in my neck throbbing as I think over how miserable this year is going to be, having to partner with Conway. Not only is he the bane of my existence, but he’s also a man. Expecting him to do anything more than the bare minimum will be like pulling teeth, I’m sure of it.
Why the hell couldn’t I have been on time for once?