Chapter 5
WINNIE
“Are you asking me out on a date, Creampuff?” It’s triggering—the emphasis on you, the raised eyebrow.
It’s going to be that thing I obsessively ruminate over at two a.m. twenty years from now.
Are you asking me out on a date? Like a girl who looks like me shouldn’t even have the audacity to ask a man like him out. He deserves to be saddled with my useless sister.
I come in hot. “I’d never date you. You’re useless and arrogant, self-absorbed, shallow—”
“So you really just like me for my body. That’s okay, Creampuff. I don’t mind being objectified.”
“Stop calling me Creampuff. It’s insulting.”
“What? I love all that strawberry-flavored cream all over my face, coating my tongue—”
I want to slap him, but that would make a scene, and I don’t need to be the crazy lady slapping the shit out of some poor, helpless, handsome guy—even if he deserves it.
He winks at me. “But point taken. I’ll change up the nickname. What was the Christian name of that witch in ‘Hansel and Gretel’ who baked children into pies?”
“Out.”
“What?”
“You’re banned. Get out of my café.”
“Ooh, but you like me, remember?”
My body reacts like I’ve been shocked when he closes the distance between us. I can feel the heat from his body, smell that scent of leather mixed with the paper and ink of the bookstore. He’s so close to me, his nose is practically touching my forehead.
“You do like me. In fact, I think you want me.”
“Yeah…” I say breathily. “I want you to sign me to a five-year lease with a fixed four-point-two-five percent APR, zero prepayment penalty, and an escalation clause tied to annual CPI adjustments. Throw in an early-termination fee and a mutual renewal option because I’m cute.”
That makes him step back and look at me with intrigue. “Someone wants to be a real estate influencer.”
“No, I just want a lease with good terms—fixed rate, minimal escalation, tenant improvement allowance, fair-market renewal options, and a clean early-termination clause. Nothing fancy.”
“Huh.” He rubs his jaw. “Come be my personal chef, and I’ll do it.”
“What? I’m not working for you. Screw you.”
“Why not?” He shrugs a shoulder. “Especially since you won’t date me.
Can’t imagine why. Could it be…” He’s back in my personal space.
“That you’re in love with someone else? Perhaps someone unattainable, whom you long for while lying in bed, like Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights.
An apparition to quench your unspeakable lust.”
“Congrats.” I slow clap. “You cheated off the smart girl in high school.”
“Do I sense lingering resentment? The girl who sacrificed her social life for grades? Don’t worry. You did mildly well for yourself. Bet your mom still wishes you’d given her grandkids and a big fancy wedding she could brag about.”
Asshole.
“Now, come hand-feed me homemade pasta in my multimillion-dollar penthouse.” He claps his hands in my face. “Fulfill your destiny.”
“Out. Or I’m calling the police. You can explain to your shareholders why you have a restraining order.”
“Joke’s on you, pastry witch. All my companies are privately held.” He swipes an order from the counter, blows a kiss to a giggling Olive—who is moving so… damn… slowly—and tosses a hundred-dollar bill at the guy whose order he just swiped.
“I’m sorry,” I tell the man as I watch Fitz fold his long limbs into the sports car illegally parked in front of the café. “I’ll make you a special batch.”
The door bursts open as I put another tray of the onion, mushroom, goat cheese, and olive oil galettes into the oven.
“You texted you had a salad for lunch. I came as soon as I could.” Carolina pants. “What’s the emergency?”
“No emergency. I’m just trying to figure out a way to get Fitz to fall in love with Kathy.”
Carolina peers at me then feels my forehead. “You really are in crisis. For the love of God, why are you sending your crush of a lifetime to your sister?” She grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “Boundaries. Self-esteem. All the therapy words.”
“Because I need to.”
“Uh, no. She has a boyfriend. A very rich boyfriend. Undeserved, but there you go.”
“He dumped her.”
Carolina and I take a seat a a table in the café, and I fill her in on the happenings. She grabs my salad and stuffs lettuce in her mouth. “And they’re just in your house?”
“Girl, yes.” I grab my salad back. It’s a Southwest-style salad—beans, corn, tomatoes, crispy lettuce, and the best chipotle ranch dressing you’ll ever find in Seattle, if I do say so myself. It pairs nicely with a good romantic thriller. “I should eat more salad.”
“You should grow some balls.”
“Kathy has nothing—no-thing—no credit history, no work history, no ring, no babies. That man just kicked her out of his house and my parents and granny out of the vacation home. Now they are here. With me. In my house.”
“You cannot save people from their bad decisions, and they will resent you for even trying.”
“I know, I know, but what am I supposed to do?” I fret.
“I don’t know. Focus on your own life. You have a stalker.”
“Oh no, he’s not going to come around anymore now that my parents are there,” I wail.
“You have Fidget.” The dog’s cone catches on a shelf, and all the sugar packets topple over. “Not to mention, you also need to find a new location for this café,” Carolina reminds me.
“Goddamn it, Fitz. I swear—”
“And honestly, I think that there is unresolved sexual tension between you two, and you should just go for it. Right in the cooler, the next time he comes over. Could also kill two problems—get laid, get your shop back. You play your cards right, you two could be married with a baby on the way this time next year.”
“No. Gross.”
“He was staring at your tits. You have a good shot.”
“I’m not sleeping with him. I don’t like him, can’t stand him, never will.” I retie my ponytail. “I have to find my sister a boyfriend. Rich, narcissistic, self-absorbed, with an ego bigger than his dick. Fitz is perfect. Getting him together with Kathy is my number-one priority at this moment.”
Carolina sighs. “I’m not going to make it.”
“We have to strategize.” I open up my laptop.
I’m inundated with notifications from the online dating apps I’ve signed up for.
“Ooh. You have a date? Show me the sexy guy you found.” Carolina shimmies.
“He’s not for me. He’s the backup plan to the backup plan. Also, can we just address the fact that online dating is so much easier for pretty women? I slap Kathy’s photo up there, and guys come out like roaches.”
“Yeah, but to be fair, I’ve seen you message guys when you tried to online date. You’re mean and unpleasant.”
“They’re all dicks.”
“You need a hobby.”
“No time.” I open up my spreadsheet. It’s color coded.
Carolina stares at my screen for a moment.
“I take it from your silence that you are wildly impressed.”
“You think you can pull this off in a month?” Carolina frowns.
“Either Kathy’s going to be shacked up with a guy with enough disposable income that he won’t notice four more dependents, or I’m going to be in jail for killing my mother,” I tell her flatly.
“So, tomorrow is blind date number one. I was up chatting with ten different guys, winnowed it down to five.” I show her the next tab.
“But I dropped one—he has some sort of peeing fetish and didn’t have the income to offset that.
Those dates will happen at regular intervals.
Best-case scenario, one of them takes in Kathy.
Worst case, she gets some dating practice. ”
Carolina’s hand is over her mouth.
“Now, there are several dating events in the city over the next three weeks. I have them all noted here, along with a weighted score of the number of eligible men and how likely it is that Kathy will find a new boyfriend there. And”—I type in the spreadsheet—“as a true fail-safe, I have been in talks with an escort service.”
“You’re going to buy your sister a boyfriend?”
“No, she’s going to be an escort. That’s how a lot of these rich guys, according to the internet, get some of their girlfriends. And she’ll meet a guy and fall in love, Pretty Woman style.”
“Don’t those services usually have age limits? Like, the guys want, like, a twenty-two-year-old?” Carolina squints.
I haul out my craft box. “Fake ID, motherfuckers.” I slug back my coffee. “But let’s register for this sugar-daddy dating website just to be on the safe side. I just texted you the link. And the clincher, the thing that’s going to make all of this”—I gesture to my spreadsheet—“unnecessary?”
I smile. I’m cooking.
“I scored us an invite to the Billionaire Ball. Full disclosure, the only way I was able to get an invite was by messaging Laura Bradberry.”
“Loony Laura?” Carolina gasps.
“Surprise, surprise. I did get forced to be a bridesmaid in a coworker’s wedding, so beauty prep needs to happen before then.
You’re coming too, FYI. Misery loves company.
Now, I assume you can handle doing research on the best days and times?
I need you to feed that information into the spreadsheet.
” I turn the laptop to her. “Comments? Questions? Concerns?”
Carolina is just shaking her head. “If only you had put half as much effort into finding a boyfriend for yourself, you’d be married with three kids by now.”
The bell above the shop door chimes.
Enter my family, stage left.
“Honestly, Winnie, you need to be sweeping outside of the shop. There are crumbs everywhere. You should put some tables out, though, have a little outdoor seating area.”
“Mom—”
“I need to take your grandmother to her new doctor, so I can’t stay long. Hello, Carolina, dear.”
“A doctor?” I wince. “Let’s not be hasty uprooting your whole life and all.”
“Do you all serve alcohol here? Where are all the romance novels?” Gran complains, heading over to browse the stacks.
“Winnie, you assured me you were only selling the classics and literary fiction,” Mom says, disapproving.
“What kind of bookstore doesn’t have the sex books? I want alien porn.”