4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Evalina
When the door opens, I’m jerked back to reality and slide the paperwork that has had my attention beneath the counter.
Thirty days to vacate, and not a single approval for a business loan, means I’m going to have to shut down my bakery and get a regular job.
It’s the last thing I want to do, but without a loan there’s no chance I can afford a new location.
The man who walks in pauses at the counter as if he’s never seen one before.
He pulls his hat off, revealing disheveled blond hair that matches his wild eyes and a seemingly permanent scowl.
Upon closer inspection, I understand why.
While I’m pretty used to Andrew Rossi gracing my little shop, I’m not used to his teammates dropping in.
Especially recently disgraced ones. Still, the verdict isn’t in on his guilt, so far be it from me to assume the worst.
I clear my throat and earn his fleeting attention. “What can I get for you today?”
“Uh…” His eyes flutter to the menu behind me, back to me, then to the door again. “Just black coffee, please.”
“Sure thing.” I step away from the cash register to make his drink while he stares out the window like a man on the run.
Based on what I’ve seen on the news, he probably is.
I can’t imagine losing everything and being accused of money laundering and working with a big-time mafia boss…
or something like that. Losing everything is bad enough.
“Here you go. On the house. If you sit by the back booth, you can slip through the kitchen door and out the back alley if you need to. That’s Andrew’s signature move.
” I thumb over my shoulder at the swinging kitchen door where his teammate has made more than one quick exit.
Still, my attempt at humor only deepens his scowl.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, but takes my advice and settles into the booth nearest the counter entrance.
His gaze drifts over the décor—the brick facing behind him that boasts photographs of the city and hand-drawn maps of old Savannah, the bookcases that line the opposing wall filled to bursting with books.
A small smile tugs at my lips when I think about how that began.
One patron left a book behind and never came back.
I put it on the counter, and someone else took it…
but left a different book behind. And thus began a massive free book exchange program inside of Sparkly’s.
Eventually, his eyes settle on the menu, then drift down to me.
Realizing I’ve been staring at him forces heat to my cheeks; nothing a quick wipe down of the already clean counter can’t cover.
I get to work arranging the items on the countertop so I can clean it again before humming to myself.
The momentary distraction occupies my mind enough that I almost don’t hear the oven buzz.
“Ah, that’s a fresh set of donuts. I’ll bring you one.”
Koa nods, seemingly lost in another time and place, swimming in the Jell-O of his own mind. Hopefully, it’ll let him escape before the afternoon rush, or he’ll be inundated with fans—or former fans as the case may be—and need to make good use of the Rossi Exit Strategy.
In the back, Annie slides the tray of baked donuts from the oven while I gather the cinnamon sugar and powdered sugar from the cupboard.
I don’t mention who is seated in the lobby.
It’ll only engage her curiosity, but it’s difficult to keep her in the back once we’re done with the donuts, considering it’s part of her job to load the display cases out front.
“I’ve got it this time. Can you grind another bag of the house blend? We’re almost out, and I want to be prepared for later.”
Annie blows a loose tendril of hair from her face and eyes me, but says nothing. She’s probably wise to my game of distractions and will find a way to end up in the front lobby, but my goal is for the accused to be long gone before anyone else notices he’s here.
With one hot donut tray in hand, I push backwards through the swinging door and plop it on the counter, plate one up, and head to the booth.
The guy’s shoulders slump and he has a death grip on his coffee cup, which doesn’t bode well for the paper container.
Before he ends up wearing it, I grab a notepad and marker from my apron.
Maybe if I ask for an autograph for Dustin, he’ll realize not everyone hates him.
Or at least not everyone is willing to believe everything they see on television, and he’s innocent until proven guilty.
“Here you go. Also on the house, since you seem to be having the worst day known to man.”
For the first time since he entered, Koa smiles. It’s faint and his eyes are dim, but there’s still emotion in there somewhere.
“Thanks again.” He accepts the plate but his eyes stay on me.
“Listen, I’m not sure if this is a bad time or not, but my son really loves you.
I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind autographing my menu pad for him?
” I offer the pad but don’t shove it in his face.
If there’s anything I’ve learned from watching Andrew shoo off fans, it’s that the approach needs to be genuine.
I’m not in it for the money, but for the sheer joy it will bring my son.
“Sure, no problem. What’s his name?” Koa takes the pad and marker with a broader smile.
“Dustin. He’s going to be so excited. He’s adored you since he first saw you playing for the Sharks.
” Stroking his ego seems to do the trick, and his smile spreads wide.
Once he signs the pad, he motions for me to sit with him.
“Oh, thank you, but I have to prep for the rush. Speaking of, you might want to skip town in about half an hour.”
“Rushing me out? I don’t blame you. I’ll tarnish your reputation.” He snickers and swirls his cup of coffee.
“Of course not, but I’d be blind not to notice you’re hiding out in here. I figure you don’t want to be here when dozens of people come for their afternoon fix, right?” Honestly, baseball players are so needy…and emotional…and frankly, princess-y.
“Good point. Thanks for this again, by the way. I see why Andrew likes this place so much. It’s got a nice, cozy vibe.”
“Unfortunately, it’s only going to be here for another month, so enjoy it while you can.” I slide back behind the counter to put the rest of the donuts in the display.
Koa stands and leans on the counter, arms crossed. “Is that so? How come?”
I point outside, as if that exhibits the whole situation. In a way it does, considering the monstrosity of an apartment complex is just across the street. “You can’t stop progression into the future, or so I’m told. The complex owner wants the building destroyed, so we have a month to vacate.”
“What? Isn’t this a historical building?” Koa’s crossed arms tense and his brow furrows.
“It’s a few years shy of qualifying for protection. The owner tried that route, but it doesn’t meet the threshold. If you want to know the truth, I think one of the people on the board is friends with the complex owner. It was in the news, but most people don’t pay attention to things like that.”
“Don’t I know it,” he mumbles.
“Anyway, that’s what’s happening. We’re all scrambling to find other locations.
” I think about the others in the strip and how most of them are in the same position.
We can’t afford anything else in the city, and starting over anywhere else is literally starting over.
New locations equal a new customer base, and in this economy the money is in loyalty.
“That’s unfortunate. I’m sorry to hear that.” His gaze drifts up to the parking lot just as I lift the two trays of donuts. His arms drop and his fists clench, then he shoots a heated glare my way. “Did you do that? Is that why you told me to leave? Guilty conscience?”
“What?” My head pivots to follow his gaze right to where three news vans are parked in my lot, gathering their equipment to rush inside. Oh no. This isn’t good. “I didn’t—”
“I even gave you an autograph. Do you even have a kid?” Red-faced, he jerks a finger my way.
Someone enters the front door, a group of young people with their phones already out, probably recording for their social media apps and whatnot.
Koa growls and throws his arms in the air before rounding the counter.
I step back with the still-hot tray already burning through the thin oven mitts I’d slipped on.
“I can’t believe you called the reporters! I came here to escape them! The sad thing is, Andrew thinks of you as a friend. I bet he doesn’t know you’re the reason he keeps getting slammed here.” He huffs. “No wonder he had to have an exit plan in this place.”
“I didn’t—”
He drops a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. The teens record every second of this interaction, which doesn’t make me all that happy, considering it’s not the best publicity for my shop either. What am I saying? I’m losing my business. I don’t have to stand here and take this.
“You are the most self-absorbed jerk I’ve ever met!
Here, have your stupid autograph back!” I reach into my apron to grab my menu book, intent on throwing it at him, but I lose my grip on the tray of hot donuts, and it pitches forward.
My attempt at catching them goes horribly wrong and I trip over a crack in the brick flooring.
The trays escape my reach and donuts fly into the air, raining over him like hot little coals.
Giggles and gasps fill the room, along with yelps. Koa slaps at the donuts all while I slip around, trying not to die for my rash actions. Donut-covered brick floors are slippery, which I hadn’t expected. Why would I? I haven’t had occasion to dump trays of donuts on a man before.
The trays clang to the floor, making an awful noise.
“I’m self-absorbed?” Koa points to his chest. “I’m not the one who tried to make a quick buck off of someone else by calling every reporter to my bakery!”
“I said I didn’t call them! I also told you—”
“Yeah, I know what you told me. It was the plan from the beginning, right? As soon as you saw me walk in, you couldn’t wait to get back there and make the calls.
” Koa brushes smashed donuts from his clothing and shifts his gaze to the news crews already filming our exchange.
He grumbles and pivots, slips on a donut, and falls on his backside.
A little scrambling and a few mumbled words later, he pops up and issues another heated glare before taking the swinging door to the kitchen, where reporters probably wait in the alley at this point.
He’ll never believe I didn’t do this, but it’s not my problem.
What is my problem is the gigantic mess our interaction left behind—the physical mess all over the floor, and the one that will likely make rounds on social media and in the news. Whispers fill the lobby.
“I can’t believe he did that!”
“Did you see what he did to her?”
“Evalina is the sweetest. She doesn’t deserve that.”
The reporters make note of their comments. They champ at the bit to get an incriminating statement that will make their evening newscasts shine brighter than anyone else’s. What began as a bad day has spiraled into what is, undoubtedly, the worst possible.
Annie rushes into the lobby with her hairnet askew and her glasses perched low on her nose. “What happened out here? Why did a man just run through the kitchen, and why are there reporters in the lobby?”
I heave a great, deep sigh and brush my hair from my face. “It’s a long story, Annie.”