6. Leah
6
Leah
I ’ve been working for three hours already. It was still dark outside when I came into the shop this morning. My baby. The dream I poured every ounce of my savings into, as well as my small inheritance from Abuela and Abuelo.
The sun is finally up, the rolls are made, all I need now are some customers. The overwhelming feeling of ‘don’t screw this up, Leah Bradford’ fills me from top to bottom.
Sweet Swirls, my all-sweet-rolls shop, has been open for one week to the day. One uninspiring week. One week with mediocre sales.
I’ve taken classes. I’ve read the top-notch business books.
They all say that what I’m having is a normal opening week.
That doesn’t mean I like it.
This is my dream. It was Abuelo’s dream for me. I wouldn’t be here without working my tail off or the money Abuelo bequeathed to me. I’d still be catering with PJ, my not-so-nice ex, and Howard, my old boss. No matter your education, Howard pays the same. Andrea, with no baking and pastry school degree, was paid the same $14.50 an hour that I was paid. True, Andrea’s awesome—which is why I stole her from Bites and Bubbles—but still, there should be some reward for being professionally trained.
I was sure that Abuelo would be my angel on the street whispering to every single person who passed by to go find his Leah’s new shop. Go try one of her sweet swirls.
Well, maybe like everyone else, Abuelo was busy.
I’ve done all the things—I’ve got a marketing plan, I’ve been passing out samples, I’m paying a ridiculous amount of money to have my logo on a street sign for the world to see.
So, where are all my customers?
As if Abuelo is listening and he’s prepared for this very situation, my thoughts summon those front doors open.
Hallelujah!
And then, because fate loves a good joke—and laughing at Leah Bradford might be its favorite hobby—Cooper Bailey walks through those front doors.
Good one, fate, you’re freaking hilarious.
I have two employees: Andrea, who works most of the time, and Cricket, who works part of the time. Unfortunately, only Cricket is here with me today. She’s in the back, earbuds in and blasting. There’s no way she’d hear my cry for help. Maybe Andrea will sense it, even from across town in her little apartment. Yep, she’ll sense my distress and come take over for me—in the next two seconds.
Or I could muster years of suppressed anger and tell Cooper to suck it.
But then, Arnold Hallstead, the old man who owns the coin shop across the street, walks in right behind Cooper. I guess I won’t be telling Cooper off and kicking him out today. Nope, that might be bad for business.
“Hello, Mr. Hallstead,” I say, looking around Cooper to the older man.
“Hey, Leah,” Cooper says, that big dumb smile on his face.
I see it, but I don’t look right at it. Like looking directly into the sun, that smile may burn holes through my retinas. Instead, I keep my eyes on Mr. Hallstead. His combover is distracting me by standing on end after blowing in the wind, but surely this man is here to spend some money. I gave him three samples last week—and it looks as if they are finally paying off.
“Can I help you, Mr. Hallstead?” I run my hand down the front of my fresh Sweet Swirls apron. It’s my second of the day.
He nods and that combover sways. “Yes, I’d like another one of those bite-sized samples today. I’ll take four.”
I swallow and force myself to not look at the annoying, god-like, Cooper Bailey-shaped wart standing next to my counter. “Oh.” I clear my throat, my brows knitting. “That was a first-week promotional thing. But I do have fresh pecan rolls for purchase . I think those were your favorite.”
Mr. Hallstead’s forehead furrows, and that happy flying combover dips in disappointment. “But I’m here for a sample.”
My eyes—with a mind of their own—take one little peek at Cooper watching me crash, burn, and flop at salesmanship. “Sorry. I don’t have any samples today. But you can purchase a roll if you’d like.” Surely, he gets it. Mr. Hallstead runs a business too.
But apparently, Arnold Hallstead doesn’t get it. He says nothing. Instead, his mouth folds into a permanent frown. He’s not a fan of this option. Well, guess what, Arnold? I have a phone bill to pay!
“I’ll take two of those pecan rolls and…” Cooper draws ou t the word while studying the rolls inside my glass case. “Two of the orange rolls. Can you box up one pecan roll for my friend here?” He pats Mr. Hallstead on the back.
That’s so Cooper Bailey. Flashing his cash, smiling his smile, and showing off in whatever way he possibly can.
“I don’t know you,” Mr. Hallstead says, giving Cooper the side eye.
You tell him, Arnold. Not all of us can be bought with that charm.
Cooper swallows. “How about my new friend, then? Did you want the roll?”
Mr. Hallstead tilts his head to the side, his expression softening. “Arnold Hallstead, Coins and Clips, just across the road.”
Traitor .
“Nice to meet you, Arnold. I’m just a block over with Schumacher & Associates.”
“My roll?” Arnold holds out a hand.
“Fine.” I groan—not my best business tactic. But I can’t help it. Cooper is here and Arnold just turned on me.
I box up one pecan roll by itself and the other three in a pastry box for Mr. Fix-It himself. I pass Mr. Hallstead his roll but hold Cooper’s box hostage until he pays me. He won’t be getting anything on the house. In fact, I should probably charge him a prom tax.
I don’t, of course—I just ring up the four rolls and stare at Cooper. Time to pay the lady.
He passes me his gold card and I run it through my system. My first sale of the day.
To Cooper Stinking Bailey.