Chapter Twelve
Mira
The next morning I woke early and put on my best outfit.
Not the green shirt Caleb had bought me.
That, I tossed into the back corner of my closet on principle.
I had to find a job, and there was no way I was using any kind of letter of recommendation or help from any member of the McCreedy family.
I didn’t need anyone. It had been that way since I was a zygote.
I was a natural born survivor, made to withstand trials that would bring others to their knees.
I was a willow, fragile looking in its branches, but I could bend a hundred times over and not break. Or so I told myself.
I was shocked and blocked by a familiar truck on my winding, one-lane dirt road that would lead me to the front gate.
Caleb looked just as shaken as me. He opened his door as if he wanted to talk but I pulled around him through the trees.
I wouldn’t stop him from paying whatever debt he thought he owed me, but I didn’t have to make nice with a man who gave insults as easily as compliments either. I had shit to do.
I slammed my door after pulling into a parking spot on Main Street.
I had thoroughly worked myself up on what I could have and should have said to Caleb after his flippant comments last night.
My defensiveness wouldn’t have solved anything, but the conversation in my head made me feel better somehow.
I hopped up on the curb and glared at Jake’s Quickstop with determination.
“Hey Bernard,” I said after I had marched through the front door, directly ignoring the obnoxious ding of the bell that announced my arrival.
Bernard looked up in shock, his hazel eyes widening at my direct greeting.
“Hey, Mira. What can I do for you?”
“Wanted to know if you were hiring. I can do anything, and whatever I don’t know, I can learn. I can even help Leona in the kitchen if you need it.”
Bernard opened and closed his mouth and opened it again. He looked like a fish out of water. “Sorry Mira, but we ain’t hiring right now. It’s a small store, and we have it covered between Leona and me.”
He must have seen my face drop because he looked around, leaned forward, and lowered his voice.
“Look, I wish I could help you out. If we had a spot for you, the job would be yours. I heard about someone hiring around here. She’s new in town, but an odd bird, so I don’t know if you’ll even want to work for her.
Name’s Nelson. Opal Nelson, and she’s opening up a pie shop at the end of the street.
She’s been having trouble finding help, or at least that’s what I hear. Maybe go talk to her.”
I smiled at his kindness and thanked him before I left.
Main Street was undoubtedly charming. It was lined on both sides with small stores and buildings with front porches and rocking chairs for passersby.
While most of the buildings were painted quaint and subdued colors that looked picture-perfect paired with white trim and hanging flower baskets, the house on the end of the street was quite different.
It was red. Not a subtle red, but lady-of-the-night lipstick red.
The white trim only served to make the color look bolder.
A huge Grand Opening banner was draped across the front of it in the loudest and tackiest font I had ever seen, each letter drawn in a different neon color.
Headache inducing, if one looked at it for too long.
It was a small, two-story building with a front porch and a balcony off the second floor.
Small, two-person tables were set up on both levels and across the top story were the words Main Street Pie & Candy Co.
in white paint. I eyed the front door warily as I read Get Yer Buns in Here across the window pane.
A tiny picture of two butt-like cinnamon rolls had been painted right beside the signage.
I straightened my shirt and walked in. What else did I have to lose?
“Hello?” I called out. The room was well lit but no one could be seen. It smelled devastatingly good. Like fresh baked fruit pies, chocolate, and homemade bread.
“In here,” a feminine voice called. “Come through the kitchen.”
A glass display case took up most of the length of the main room, and it was minimally filled with a couple of cakes and a basket of French rolls.
I had never actually seen anything from France, but the tiny sign in front of the basket said so.
To the side of the glass was a counter that could be lifted.
It creaked loudly as I entered the kitchen area, the obvious source of the rich smells.
I heard a rustling sound in the back and followed it until I came to a small storage room.
The smallest woman I’d ever seen was standing precariously on a step ladder, reaching for a box of goods her too-short arms would never find purchase on.
I rushed to help her and pulled a box of cake decorating utensils down.
“Thanks, sugar tits. Put it in the kitchen, if you don’t mind.”
The way she spoke was confident and shocking. I liked her.
“If you’re here for the grand opening, I’m afraid you are a day too soon,” the older woman said, following behind me directly.
“Oh, no, ma’am. I’m here to see if you’re hiring.”
“You are? I mean, you are. Well, can you bake?”
“I’ve been cooking for myself since I was a little kid. Haven’t done much baking, but not for lack of wanting. I’m a quick learn, though.”
The woman grinned up at me from ear to ear. Her smile was infectious and I laughed. “Name’s Opal,” she said.
“Mira,” I offered.
“When can you start?”
“Whenever you need me.”
“Good. Put on an apron. You don’t have anywhere to be today, do you?”
I stiffened in shock. I was employed. A tiny pessimistic part of me thought it would never happen. My happiness was quickly stamped out by an inconvenient guilt.
I sighed. “Ms. Opal. You are new in town and just starting your business. I don’t know if I would be the best fit for you.”
“Well child, why ever not?”
“People around here think I’m crazy. Or a witch.”
“Are you?”
“No. Not that I’m aware of.”
The woman scrambled up onto a stepladder near a countertop strewn with flour.
She squinted at me for a long moment. “I believe you, and besides, I’m more interested in your work ethic.
” She poked my arm and then squeezed around the bony bits.
“I’ll pay you minimum wage,” she said, taking on a professional tone.
“It’s all I can do right now, but you’ll get a meal for lunch everyday on me. Ewey! Try this.”
Opal shuffled to a large refrigerator, more quickly than I would have thought she was able. She pulled out a plate with a sandwich on top and handed it to me. I didn’t know what to do with it.
“Well, don’t just stare at it. Eat it. I’m thinking about putting it on the menu.”
I bit into it. Surely, angels served sandwiches like this one in heaven. It was made on one of Opal’s French rolls and had several different cuts of deli meat, some sort of cheese I couldn’t even guess at, bacon, avocado, and a sauce that I had never come close to tasting before.
Opal watched me chew and lit up. “It’s good then?”
I nodded earnestly. “Can I have the rest?” I asked around a giant bite.
“Of course you can. What do you think about the spread? I made it myself.”
“Ith glor-e-ous,” I said slowly. Hopefully, she understood food talk.
“Grab that.” She pointed to a large menu sign that hung from the ceiling. It was written in colorful chalk, and when I had wrestled it off of its chains, Opal erased some of the writing under Sandwiches and rewrote the new one into it.
“I will need you to come in at five in the morning,” she said. “Is that going to be a problem?”
I shook my head and popped a piece of bacon that had slid out of the sandwich into my mouth.
“Good. I hate early mornings so you’ll be opening up the shop to start baking every day. As soon as you are confident in the kitchen, I won’t be coming in until nine to help out with the breakfast rush. Apron,” she said, pointing to a row of hooks.
I snatched off the largest one and tied it on before heading to the sink to wash my hands.
I turned around to find Opal holding up a bag of flour. “Lesson one.”