CHAPTER EIGHT #2
This is the part that makes me anxious. Like really anxious.
I need a good crew, and I need to train them up right.
Finding good help is no small feat, so I’m spending a lot of time with each applicant who steps through my door that afternoon.
Some are clear no’s, like the one guy who admitted halfway through the interview that he’d thought this was for a position as a taste tester.
Some are maybes—part timers who seem enthusiastic—and then I’ve got a few stand-out applicants who would be an immediate yes except I need to take my time and weigh my options.
After a few grueling hours of interviewing strangers in front of cameras, I’m whooped. It’s almost dinner time, and my stomach is growling. I convince Pat to wrap early—I need a proper evening of rest, dammit—and retire to the kitchen.
My sanctuary.
There isn’t much in here in the way of food yet, but I do have a few staples that I picked up at the local wholesale place just to start toying with ideas.
It felt like a braised short rib taco sort of night when I was at the store earlier, so I check on the meat simmering on the stovetop.
It’s been going for almost three hours, and I’m dying to test my first official meal in the new place.
I crank the hood, pleased with how it sucks out the rising steam from the pot.
This kitchen is fucking awesome—and frighteningly expensive.
I’ve done the mental math on how many steaks I need to sell to pay it off, and my calculations tell me it’ll take at least three years.
The smells coming from the pot already tell me this is going to be a banger. I replace the lid and wander to my stock room to grab some cleaning rags. While I’m back there, I hear a voice.
Specifically, Piper's voice. Singing what sounds like some kind of made-up tune. I pause, straining to hear better.
"My name is Piper and I’m doing piping," she croons in a surprisingly melodic voice. " Making tiny roses that are oh-so-striking..."
Oh my God. Does she sing this every time she works?
This is too cute and I must hear more. I move quietly through the storage room to the portal between our shops, the still-jagged but human-sized opening leading to her back room.
Through the opening, I can see Piper with her back to me, piping something onto a tray of marshmallows, completely in her own world as she continues her song.
"Squeeze the bag and twist around, make each petal tight. Ten trillion more trays to go before I sleep tonight..."
I can't help myself. I step through the hole and clear my throat. "Grammy-worthy."
Piper screams—like, actually screams—at the same time she squeezes the piping bag. It squirts and hits the wall, leaving a trail of pink buttercream sliding down the clean surface. Her eyes are wide, hand clutching her chest like she's having a heart attack.
" What the actual fuck ?"
I burst out laughing, which only makes her angrier. Her face turns the exact shade of the buttercream now oozing down her wall.
"You!" She grabs the nearest thing—a kitchen towel—and throws it at my face. I catch it easily. She’s breathing hard, like she's run a mile. “God, I hate when people do that."
"Do what? Walk through doorways?"
"Startle me." She runs her hands through her hair, messing up the bun. "My brothers used to hide around corners just to hear me scream. Assholes thought it was hilarious."
I lean against the remnants of the wall. "Well, it was kinda funny.”
Her eyes narrow. "I'm glad my trauma amuses you."
"Trauma?"
"Four older brothers, Kru. Four. Do you know what it's like to constantly be on edge because at any moment, someone might leap out at you?"
"No, but I'm beginning to understand why you're so tense all the time."
She crosses her arms. "I am not tense."
I give her a pointed look, and she sighs, shoulders dropping slightly.
"Fine. Maybe a little. But it's not just the startle factor. It's…" She gestures vaguely around her shop. "Everything. Building a business from scratch isn't exactly relaxing."
"Tell me about it." I drink her in from head to toe, appreciating the smear of buttercream on her cheek, the wispy fly-aways escaping her cute messy bun. "Though I noticed you managed to keep your shirt on for the entire work day. That counts for something.”
“Unlike you,” she counters.
“I took mine off willingly. Yours was ripped off by a bush.”
Her cheeks flush, and she looks away. "That was…unfortunate."
"I wouldn't say that."
Her eyes snap back to mine, and for a second I think she might throw something else at me. But then the corner of her mouth quirks up. There’s something she wants to say. She jerks her gaze away, and it feels like a cold breeze blows between us.
I step further into her space, taking in the organized chaos of her work area. "So tell me about your day. Stressful?"
She sighs and turns back to her ruined piping work. "Just busy. I've been taking on a lot of extra orders to save up for a security deposit."
"For a new apartment?"
"Yeah." She grabs a spatula and starts scraping the pink cream off the wall. "Living with Griffin is…fine. But it's just temporary. I need my own place."
"Found anything yet?"
"No. And rents in Bayshore are insane right now. It’s the tail end of tourist season still."
I watch her clean for a moment. "What about buying?"
She snorts. "Yeah, because I just have a down payment sitting around." She tosses the soiled spatula into the sink. "Between running this place and trying to figure out how to expand my business, I barely have time to sleep, let alone house hunt."
That catches my attention. "Expand your business?"
She freezes, like she's said more than she meant to. "Just…something I've been thinking about. I don’t want to talk about the details too much yet, but…I want to build out an event-facing side of the business."
"Smart move. Expand your revenue streams."
She eyes me suspiciously. "Why do you sound impressed? Aren't you supposed to be hoping I fail so you can take over my side of the building too?"
I narrow my eyes. "Contrary to what you might think, I don't actually want you to fail. You renting this side of the building is part of my business plan. Besides, our businesses complement each other."
"Will you still be saying that when I win Best of Bayshore?" she challenges, but there's less bite in her tone than before.
“Of course. But those aren’t the words I’ll be practicing in the mirror. I’m ready to take first place, Madam Marshmallow.”
She groans, but there’s laughter behind it. “Seriously? Madam Marshmallow?”
"Would you prefer Cookie? Cupcake? Sugar Plum?"
"I'd prefer my actual name."
"Piper is so legal, though."
"Says the man named after the ground crew of the Cleveland airport." She smirks.
“Are you opposed to using nicknames?”
“Not when they make sense,” she shoots back.
"Madam Marshmallow makes perfect sense for you. And if you’re talking about my name, it’s short for Krueger. In case you were wondering but were too stubborn to ask."
She raises an eyebrow. "Like Freddy?"
"Yeah. My parents were such fans of horror movies they legally changed their last name when they got married in honor of Freddy Krueger."
Her eyes grow wide, but the grin overtaking my face tells her just how full of shit that was.
“Stop it.” She laughs—a genuine laugh—and the sound does something weird to my chest. Makes it tight and warm at the same time.
"All right, the origin story is a total lie, but that is my last name," I say. A lull emerges, the natural space that would give either of us a chance to exit and continue on with our respective days. But the warmth pulsing between us is too seductive. I’m not ready to let it go.
"You should come see the progress on my side.” I swallow hard, wondering if she realizes this is my attempt to steal more time with her. "It's basically done."
Her eyes narrow. "Why would I want to see that?"
"Because it's impressive. And maybe you'd be less of a grump if you saw what I'm trying to build."
“I’m not grumpy,” she snaps. A beat passes. "But it’s gotta be quick."
I lead her through the shared back room into my space. I wasn’t gone for too long, but seeing everything with fresh eyes wows me again. Damn, this place is amazing. I can’t hide my smile as I begin pointing things out.
"This is the kitchen, obviously." I lead her across the gleaming tile.
“Cooking already?”
“Just something for dinner.”
She takes a long inhale, and her eyes flutter shut. “Whatcha making?”
“Braised short rib tacos. You want some?”
Her throat bobs. “No, I was just curious.”
I don’t buy it, but now’s not the time to needle her about dinner when it’s not even ready. I point out the prep station, the walk-in fridge, the dish-washing station. Then I lead her through the swinging doors.
"And here’s the dining room.”
She’s quiet for a moment, but I can see her wide eyes taking it all in. “Wow.”
“Did you see it before we started working?”
“No. Mrs. Decker never even talked about this side of the building. As far as I was concerned, it didn’t exist. But now…
” She lets out a low whistle, beginning a slow walk across the room.
She drags a finger over a tabletop as she passes, her gaze bouncing from exposed beam to framed art to sconce light.
“This is incredible. Even without a ‘before’.”
“Thank you.”
“And this bar.” She pauses in front of the bar spanning the far wall of the building. It’s a huge wooden slab, topped with gleaming pennies, and then covered in resin. “How much money did you sink into this bar, literally?”
“Eleven thousand pennies.”
“What a deal.” She looks back at me with a mischievous smile.
I shove my hands into my pockets, watching her admire the place. Seeing her take in all the details sends warmth through my limbs. I don’t know why, but I feel like I’ve known Piper for way longer than I actually have.
“I probably don’t have to show you the patio. Unless you brought muffins you’d like to throw at me again.” She sends me a long look that has me biting back a satisfied grin. “So you approve?”
“I guess all the loud-ass knocking was worth it,” she admits reluctantly. Then something in her stiffens. I can almost see the prickliness sliding back into place. "But you're probably just showing me all this to mine me for ideas so you can win the competition."
I laugh. "I don't need your help to win."
"Is that right?" The competitive spark in her eyes is back.
"Yeah. And I’ll prove it to you while we brainstorm ideas over dinner." I gesture to the kitchen. I wonder if she can tell how hard my heart is pounding right now.
She looks toward the kitchen doors, drawing a long inhale. "I need to get back." But she doesn’t sound convinced.
"Come on. You have to eat."
"You’re right. But I’ve got dinner plans.”
We start walking toward the kitchen. I’m disappointed but trying not to let it show. I want the kisses from last night—and last month—to continue. I’m drawn to Piper, no matter how much she intends to keep her distance from me.
“Will you at least try my braised short ribs?” I check the pan; things have progressed nicely during the tour. I snap the heat off.
Her gaze is stuck to the pan. Silence bloats between us as I heat a different skillet then toss a corn tortilla on.
She might not have told me yes in words, but she’s certainly telling me yes with her attention.
Once the tortilla is ready, I use the tongs to add the incredibly juicy short ribs, followed by sliced red onion, the mango slaw I made and marinated in the morning, and a final sprinkle of cilantro.
When I look her way, I can tell she wants to say no out of principle. But I’m ready for it.
“I’ll put it in a to-go box. Then you try it and let me know what you think.” I deftly prepare the takeout box for her, handing it over before she can reject it.
She blinks up at me. “Thanks.”
“Consider it a peace offering. Or maybe just an assurance that you won’t abuse me with muffins again.”
She takes the box, her fingers brushing mine. "No promises on that last part.”
“Fair enough.”
“And this doesn’t mean that I'm going to let you win the competition."
"I wouldn’t dream of it."
I watch her go, a small smile playing on my lips. It's not much, but it feels like everything.