Chapter 3
The next morning, I started work at the Donner Bakery. My expectations of Green Valley’s inhabitants had been lowered by the hillbilly who’d driven past the house in his rattly old pickup yesterday, so I was pleasantly surprised when I met my new co-workers.
The owner of the bakery was a short, confident woman called Jennifer, and it was clear all the bakers looked up to her. It was easy to see why. The place was obviously well run, the kitchen humming with efficient activity. The aroma of baked goods made me drool, and all the food in the cabinets out front looked delicious.
After showing me around, Jennifer introduced me to two women. Joy was given the job of teaching me how to work the counter, and Amber was going to be working beside me. Both women welcomed me with enough warmth to bowl me over.
“We’re happy you’re joining us!” Joy exclaimed with so much enthusiasm, I let out a laugh.
“I’ve never had anyone be this pleased to meet me before,” I told her.
“Noah used to work here, so we’re great friends,” Joy explained. “And I just love Carla. I’m excited to meet her sister.” She had a naturally bubbly personality, and looked to be around my age, with brown hair and more freckles than I’d had tequila shots. It was impossible not to like her.
“I’ll be glad to have your help at the register,” said Amber. “It can be such a rush when we’re busy.” She looked several years younger than me, around nineteen or so, and she was very pretty. She had hair that was blacker than mine, and darker skin than my own olive complexion, except for what looked like a patch of vitiligo just above her jawline.
Both women had their clothes protected with aprons, and I tied on an apron as well, covering my retro David Bowie T-shirt and skinny jeans. At Joy’s request, I also secured my hair in a ponytail so customers wouldn’t be in danger of discovering any stray hairs in their food. Then Joy gave me a quick tutorial on using the register.
“Are you ready?” Amber asked, heading to the front door. “I’m about to open up, and our first customers are already waiting outside.”
I took in a steadying breath, then gave her a nod. “Ready.”
Amber flipped the Closed sign on the door so it said Open, and our first customer came in right away. He was a red-haired man with blue eyes, who was handsome even though he had a beard. He held the door open for a stunning, tall woman with light brown, almost blonde hair.
“Hey y’all,” Joy said to them, her delight obvious. She turned to me. “Magdalena, this is Beau and Shelly.” Then back to them. “You know Carla, who’s engaged to Noah Malone? Well, this here’s Carla’s sister, visiting from New York and helping us out for a few weeks.”
Her detailed introduction surprised me. How small was this town? Did every single person know everyone else?
“Please call me Mags,” I said.
Beau returned my smile. “Welcome to Green Valley, Mags.”
His manner was easy, but Shelly’s striking eyes held a hint of coolness. She assessed me for a long moment before giving me a nod. She didn’t say anything, and the door was already opening behind her for another customer to come in. I busied myself ringing up Beau and Shelly’s order and bagging the muffins they wanted. When I said goodbye, Joy introduced me to the next person in line.
After I’d served a few more customers, Amber greeted a young woman called Wren who asked for a piece of banana cake. While I got her cake, Amber explained who I was. Carla’s sister who’s visiting for a few weeks. How often was I going to hear those words?
But when Amber kept talking to Wren, asking her about her weekend despite the fact we had a line of customers waiting, Joy nudged me. She tilted her head at Amber, then gave me a secretive smile, clearly wanting me to notice how the two of them were gazing at each other.
Wren looked to be around Amber’s age, with short hair and a curvy build. She was leaning a little too casually against the counter as she spoke to Amber, her attention solely focused on Amber’s face. Judging from the animation in both their expressions, they had a crush on each other.
“Don’t say anything,” Joy whispered while I was pulling an order of lemon custard cakes out of the cabinet, and she was reaching for cookies. “Amber’s hoping Wren will ask her out.”
“Why doesn’t Amber ask Wren out?” I whispered back.
“It’s complicated. They’ve been friends for a while, and Amber thinks Wren might not want to take things to a new level. She’s afraid of risking their friendship.”
“Well, my lips are sealed,” I promised.
Admittedly, it was only early in my first day, but I was starting to relax. I’d half expected my co-workers to pepper me with questions, curious about why I’d come all this way to look after my sister’s house and pets, when Carla could have asked a neighbor to do it. But so far, they’d seemed to accept it.
“Are all our customers going to be so friendly?” I asked Joy after she’d introduced me to several more of them.
“Sure, while it’s nice and quiet,” she said. “When it gets busy, we don’t talk much. Then we’re all business.”
“Nice and quiet?” I glanced at the line of people who were waiting to choose their baked goods from the bakery’s extensive selection. Then I smiled to myself. It wasn’t exactly the lifeless country town I’d been afraid of. While I was at work, at least, I wouldn’t have to worry about getting lonely or bored.
As busy as it was, it wasn’t until an hour or so later that we had a small lull between customers. “Are you feeling confident enough for me to head back into the kitchen for a while?” Joy asked me. I nodded, and she added, “Do you like to bake, Mags? If you’d like to learn how things work in the kitchen, I could take you back there and show you?—”
I raised a hand to stop her. “I may as well tell you now that I’ve never baked anything.”
“What, never?” Joy’s eyes widened. “But you must have!”
“My apartment in Brooklyn didn’t have an oven.”
“Then what did you use to cook your food?” Amber moved next to her. Both women’s eyebrows were climbing.
“There was a hot plate?—”
Amber’s gasp cut me off. “You only used one hot plate to cook your meals?”
I couldn’t help but grin at how incredulous they both were. “I was about to say that I never actually used the hot plate. I don’t cook.”
“You don’t...?” Joy’s voice trailed off and she looked at Amber. Amber shook her head helplessly, spreading her hands.
“It might be weird here, but not so strange where I live,” I assured them with a laugh.
“Do you want to learn how to cook?” asked Amber.
“I don’t know. I’ve never needed to.”
“Well, being behind the counter’s fun,” Joy said, as though she needed to try to make me feel better about my lack of cooking skills. “You get to talk to people all day long. And you’re single, aren’t you?”
I screwed up my nose. “Not really. Well, technically I have a boyfriend, but not for much longer.”
Both their faces fell.
“I’m sorry,” said Joy, her eyes kind.
“Are you okay?” Amber put a comforting hand on my arm.
They were so nice! I’d known them less than a day, but they seemed genuinely upset for me.
“Don’t be sorry,” I told them. “Men are awful. I’m always attracted to the worst kind.”
“What kind is that?” Amber asked.
“Rebels and bad boys. My boyfriend’s in a rock band, and they had a song that did really well, so he suddenly got famous. It’s gone to his head, and he’s been acting like a jerk.”
Amber looked interested. “Is it a band I might know?”
“Storm Front.” I winced, bracing for her reaction.
“No!” She clapped her hands to her heart. “Are you serious? Storm Front as in the Storm Front?”
I nodded, then glanced at Joy who gave me an apologetic shrug. She clearly didn’t know the band.
“Tell me you’re not dating the lead singer,” Amber exclaimed. “He’s gorgeous!”
I grimaced. “Eric Storm,” I confirmed. “But he’s been acting so selfish lately, I’d rather be single.”
Her excitement turned to sympathy, her brow wrinkling. “That’s a shame. I’m sorry.”
“I really need to get the cakes out of the oven,” said Joy. “Give me fifteen minutes, then I want to hear all about it!”
As she bustled through the door that separated the kitchen from the service area, I remembered how I’d been determined not to tell my new co-workers about my problems. Dammit, I’d already shared more than I’d meant to. And it’s not like they’d pressed me for information about Eric, either. They were so easy to talk to that I’d volunteered it.
At least I hadn’t blurted out anything about Spike. They’d think a whole lot less of me if they knew I’d gotten tangled up with a drug dealer. I’d made some serious mistakes when I was a teenager, and sometimes when I was with my family, I still felt the shadow of those misdeeds hanging over me. I didn’t need that happening here.
Amber patted me on the back. “Never mind,” she said. “You might meet someone nice in Green Valley.”
I shuddered, remembering the scruffy redneck who’d driven his rusty pickup past the house yesterday. I’d only seen him for a few seconds, but he’d made quite an impression. Not in a good way.
“I’d rather give birth to a porcupine,” I muttered.
Amber’s brow creased. “What’s wrong with the local men?”
“Nothing. They’re just not my type.”
“Why not?”
“Well they’re so country. Beards, jeans, and cowboy boots.” I spread my hands helplessly, not sure how else to phrase it.
I didn’t mean to offend her, but Amber drew back, folding her arms. “I’m proud of where I live. We might not dress like New Yorkers, but we have our own style.”
Damn. I’d hurt her feelings.
“And it’s a good style,” I said, backtracking. “There’s nothing wrong with it, even if it’s not my thing.”
She tipped her chin down. “Plenty of sophisticated, intelligent women happen to like the men around here. Like Shelly, the woman you met earlier, who’s a world-famous sculptor. And some movie stars have moved here, including?—”
“I know.” I put my hand on her arm. “Amber, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound critical. And it’s not really that I don’t want to date a local man. But a lot of the bad stuff that’s happened to me has been thanks to some awful guy. When Eric and I split up, I won’t be dating again for a very long time. If ever.”
The hard line of Amber’s mouth softened. “He’s that bad, huh?”
“He really is,” I said wholeheartedly.
“I’m sorry he’s been such a jerk to you.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry too.” I offered her an apologetic smile. “Friends?”
I was glad when she smiled back. “Friends. Of course.” Then she pulled her apron off. “Will you be okay here on your own for a minute, Mags? I need to use the restroom while it’s quiet.”
“Go ahead. I’m fine.”
But no sooner had she left me alone when the bakery’s front door opened and a man with long black hair and an even wilder beard strode in.
“Deliverance!” Before I could stop myself, I’d exclaimed the word out loud.
Unless the man had an equally scruffy twin, it was the country bumpkin who’d almost stopped outside the house in his decrepit truck yesterday. He was like Hagrid from the Harry Potter movies, only his unkempt explosion of hair was pure black, with no gray. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt again, this time in a hideous shade of brown.
It seemed an awfully big coincidence to see him again so soon. This town had to be even smaller than I’d thought. Either that, or he was stalking me like a creep.
Hagrid folded his arms. “Why do you keep insulting me?” He spoke in a rumbly Southern drawl, even slower than Noah’s, each word like liquid honey.
It wasn’t until he spoke that I dragged my gaze away from his ugly clothing and hair for long enough to notice his eyes. His irises were the lightest shade of blue imaginable. So light, they were luminous. Framed by his dark lashes, his eyes were breathtaking. I mean, literally. The air was snatched from my lungs and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
I swallowed, trying to work some moisture back into my throat. He was right. Calling him Deliverance had been mean. First I’d insulted Amber, and now a complete stranger. I should apologize.
Only, it was difficult to concentrate with his eyes focused on me. I found myself staring into them, mesmerized by them. They were like ice water infused with a single drop of blue food coloring. And though they were lighter than I had known blue eyes could be, there was no gray in them at all.
“Do you know how offensive it is to call someone Deliverance?” he demanded.
I was searching for the words to tell him I was sorry when he added, “The way you were screeching yesterday, I figured you must need help. That’s the only reason I was about to stop my truck.”
The mockery in his tone filtered through my semi-mesmerized brain.
“I didn’t screech,” I protested.
“You were hollering at clouds, wearing a crazy outfit with only one sleeve. Looked like your roof wasn’t nailed on tight.”
What the hell? The man who looked like he’d fished his clothes out of a dumpster was insulting the way I dressed?
Suddenly, I had no problem getting words out.
“Perhaps I should have asked for your fashion advice.” I used a sweet tone, nodding at his shirt. “What do you call that shade of brown? Is it feces, or regurgitation?”
“I call it being fully dressed. Two sleeves. One for each arm.”
“Congratulations on counting to two. Keep working on three. You’ll get there.”
His hand went up to rub at one side of his ugly beard. “That must be a New York accent. Explains the rudeness.”
“Brooklyn, actually.” I gestured to the vast array of food in the bakery’s cabinets, still mad. “Are you going to buy something, or did you just come in to chew on a hay stalk and spit tobacco?”
“I’ll take some chocolate cake, Brooklyn. Two slices.”
“Brooklyn is a place, not my name.”
“Brooklyn sums up your bad manners. And Deliverance is an insult that perpetuates harmful stereotypes.”
I was so surprised by the number of syllables he’d uttered, I accidentally settled my focus back on his eyes, and their luminous beauty almost stole my outrage.
“Big words,” I remarked, forcing my gaze away. As I bent to the cabinet, I muttered, “Guess you’re smarter than you look.”
I’d meant to say it under my breath, not to escalate our argument. But he must have heard me.
“Every word out of your mouth has been an insult.” He sounded annoyed. “Customer service isn’t the occupation you’re suited to. You should be a lighthouse keeper on a remote island.”
Scooping up two slices of cake, I maneuvered them into a bag. And this time, I made sure to mutter my retort quietly enough for him not to hear it. “If ‘remote’ means away from you, sign me up.”
Another customer came in, a middle-aged woman. As I glanced up, juggling cake, I nodded a greeting. But she was busy staring at Hagrid’s back with narrow eyes and pursed lips. Stopping behind him, she clutched her handbag close to her body, holding it with both hands as though he might turn and try to snatch it away from her.
When Hagrid glanced at her, the woman glared back.
“Cy Baxter,” she snapped. “Back in town and making trouble, no doubt.” The sharpness of her tone surprised me.
“No, ma’am. No trouble here.” Though his voice stayed even, when he looked back at me, his frown was heavy. He stayed silent while I took his money and made change. When he left, he gave the woman a wide berth.
The woman glowered after him, her nostrils flared, before turning to me. She had lines around her mouth as though she spent a lot of time with her lips pinched. Her wrinkles spoke of more frowns than smiles, which made me want to limit the amount of time I spent in her company.
“You’re Carla’s sister, aren’t you?” she said. “I’m Karen Smith.”
“I’m Magdalena. Everyone calls me Mags.”
She nodded at the door. “That was Cy Baxter. Be careful of him. He comes from a long line of criminals.” The gleam in her eyes suggested she enjoyed spreading spiteful gossip.
“What can I get for you, Mrs. Smith?” I forced a smile.
“Baxters have never been anything but trouble for this town. The son is as bad as his daddy was, growing drugs in that derelict old house. Make sure you stay clear of him, y’hear?”
Usually, such a mean-spirited order would make me want to do the exact opposite. But I wasn’t about to make friends with Hagrid, especially if what she said was true. There’d be no more thugs with drugs for me. Not ever.
I waved my hand at the cabinet as more customers came into the bakery. “What would you like today?”
Mrs. Smith leaned over the counter to eyeball me, dropping her voice as though sharing a confidence. “I wonder if the sheriff has gone up to the Baxter house to see what he’s up to? I should give him a call to find out.”
“Go ahead,” I said. “But first, please tell me what you came in for so I can get it for you.”
She sniffed disapprovingly, and I figured my impatient tone might have landed me onto the list of people she had a problem with. Not that I cared. As soon as I fixed my Spike problem and could go back to New York, I’d never have to see this sourpuss nor Hagrid ever again.