Chapter 5
Chapter 5
LUCKILY, I DIDN’T NEED to have that particular conversation again right now. Our coffee and cake devoured—if I kept this up, I was going to have a serious weight issue and possibly even join Dad in the diabetes club—Cassie got called away and Marissa needed to get back to the office for a team meeting. As I watched them leave, my former euphoria at having walked out of my job forever returned. I leaned back in my comfy chair and looked through the window at the passersby: the businesspeople, rushing from A to B, all serious with their phones plastered to their ears; the students, walking in groups, chatting amongst themselves as they enjoyed the late summer’s sun. I let out a contented sigh.
Man or no man, job or no job, life was pretty darn good for Paige Prudence Miller today.
My contemplation was interrupted by a loud crash, emanating from somewhere in the kitchen out back. Startled, I looked up to see Kayla throw her apron over her shoulder in Bailey’s stunned face, stomp past the counter, rudely push her way through several café patrons, and bang through the doors. Through the window, I could see her stop and look up the street, then down in the other direction, seemingly deciding where to go. I watched as she turned on her heel and spun around, looking directly at me through the window with a red, angry face. I shrunk back into my seat and quickly looked away. I hated confrontation. The power to turn invisible would have come in very handy right about now. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her stomping back into the café.
I stood up, concerned about what she was planning to do. I glanced over at Bailey and could tell in an instant she was worried as well. Kayla pushed through the patrons once more, past Bailey and back into the kitchen. As quickly as I could, I darted across the café and behind the counter. Bailey could be in danger; I had to get there fast.
A second later, Kayla reappeared at the kitchen entrance, her satchel slung over her shoulder. I noticed Bailey press herself up against the counter in what appeared to be an attempt to put as much space between herself and her employee as she could.
Kayla glared at her, seething. “I forgot this.”
“Okay,” Bailey replied uncertainly, trying to smile.
“Thanks for nothing, bitch ,” Kayla spat at Bailey to a collective gasp from both me and the café patrons, who were all watching the scene unfold with wide eyes.
To my relief, Kayla stormed off, out from behind the counter and through the door, leaving Bailey and myself watching her go, agog, the café silent around us.
I turned to Bailey and put my hand on her arm. She flinched at my touch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
She blinked at me, as though in a daze, not speaking. People in the café appeared to spring back to life, talking amongst themselves. Kayla had certainly given them all something to talk about this morning, that was for sure.
I raised my eyebrows enquiringly at her. “Bailey?”
She appeared to snap out of her Kayla-induced reverie. “Yes, Paige. Yes. I’m fine. That was . . . unexpected.”
“Um, yeah. What was it all about?”
Bailey let out a puff of air. “You know what? I have no idea. I mean, she had some weird notion the gluten in the baked goods could seep through her skin and give her celiac disease, but I didn’t think she was serious.” She shook her head in disbelief. “She seemed perfectly sane when I employed her a week or so ago.”
I scoffed. “Well, she’s pretty far from sane today.”
“That is the truth.”
“And I’m no expert, but I don’t think you can catch celiac from touching a cake.”
Bailey’s eyes flashed as a smile teased the edges of her mouth. “No, I don’t think you can.”
I let out a chuckle. Maybe Kayla was just having a bad day—or perhaps she really did have a touch of the crazies.
Bailey looked at the growing line of customers, waiting to place their orders with her. She pasted on a smile and greeted the first customer. “Hello, sir. I apologize for the . . . whatever that was. What can I get you?”
The man smiled back at her and placed his order, making a remark about drama queen waitresses. I felt like an idiot, standing behind the counter, watching Bailey work quickly and efficiently. She was serving the long line of customers with a bright smile on her face, looking as though Kayla hadn’t just abandoned her in an angry puff of smoke.
“Can I help?” I asked her as she stepped next to me, placing a blueberry muffin on a plate.
“Could you? That would be so brilliant. I wasn’t expecting to be here on my own right now, and I’m short staffed as it is today.”
“Just tell me what to do.”
Bailey leaned down and pulled one of her trademark red polka dot aprons with the frill trim from under the till and handed it to me. “Got to look the part, chickadee.”
I slipped it over my head and tied the apron around my waist, liking the way it made me feel. I’d always admired Bailey’s style. She was a vintage dresser like me, but whereas I liked to wear clothes from all sorts of eras—the fifties, seventies, and eighties, mainly—she was a fifties devotee, through and through. The Cozy Cottage red polka dot apron sat beautifully on her cinched in waist, emphasizing her screen siren physique.
For the rest of the morning, we worked alongside one another almost nonstop, serving up cakes and slices, muffins and scones. Having no idea how to operate the behemoth coffee machine the café boasted, I left Bailey to that end of the job and fumbled my way through charging customers for their purchases. It was a steeper learning curve than climbing Everest, but I felt useful and it was so much fun. And it was the antithesis of sitting in an office with artificial light, staring at a screen all day.
During a much-needed lull, after the main lunch crowd had been served their paninis, stuffed croissants, and more and more cups of coffee, Bailey put her hand on my shoulder. “Paige, you are a Godsend. I’m so grateful you stepped in like that. Thank you.”
I shrugged. “I liked it. And let’s face it, I didn’t exactly have anywhere else I needed to be today.”
She let out an easy laugh, smoothing her hands down her apron. “No, but I bet you didn’t think you’d be working in a coffee shop when you got up this morning. Now, you have to let me pay you.” She pinged the till open and pulled out some notes.
I placed my hand over hers. “You don’t need to do that. I was happy to do it. I had a lot of fun.”
“You don’t have a job anymore, so it’s the least I can do.” She counted out some notes, took my hand, and turned it palm up, closing my fingers over the money. “No arguments.”
She was right. No job did equal no money. Sure, I had some savings thanks to the fact I hadn’t had to pay rent since moving back in with Dad, but I knew that pretty soon, not having that AGD income pouring into my account was going to hurt.
“Now, while it’s quiet, I need to make some calls to get someone to cover Kayla’s shifts. She was scheduled for the rest of the week.” Bailey stepped into the kitchen and pulled out her phone.
I slipped my apron off and folded it up. As I absentmindedly smoothed the fabric, a light bulb pinged above my head, like it did in the cartoons. I stood at the entrance to the kitchen. “Hey, Bailey? I could do it.”
She looked up at me. “You could?”
The euphoria I’d felt after I had quit spread across my chest once more. “Yeah. I could. I’d like to. What do you say?”
She pressed a button on her phone and looked up at me, her smile spreading from ear to ear. “I say, yes.”
I arrived home to Dad, utterly exhausted from working in the Cozy Cottage Café all day, with sore feet and the need to get horizontal as fast as humanly possible. My body was so used to sitting in front of a screen all day, being on my feet behind the counter serving customers and delivering orders had totally wiped me out.
“Hello, honey,” Dad said when I stumbled into the kitchen, stifling a yawn. “You’re home early.”
I looked up at the clock above the doorway: five fifteen. At AGD, I would still be sitting at my desk, willing the minute hand to speed its slow progression to hit five thirty so I could go home. “Yeah, I had a . . . thing. A meeting, that’s what it was, over this side of town. I decided to come home straight from there, rather than go back into the office.” I shifted from sore foot to sore foot, the lie sitting uncomfortably.
Truth be told, I wasn’t ready to tell Dad about my resignation. I knew he wouldn’t take it well. He’d worry about me and my career and what I was doing with my life. A man who had worked his whole life to reach the dizzying heights of Supermarket Checkout Cashier Shift Manager wouldn’t understand someone like me deciding to walk away from a good corporate job, especially without having another one to go to. Add to that the fact I was, at least for the time being, working at a café on almost minimum wage, he may be in risk of an aneurysm.
“Well, it’s nice to have you home.” He accepted my lie without question and kissed me on the cheek.
I swallowed my guilt and forced a bright tone. “What’s for dinner?”
“I’m making my world-famous shepherd’s pie. Your favorite.” He bobbed my nose with his finger.
“Delicious.” It was true, shepherd’s pie had been my favorite meal when I was eight, but that was twenty-odd years ago now. I liked to think of myself as a little more sophisticated in the culinary stakes these days. “I’ll go get changed and come help out.”
“Good idea. You don’t want to mess up your good work clothes. Got to look the part for the big bosses, right, lamb chop?” He winked and smiled at me, returning his attention to chopping an onion.
“That’s right.” I half laughed as I trudged up the stairs to my bedroom, each step rubbing more and more painfully against the blisters on my poor feet. Once inside my room, I kicked off my shoes with an audible wince and flopped down onto my bed. I let out a long sigh as I closed my eyes, loving the feel of my soft bed beneath me.
What a day . I’d gone from being pushed into a role I didn’t want in another team to quitting my job to working in a café, all within twelve short hours. I smiled to myself as I thought of the look on Portia’s face. For an actual facial expression to push through that amount of Botox and fillers is a testament to just how deeply my resignation shocked her. My smile broadened as I got more comfortable on my bed.
And now I was no longer an Email Marketing Assistant.
My belly twisted. Oh, my gosh. I was no longer an Email Marketing Assistant! Panic gripped me, and I sat bolt upright on my bed. What had I done? I’d thrown away a perfectly good job for . . . for . . . what? Sure, I hated it and it had been a fantastic moment when I’d resigned, but it was just that: a moment. Now I had the rest of my life to regret it.
I pushed myself off my bed and stood, looking at myself in my full-length mirror. I looked a fright. My hair was a mess and my mascara was smudged beneath my eyes. I’d been too busy in the café to give a second thought to how I looked. Usually, in the office, I’d see myself in the mirror whenever I went to the bathroom—which was often, thanks to the huge amount of coffee I drank every day to stave off the boredom.
I took a deep breath, giving myself a mental talking to. I’d made my bed. Whether I liked it or not, I was no longer an Email Marketing Assistant at AGD Telecommunications.
There was no going back.