Chapter 2
Parker – a baker who is beginning to hate the smell of pumpkin pie
Parker
A knock on the back door of the bakery startles me awake.
“Go away,” I shout. “I’m not giving you directions.”
I lay my head back on the table. I just need a few more minutes of sleep and then I’ll get back to baking. I promise.
“Parker. It’s me. Holly.”
I groan. So much for getting a few more minutes of sleep. Holly works the counter in the bakery. If she’s here, it’s time to open up.
My back and knees crack as I stand and make my way to the door. I open it and usher Holly inside before locking it again.
I usually keep the door open during the day, but with some weirdo wandering around town trying to find Eli, I don’t dare.
It’s not the first time a reporter has come to Smuggler’s Hideaway to find Eli.
Eli’s a billionaire who co-founded Apparoo – a tech company – and owns Buccaneer’s Whiskey & Distillery.
The media is fascinated by him. His fiancée, Paisley, just had a baby and the gossip magazines are willing to pay big bucks for a picture of baby Stephanie. Not on my watch.
“Geez, boss lady, did you fall asleep while baking again?” Holly brushes flour off my face while giggling.
“Today is Thanksgiving. Everyone and their uncle ordered some kind of pie for their holiday dinner.”
Thank the mermaids. Business hasn’t been great since a chain coffee shop opened up on the boardwalk two years ago. I could use some extra income to get me through the winter months when the tourism on the island slows to a crawl.
“My parents are pissed at me for working today.”
I frown. Shit. I didn’t think about Holly missing Thanksgiving with her family to work today. I avoid my family as much as possible. There won’t be a Shaw family Thanksgiving to attend.
At least I don’t live at home with them anymore. Talk about uncomfortable. I used to live in the loft above the bakery, but then I had it renovated to rent out to tourists. I can’t afford to miss the income from the rent, so I moved back home for a while.
Now I have my own place. Well, not exactly my own since I have a roommate. And it’s not what anyone would call a ‘nice’ place, but it’s free of my parents and their judginess.
“Go on home,” I tell Holly. “I’ll handle the front.”
She lifts her eyebrows. “While you bake?”
“Sure.”
“Do you not remember what happened the last time you tried to handle the front while baking?”
“Maybe I wanted the fire department to come.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “The new recruit is pretty cute.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. You complained non-stop about how they overreacted.”
“They totally did.”
“The smoke alarms went off.”
“Fire does not always follow smoke.”
“Your Blackbeard’s revenge cookies were burnt to a crisp.”
“But there was no fire.”
“Whatever,” she mumbles. “It’s time to open.”
She pushes through the door to the front, but I chase after her. “I’m serious, Holly. You should go home.”
She motions toward the door where a line of customers has formed. “No way. You’re too busy baking pies to handle customers today.”
“I can do it.”
“Don’t you have to deliver all those pies before noon?”
Crap on a rusty smuggler’s ship. I did promise to deliver all the pies this morning. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking. I was envisioning dollar signs.
“I don’t want you to miss Thanksgiving with your family.”
“We don’t eat until this afternoon.” She grins. “Mom’s just mad because I can’t help in the kitchen this morning because I’m here.”
“In other words, you should thank me.”
She rolls her eyes as she hurries to the door to open the bakery. “Good morning. Who’s ready for some pastries this morning?”
I leave her to it and return to the kitchen to finish the Thanksgiving pie orders.
“Parker!” Holly shouts sometime later.
I sigh. She usually only asks me to come to the front if someone’s complaining. She doesn’t handle criticism. But she doesn’t mind soaking up all the comments about my baked goodies.
I force myself to smile before joining her. “How can I help?”
She motions to the customer at the front of the line. “Sloane wants to order a pie. For today.”
“Sorry, Sloane. I stopped accepting Thanksgiving orders last week.”
“But you don’t understand.”
I do understand. I’ve known Sloane since we were both kids running around the island getting into trouble for tormenting the tourists by giving them false directions and winding them up about ‘mermaid’ sightings.
Which is why I know she probably forgot all about the holiday until she woke up this morning and saw the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on her television. Sloane doesn’t understand the concept of keeping an agenda. Let alone, actually referring to it from time to time.
“Even if I wanted to help you out, I can’t. I have dozens of pies I need to deliver before noon. I don’t have time to bake you a pie.”
She pouts. “But it’s me.”
“Buy some pumpkin pie cookies instead,” the woman in line behind her says.
I wave to Jade. “Are you here to pick up your pecan pie?”
“And about five dozen cookies before Adrian eats me out of house and home. I love my son, but it’s not fair how much he can eat. I so much as peek at a cookie and I gain five pounds.”
“Tell me about it.” My hips could have their own zip codes. “Let me grab your pie while Holly packs up your cookies.”
“What about my pie?” Sloane hollers.
“It’s waiting for you at the grocery store.”
“Their pies don’t taste orgasmic.”
Holly giggles. I slam my hands over her ears. “You need to find a man or woman to satisfy your sexual needs because my pie won’t be helping.”
Holly slaps my hands away. “You’re worse than my mom. I know what an orgasm is for mermaid’s sake. I’m nineteen. I might have had one myself.”
I groan. “Please don’t tell your mom you’re sexually active. She’ll blame me.”
I can’t afford to lose Holly. She’s a great worker. Always arrives on time. Willing to stay late when I need her to. Her friends occasionally show up and she gives them freebies until the display case is empty, but it’s a small price to pay for a good worker.
I grab Jade’s pie from the kitchen. It’s all wrapped up and ready to go.
“Here you go,” I hand her the pie while covertly scanning the bakery for signs of Sloane.
“She’s gone,” Jade says. “Holly read her the riot act for bothering you on a holiday after you’ve been baking all night and she slinked away with her tail between her legs.”
“Okay.”
She narrows her eyes on me. “You were already thinking about ways to bake her a pie, weren’t you?”
I shrug. There’s no sense denying it. I have a problem saying no to my friends. And an even bigger problem with my bank account.
“You should—” She’s cut off when someone screams.
“I saw a rat!”
Jade mumbles goodbye before rushing out of the bakery, leaving me to deal with a hysterical customer.
“There isn’t a rat,” I tell the woman. I don’t know her, so she must be a tourist. All the smugglers know there isn’t a rat in my bakery. But there might be a furry animal.
She points to the corner. “I saw it with my very own eyes.”
I sigh before marching to the display case and grabbing a few Selkie bites. They’re mini cookies made of sea salt and dark chocolate chips. They’re divine. My oversized behind is the proof.
“Viking,” I holler. “I have your favorite.”
He peeks out from behind a chair.
“Oh my word.” The woman clutches her chest. “You have a pet rat.”
“Viking is not a rat. He’s an otter.”
“Like an otter is so much better. I can’t believe I came in here. I’ll be going to the coffee shop on the boardwalk from now on.” She whirls away and scurries out of the bakery.
I scan the line of waiting customers. All of them are locals and not bothered one bit by the appearance of Viking. Of course, they know the otter lives with me. He’s the mascot for Smuggler’s Rest – the largest town on the island of Smuggler’s Hideaway.
The other two towns on the island – Pirate’s Perch and Rogue’s Landing – have live mascots as well. Plank, the foul-mouthed parrot, is the mascot for Pirate’s Perch. And Rogue’s Landing has Rogue, the naughty raccoon that’s addicted to marshmallows.
Usually, the location of the mascots is kept secret since it’s tradition for smugglers to try and steal the mascots in the summer. But no one is taking Viking from me. I love the furry guy and I’m not letting him go.
I kneel in front of Viking. “Here you go.” I feed him a bit of the Selkie bite. “Did the mean tourist scare you?”
I understand. I nearly peed my pants when the reporter banged on my door last night. I won’t be forgetting to switch off the lights in the bakery while I’m baking in the kitchen again.