Chapter 12
TWELVE
“Girl, that definitely counts as sex.” Scarlett pursed her lips as she arranged a bouquet of flowers on the counter in her shop.
Lucy hummed in agreement.
The shop smelled of fresh-cut flowers, the air heavy with moisture and warmth. Camilla leaned on the front counter and pursed her lips at her friends. “We had our clothes on the whole time,” Camilla protested, then said, “I mean, except for my sweater.”
Scarlett just rolled her eyes and laughed. “Right.”
“There was no penetration. We didn’t even touch each other skin to skin.”
“Sex isn’t just penis-in-vagina, Camilla,” Lucy noted, her feet swinging as she perched on a cushioned stool.
“I know that.” Camilla slumped, dropping her head on top of her arms where they were crossed on the counter.
Scarlett plucked a bit of greenery from a bucket beside her and slid it into the bouquet. She was grinning.
“Stop it,” Camilla complained.
Scarlett painted an innocent look on her face. “What! I didn’t even say anything.”
“I can hear your judgment.”
“I, of all people, cannot judge you for sleeping with a beautiful man. I’m still in the throes of my slut phase. In fact, I’m going away next weekend, driving down to Boston for a sexcation with a man I’ve been chatting with online. That in itself should be proof that I can’t pass judgment for making bad decisions when it comes to men.”
“So you think it was a bad decision?” Camilla asked, cringing.
“What, hooking up with your roommate and pretending that you were just scratching each other’s itch? Telling yourself it was a one-time thing? Pretending that you haven’t been lusting after him twenty-four-seven since the day of Amelia’s wedding?”
“All right, all right,” Camilla grumbled. “I get it.”
“I think it’s great,” Lucy cut in. “You look all glowy and refreshed. With all the work you’ve put in at the bakery, you deserve to let your hair down.”
Camilla did her best to give her a genuine smile, but it was a little tight around the edges. She’d never told her friends about the loan, and she definitely hadn’t told anyone about the ten-thousand-dollar late fee.
Everyone thought she’d built this business on her own, that she’d made good decisions and created something special. But she’d taken a huge risk, and it still had the potential to blow up in her face. She had mere weeks to come up with the money, and things kept going wrong at the bakery. Between the broken window and the malfunctioning oven, the deposit that Fred and Nadia had paid was dwindling.
She needed to make more money, and fast. Hooking up with Marlon wasn’t just scratching an itch; it was a distraction.
“I have news,” Lucy announced as Scarlett gave the bouquet one last primp before wrapping it in colored paper. Lucy grinned. “I’m going to get a booth at the Wedding Expo next year.”
The Wedding Expo happened annually every summer in Stirling. Vendors hocked their wares, pushed their services, and made connections. A booth was expensive, and competition was fierce. Booths weren’t just rented out to anyone; an application had to be made and approved.
“Amazing!” Camilla’s smile turned genuine as she crossed the space and wrapped Lucy in a hug. “Congratulations. I think that’s a great idea.”
“Online sales have been steady, but if I could meet some local wedding planners and vendors, I think it’ll help me drum up more business around here.”
Lucy had started designing and selling specialty stationery years ago as a side gig to put herself through college. She’d carved a niche for herself in creating wedding invitations, seating plans, table name cards, and all the other sundry required to put on a big event. Now, it was her full-time job.
“Smart,” Scarlett said with a nod. “I use social media a lot, but referrals are really where it’s at. If you can get a line to a few good wedding planners, you’ll be able to grow your business fast.”
“I’m hoping to do the same this year,” Camilla added. “Hopefully the Goodhew wedding can put me on the map.”
“The only thing I’m worried about is being at the Wedding Expo at the same time as Aaron Phillips. He won’t be happy that I’m moving in on his turf. He’s been the go-to wedding stationery guy in Stirling for twenty years.”
“Aaron Phillips can get his head out of his ass and realize that competition is the lifeblood of business,” Scarlett stated. “I had some nasty words with the old lady that runs Stirling Flowers when I first moved in, but she just needed to be put in her place.”
Lucy tilted her head from side to side. “Yeah. Aaron’s kind of scary, though.”
“In a Napoleon Bonaparte sort of way,” Scarlett added.
“What, like he’s going to invade Russia and fail?”
“No, Camilla,” Scarlett huffed, holding back her laugh. “Like he’s an angry little man who needs to be a self-proclaimed emperor in order to feel good about himself.”
“Last time I saw him he literally shook his fist at me,” Lucy cut in with a shiver, “and it was so creepy I crossed the road so I wouldn’t have to be near him.”
“You should hire someone to work the Expo with you if you feel unsafe. I can ask Marlon what his company charges, or if that’s too much you could hire a college kid or something,” Camilla said.
Lucy hummed. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
Camilla opened her mouth to press the issue, but her phone alarm began to ring. She glanced at the time. “I have to get back to the bakery. See you guys at bootcamp tomorrow morning?”
“See ya!” Scarlett called out as Camilla reached the door. “Remember to use protection!”
Camilla rolled her eyes and waved goodbye. Cold slapped her in the face as she stepped outside, so she buried her chin into her jacket and hurried to her car. She was so busy bracing herself against the chill that she didn’t realize there was a man standing next to her driver’s side door.
“Frankie says hello,” the man said, expressionless. The blankness of his features was almost more intimidating than if he’d snarled.
Camilla gulped and tried to keep the trembling from her voice. This was just like dealing with her family: She couldn’t let them think her weak. “Move away from my car.”
“He wants part of your payment by the end of the week.”
“What?” Camilla screeched, frowning at him. “I don’t owe him anything until December.”
“Fine print says he can request partial payment anytime. End of the week. A thousand bucks.” The man pushed himself off the side of her car and loomed over her, then stalked away.
Hands shaking, Camilla dove into her car and locked the doors. She watched the other man get in an SUV and drive off, then gripped her steering wheel with both hands, sucking in deep breaths until she felt calm enough to drive.
A thousand dollars by the end of the week? He was toying with her. If she hadn’t gotten the deposit from Fred, the window and the oven would have drained her accounts completely.
A thought made her brows tug together. What if…
No. That was crazy.
But what if Frankie was the one causing these problems at her business? Was he trying to sabotage her? Was she completely paranoid?
Camilla put her hands near the heating vents and focused on warming herself up. Then she put the car in gear and mulled over her suspicions. She crossed the Stirling Bridge, her hands white-knuckled on the wheel, and parked the car behind the bakery, then leaned her head against the headrest and closed her eyes.
Someone had thrown a rock in her window, and her oven had experienced an electrical fault. Both of those things were normal, unfortunate occurrences for a business. She couldn’t let her worries cloud her judgment. She’d just have to cut some of the staff hours this week, work them herself, and scrounge up the money for the payment Frankie was demanding. Ben had been asking for a few days off, anyway. She was useless at latte art, but her customers could deal with it for a few days.
If she ran the bakery with a skeleton crew, she could save on labor costs and make the final payment.
It was almost over. She’d just get the money together, pay Frankie what she owed him, and turn the page. Everything would be okay. It had to be.
When she pushed the back door of her bakery open, the scent of fresh bread and sugar soothed her fraying nerves. She inhaled deeply and unzipped her jacket, then frowned when she heard a familiar voice.
“It’s fixed now?” Marlon asked.
“Seems to be. It was the weirdest thing. The technician said it was to do with the exhaust fan. It wasn’t turning properly, and the oven overheated and shorted out.” Daniel had his hands on his hips as they both stared at the big stainless-steel monster against the wall. “Never seen it happen before, and I’ve been working with these machines for years.”
“What are you doing here?” Camilla blurted.
Marlon glanced over, his features softening. “Hey. I was driving by.”
That wasn’t an answer, but Camilla’s body had turned hot and melty at the look on Marlon’s face, so she couldn’t quite work up the outrage required to challenge him on it. “Oh. Daniel, is the oven okay?”
“Working like a dream,” the baker said, patting the side panel. “I’m heading out. You need me to do anything before I go?”
Camilla shook her head. Daniel nodded to Marlon, then grabbed his jacket from the staff area, said a final goodbye, and slipped out the door. The daytime baker was busy on the other side of the kitchen, shifting a tray from the oven to a cooling rack.
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” Camilla told Marlon. She grabbed her apron from a hook on the wall and gave him a sideways glance.
Marlon leaned against one of their work surfaces. He was dressed in all black, his cheeks rosy from either the cold outside or the warmth in the bakery. He watched her with glimmering hazel eyes like he was wondering whether he could pounce on her from the distance that separated them. “I asked Daniel about the oven, and he offered to show me.”
“Sounds like I need to have a talk with him tomorrow about letting customers into the kitchen.”
Marlon’s lips kicked. He stalked around the marble surface between them, and Camilla had the ridiculous urge to circle around so he couldn’t catch her. But she stood her ground and lifted her chin, and Marlon came to a stop in front of her. Their toes nearly touched.
She glanced across the kitchen, but her last baker had disappeared through the door to the dining room.
“You left early this morning,” Marlon said, his voice deep and rumbly.
Camilla fiddled with the strings of her apron, tying and retying the knot in front of her. “Yes, well, I had things to do here before we opened.”
“You sure you weren’t avoiding me?”
She forced herself to give him a flat stare. “Why do you assume my life has anything to do with you? Arrogant, much?”
He moved closer, crowding her against one of the refrigerators. “If you regret what we did last night, you should let me know.”
“So that’s why you were ‘driving by,’ was it?” She popped a brow.
Marlon placed his palm above her head so he leaned over her. “Among other reasons.”
“Hey, Camilla, can I—oh! Sorry!” Emily flailed and backed into the dining room door, smacking her arm on the doorframe. She yelped and stumbled backward. Ben’s head popped above her shoulder, curious about the noise. Then the third employee appeared above Ben’s head.
Camilla slipped under Marlon’s arm and went to Emily, who had ducked back into the dining room with everyone else. “Are you okay?”
“Oh my God,” Emily hissed. “You were totally going to make out with him! What’s he even doing here?”
“Good question,” Camilla grumbled as Marlon slipped back out to the dining room. He had a grin on his lips and a gleam in his eyes. He gave her a little two-finger wave and stalked out the door.
“Are you boning him?” Emily screeched so loud heads turned in their direction. Then she pumped her fist in the air. “Go, Camilla!”
“I’m not boning anyone,” Camilla hissed, then ducked back into the kitchen.
“Wait! Can I take my break now?” Emily asked, following.
“Sure. No problem. Get Ben to watch the counter for a few minutes.” Camilla escaped into the office and locked herself inside. She leaned against the door and let out a shuddering breath. Her cheeks smarted and her body felt hot. The space between her legs pulsed with every heartbeat.
Marlon had done that with a few words and a heated look.
She was in so much trouble.
Shaking her head, Camilla squared her shoulders. She poked her head out of the office and called out, “Hey, Em?”
The young woman turned, phone in hand, brows arched. “Yeah?”
“Come here for a minute, will you? I want to talk to you about something.”
Emily shuffled over and sat on the desk while Camilla gathered her thoughts. A week ago, she would have brushed this conversation off—found any excuse not to open the Pandora’s box of her past—but that was before she’d told Marlon about her experience with her first boyfriend. Now, when she looked at Emily, she saw a young girl who reminded Camilla of herself. A young girl who might need someone to speak to her like they cared.
“I want to talk to you about my first boyfriend,” Camilla started, taking a seat in her office chair. The words were stilted, uncomfortable, but she knew she’d be able to say them. She smiled softly at Emily and began to tell the story of her past.
When she was finished, Emily was somber. She slid off the desk and wrapped her arms around Camilla, squeezing tight. “I’ll talk to Anna,” she promised, “but I don’t know if she’ll listen.”
“Come to me if you need anything, Emily. I mean it. Anything,” Camilla said, and the young woman nodded. When Emily walked away, Camilla sighed—but she felt a warm buzz in her heart.
Opening up to Marlon had allowed her to face one of the things that had steeped her in shame. Stripping off her bubbly, friendly armor and having an open conversation with Emily felt good . It felt like she was sinking roots in the ground, building stronger ties to this place and these people.
She wondered if her lifelong fight for independence, for self-sufficiency, had been the wrong approach all along. What good was independence when it meant you were perpetually isolated? Not completely, but in all the deep, important ways.
As she sat in her office and let those realizations sink in, Camilla thought about Frankie. Why was she letting some greasy loan shark push her around? She should have already learned her lesson about men like him. He was just like her ex, trying to take advantage of her in every way he could.
Suddenly, a ten-thousand-dollar late fee felt like total and utter bullshit . Why was she putting up with that? She’d paid him what she owed. Their business was done .
Steeping herself in her self-righteous outrage, Camilla built up her courage. Frankie wanted a thousand dollars by the end of the week, but what he’d get was a piece of her mind.