Chapter Four
Augie
I put the last of the bread in the oven to bake and glanced up at the clock.
We’d been busier than usual this morning, and I hadn’t been able to sneak back as quickly as I wanted.
It would be close for the warm-bread lunch crowd.
We’d make it, but barely. It was fine. No one could be overly disappointed about fresh bread that just didn’t happen to be hot. Could they?
When I started getting the requests for the loaves that weren’t quite ready for the case, I reminded the customers that cutting hot bread wasn’t ideal.
I gave up after a while. Some told me it wouldn’t last, so it didn’t matter.
Others said the taste of the warm bread made whatever happened to the rest of the loaf worth it, and a couple gave me the stink eye because customer service wasn’t always sunshine and roses.
I gave up on educating people and just bagged it up and let them go their way.
The phone on the wall rang, not completely unusual. Usually someone asking if we still had a particular item or if it had sold out. We tried to answer as often as possible, but some days we didn’t get there on time. I felt bad, but not as bad as if I left customers waiting to go answer a phone.
I’d considered getting a cell, knowing people often texted numbers instead of dialing, but I’d ruined more than one over my years working in bakeries from the flour getting in the nooks and crannies it shouldn’t.
One somehow ended up in the dishwater. The bakery was not a good place for handheld technology.
I was glad I’d opted for a good old-fashioned landline instead.
When I got flour or jam on the handle, cleanup was easy, and replacing it would cost much less.
“Bake a Little Love, Augie speaking.” My bakery name was a nod to my grandfather. He used to tell me that as long as I baked out of love, it didn’t matter if I was working in a diner, making cookies for my family, or the top baker in the world.
“Hi, I’m calling on behalf of Dante Events.” The woman on the other end sounded so flipping serious.
I didn’t recognize the name, but I just nodded in response. Like they could see me. I felt like I was back in grade school with her tone and that I was about to walk laps at recess.
“You there?”
“Sorry. Nice to meet you.” Could I mess up a phone call any more? I hadn’t met her. I didn’t know her name. Ugg.
“We’re sorry to call you on short notice, but we need a baker for a charity fundraiser at Animals. The person originally slated had a family emergency, and he gave us your name and said you’d be able to help.”
Their tone made sense now. They were panic hunting for a baker.
I racked my brain trying to think of who would recommend me who had a connection to Animals, and then I remembered the bakery across town where I’d applied for a job when I arrived in town. They told me I out baked them already and recommended I check out this place and consider opening my own.
There weren’t many businesses who encouraged competition and, at the time, I thought they were being dismissive.
Then I walked in here and saw the generosity they’d displayed.
We’d hardly kept in touch, but this was a reminder I needed to shoot him another thank-you.
His one comment changed the trajectory of my life.
The person who still hadn’t identified herself, talked about the theme of the party, how many guests were expected, the budget, how they’d need a delivery, and all the details except one—the date. That should’ve been the hint that I wasn’t going to like the answer.
“And when is this, again?”
“When I said short notice, I really meant it.” And when the actual date left her lips, I nearly said no on the spot. The money was great, the quantity of baked goods was doable, but the time frame—I didn’t know how to handle it, not when I’d already placed this week’s supply order.
But this was at the club Animals, and the event was for actual living animals.
I could hardly say no. Animals, the club, was by far the most well-known shifter business in the country.
The networking alone was gold. And who didn’t want to help animals in need—the cute little cuddly kind or the fierce kind?
I didn’t even ask, because they all deserved more than humans gave them.
“Did you have a set menu planned?”
“We were hoping for something cute and animal-ish. I saw on your social media that you’re really good at making little breads and cakes shaped like adorable cuteness.” I’d done it once as a fun theme when I was bored. They had to have scrolled down months to find them. I was impressed.
I’d all but committed already, and my job just got harder. Those cute little breads and cakes took forever to create. I loved creating them, too. But I also loved sleep and had a feeling I’d be giving up on it for the next week.
“If I do this, can you guarantee me payment on delivery?” I wasn’t a jerk like that, but in a case like this, I felt like I needed to be.
The person on the other end promised me it would be half now, going so far as to say someone would drop it off today, and the balance on delivery.
There was no excuse left. I was doing this.
I gave her my personal number, and she promised to give it to the owner, Dante. She thanked me a thousand times and took my email to send the contract and the final details, and I raced to the back. I had planning to do. Lots and lots of planning.
But first, I needed to stop by Animals and check out the space I’d be setting up. This was too important to not start with the big picture.