Epilogue Two Mindy
Epilogue Two
Mindy
My heart flutters the second I pull up to my new home.
A building taller than I could ever imagine, and big enough to house the bakery and then some.
I’ve waited for this moment for years, only dreaming I’d ever be able to take my small cupcake food truck to an actual store front.
I’ve scrimped and saved the best I could, and I just so happened to find a screaming deal—one too good to pass up.
Now I’m here, standing on the doorstep of my future, my dreams literally manifesting right before my eyes, and I have Mr. Moseley to thank for it.
I’ve yet to meet the man, but I can’t help but feel indebted to him for willingly taking a chance on me and my business, offering me a place to live and conduct business all at the same time, with never meeting before.
A big guy comes out of the building next to mine, eyes narrowed into slits, taking in my cute little sundress like it offends him.
He’s dressed in a pressed suit, navy in color, that’s perfectly tailored and ironed.
There’s some flashy diamond cufflinks around his wrist, and a very expensive watch too.
His hair is a dark black, the color of suit and shadows, and he has that Eastern descent look to him, like he’s fresh off a gondola in Italy or something.
“Are you Ms. St. John?” he asks too gruff for a first meeting. But I’ll change that. They don’t call me Mrs. Sunshine for nothing.
My excitement is too much to bear and I’m practically dancing on the balls of my feet. “Oh bagels, yes! I’m so excited to meet you. You must be Mr. Moseley. I can’t begin to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
The man takes a step back when I reach for his hand, and grimaces. “You’re a lot older than expected?”
“I am?”
He nods. “For some reason, you have the voice of an adolescent.”
Grinning, I brush my hair away from my face, wiping away some leftover frosting from the fresh batch of chocolate cupcakes I made this morning, just for Mr. Moseley. “It’s a gift and a curse. But if I was a teenager, I wouldn’t be able to afford this place.”
His mouth tics in frustration. “I see.” He then reaches into his pocket and produces a set of keys. “Mr. Moseley is away on business, but he’s asked me to give you the tour.”
“That sounds fantastic.”
With an eye roll of annoyance, he turns towards the door, ignoring me.
“I didn’t catch your name.”
He keeps walking. “I didn’t offer it.”
“Are you always this grumpy?”
He stops at the door, fiddles with the keys for a few seconds, then opens it, only standing with enough space to hold it open for me. “I’m not grumpy. I’m annoyed. There’s a difference.”
My nose scrunches just a tad. “How can I already be annoying you?”
“You’re older than expected.”
“You keep saying that? Why is my age so important?”
His mouth sets into tight-lipped silence, motioning for me to go inside without another word said.
Once through the door, my heart drops to my feet.
The place is in absolute shambles. Everywhere you look there’s something that needs replacing.
A broken tile here, a faulty light there.
The oven looks ancient and too old to use, and there’s so many cobwebs, I’d hate to know what kind of eight-legged freaks are lurking in all these dark corners.
“Um, are you sure this is the place? The way Mr. Moseley described it had me believing it was in pristine condition.”
He folds his arms. “Are you not happy?”
“Oh, I’m definitely happy. I just expected… I don’t know… something more modern and not so rundown.”
This man must live on frowns and anger issues, because he’s always scowling and definitely not the welcome committee I expected.
“It’s fine, I swear. I’ll make it work. It just needs work.”
“Any work to be done needs to be approved through Moseley first.”
Nodding in agreement, I smile, doing my best to combat his gruff exterior with optimistic sunshine. It doesn’t work. “Landlord approval needed first. Got it. I’ll make sure I do a thorough walkthrough and run everything by him before I make any necessary repairs. You don’t think… nah, forget it.”
“What?” he questions, huffing out in frustration again.
“Well, you don’t think he’ll help with some of the repairs, do you? I mean, since he didn’t disclose the current condition of the building through our prior correspondence?”
Good, Mindy, show him you’re business savvy, and not some stupid girl that has no business running a bakery all on her own.
He laughs, but it’s a bit mocking and hurtful.
“Good luck with that, Girl.”
“Oh, please, call me Mindy.”
He looks at my outstretched hand again and rejects it, his mouth falling to another frown.
One full of disdain and disgust. “I’d rather not.
If you need help with financing, he may be able to work a deal out with you, but after looking you over, don’t be too surprised if his price is higher than you can pay.
” His eyes rake over me, making me uncomfortable in my own skin.
“Why does it seem like you hate me?”
He shrugs, already making his way to the door. “Because you’re not what was expected.”
“Are you ever going to explain what that means?” I shout after him, but it’s too late, he’s already gone and out the door before I have the chance to say thank you.
Once he’s gone, my heart sinks all over again, taking in the meager accommodations and the extra money and work I’m going to have to put into this place. I scrimped together a nice little nest egg, but now I’m not sure if that’s enough to get this place going like I want it to.
Sighing, I make my way back outside, desperate to empty the moving truck before it gets too dark. It’s times like this that I wish I had a boyfriend or husband, someone with big manly arms that can carry in boxes for me without batting a pretty eyelash.
A few hours roll by before I have most of my stuff unloaded into the front of the shop. I’m just starting to carry in the last of my boxes when I whip around, knocking into someone walking on the sidewalk.
“Oh, fudge sticks, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you like that.”
I can’t see who I knocked into, so I peek around my box, gasping when I’m met with only half a face, a face hidden behind a strange white mask.
“You should watch where you’re going,” he grumps, making sure to stay hidden just enough to conceal the rest of him.
What a pity. From behind that white mask, are eyes so blue and soul-sucking that I’m already getting lost in them.
He abruptly grabs the giant box from my hand, and panic takes over, because why else would a masked man rip a box out of my hands, other than to steal it?
“Hey!” I shout after him. “That’s mine.”
But instead of running off with my expensive mixer, the dude stops just outside my shop, waiting for me to open the door.
“Well, are you going to open the door or not?”
Cautiously, I approach the door, noticing that the man’s wearing a biker cut that says Elm Street Riders MC along the back of it.
A strange shudder erupts from my toes, working its way up my body until I feel tingly all over. I shake it off as nerves, but the second I open the door for him, they multiply, especially when I catch him staring at me with strange fascination.
“Where do you want it?”
“U—Um back counter?” I stutter nervously.
He nods once, then marches into the room and places the box on the back counter. I follow him like a dim-witted moth, wanting to see the rest of his face that he’s hiding behind boxes and masks.
But the second he places the box on the counter, he turns, our eyes meeting for two point six seconds before he quickly pushes past me and rushes towards the door.
“Hey, wait! I want to say thank you.”
He doesn’t turn around, just hovers by the door and says, “No thanks needed.”
Then he’s gone, the door opening and closing behind him with a slam that knocks the wind out of me.
It’s so dismantling that I find the closest chair and drop onto it, throwing my head back in complete awe.
“Whoever he was, he sure was cranky,” I whisper shout to a spider crawling across the wall.
I swear the spider looks at me with hungry eyes—and I suddenly feel like food, not friend.
“First things first… fumigation. I can’t have you creepy crawlies crawling all over my buttered biscuits, now can I?”
The spider, who I’ve now dubbed Mr. Giggles, keeps crawling onward, but his presence has left a mark. It’s just not as life-altering as the masked box-carrying biker with eyes so blue, he’ll be living in my wild fantasy daydreams for weeks.
Welcome to Fernley, Mindy, where you’re surrounded by spiders, mysterious landlords, and bikers that scream grumpy sunshine.