Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
I packed all of my pastries carefully in boxes and Tupperware. Having the preview in town had its benefits, but I worried about the transport. It wasn’t until I was ready to go that I realized I had no car to get all my stuff there.
“Need a ride?” Jared’s familiar and now comfortable smirk was back, and somehow, it broke my heart.
I didn’t know what the hell was wrong with me. How had I managed to go so quickly from being desperate to destroy him to being a desperate sap. “I guess so,” I said.
“Come on,” he said. He led me out the bakery where the work crew had already arrived for the day to work on the front end, out over the planks of the boardwalk to the street parking where a baby blue, ancient Chevy pickup sat.
“That’s your ride?” I asked.
“Yep,” he said. “You don’t like it? ”
“I just didn’t expect it,” I said. I didn’t know what I expected. I hadn’t expected a designer, high-end car like his brother, but I also hadn’t expected a car that looked like it wouldn’t make it to the closest stop sign. “Talk about Texas Chain Saw Massacre.”
“Oh, nice throwback to our first conversation,” he said with a lift of his eyebrows. “Although Texas Chainsaw Massacre was a van, so…”
“Are you mansplaining a horror movie to me?” I asked.
“No, just pointing out that you are wrong,” he said with a shrug and a smirk.
Again, that lighthearted smile pulled at feelings I had tamped down for a long, long time. But the worst part was that it wasn’t for me. Not really. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to murder you today.”
“Today?”
He shrugged and started loading the back of the tuck bed. He packed everything meticulously so it wouldn’t move at all. Then we got in the cab, and he drove the few blocks into town.
My stomach was tied in knots. This was really happening. I was really selling my stuff. What if people hated it? What if Jared’s was better? What if no one even stopped?
“Stop worrying,” Jared said.
“I’m not worrying.”
Jared’s laughter filled the car and sent warm tendrils through my body. Guess it’s better than the panic that was there before .
“You are ready for this. You are a good baker.”
“How would you know? All you have done for the last week is tell me how much I suck.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Do you have selective amnesia? You haven’t stopped telling me how a real baker doesn’t burn things or how unprofessional I am or that I am only here to appease the locals.”
“I thought that was part of the friendly competition.”
“Not friendly.”
“Fine. I thought that was part of unfriendly competition.”
I could feel the laughter in his voice. “You know. I’m starting to think I liked you better when you weren’t talking to me.”
“For all of two seconds?”
“It was several hours.”
“Guess you need to break my heart more often.”
Before I could even process what he had said or what the hell it meant or argue that I had done nothing of the sort, he parked the car and promptly got out. And all of a sudden, I didn’t have time to think about Jared because we had arrived. This was real. With the panic surging in my chest, I finally understood why I had put this off. I didn’t have the constitution to take risks or the self-esteem to put myself out there.
“You can do this,” he whispered in my ear as he walked past with a table.
We had parked behind The Lobster Tail. There was a sidewalk and backd oor that only the staff used. Still, a handful of vacationers walked past as I stood paralyzed next to the truck.
Could I do this? I had no formal training. I had never done anything like this. My credentials were baking for a bunch of a-holes who ate literally anything.
I felt Jared’s hand on my shoulder. “Jenna,” he whispered into my ear, and once again, desire warred with panic for control of my body and mind. “Jenna, look at me.”
I pulled my eyes from the alley and Main Street beyond it to look into his eyes. He turned me toward him, placing his other hand on my shoulder. “You are a rock star. You have been preparing for this your whole life. You are going to walk onto that Main Street and sell your damn pastries. People are going to eat them, and they are going to love them.”
I nodded. Looking up into his deeply concerned face, I actually believed him. The tight knot of panic and worry untied itself, and I took in a deep breath. I didn’t know if it was his words or his warm hands on my shoulders, but somehow, Jared had just saved me from myself.
“Yes, okay.”
“You can do this.”
“Alright. I’m ready,” I said.
We unloaded the car and started setting up on the folding table.
“I’m sorry about my momentary meltdown,” I said, feeling embarrassed that I had been so raw and vulnerable in front of Jared.
“I’ve had worse,” he said .
“There’s no way,” I said. “Nothing seems to bother you.”
“Everything bothers me. I just cope with it differently,” he said with a shrug.
“This looks fantastic!” My mom’s voice pulled my attention.
There were so many things I wanted to talk to Jared about. So many thoughts and feelings in my head that I wanted to explore, but now wasn’t the time. Mom stood beside the table, hands on her hips, glowing with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.
“Jared, I am so glad that you two were able to set this up. What a great way to drum up interest. Although, I’m sure everyone is already interested with your name attached.”
Knowing how Jared felt about the connection to his family, that made me wince. Like me, I thought he must want to stand apart from the family name.
“Thank you for letting us set up out here,” he said with the broad smile that I now knew he saved for strangers or PR-type conversations. He put it on so effortlessly.
“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I am just so glad that you let Jenna tag along.”
The way she said it made me feel like a child. As if I didn’t have years of experience managing a busy, popular kitchen and Jared was simply doing us a favor by letting me follow along at his heels. It didn’t do anything to help my anxiety.
“Jenna has been invaluable. I wouldn’t be ready if it weren’t for her help and insight,” he said.
It was absolute bullshit. He and I both knew it. I had done nothing but t ry to sabotage him while propelling myself forward, but in that moment, I could have kissed him—well, not kissed him because I couldn’t ever do that again—but I really appreciated his defense of my value. Although it begged the question of why he was doing it. I was not ready to admit that maybe, by some sick twist of fate, Jared was actually just a nice guy. That would disrupt my worldview too much. He had to be the rich asshole come to ruin my life, otherwise, it might be my own damn fault that the bakery wasn’t mine.
“That’s great to hear. She’s always been a hard worker,” Mom said.
Again, it sounded like she was talking to a parent at the school pick-up line rather than my colleague—or whatever he was.
I ignored them and started setting up my stuff. I carefully removed cupcakes, cookies, macaroons, bread puddings, Danishes, strudel, breads, croissants, and flavored butter and jams. When I was first planning my menu, I wanted to stand out and do something different, which in some ways I still did, but in the end, I decided that the people of Cape Shore were not looking for fancy, unusual baked goods. They came to Cape Shore for the familiar and the comfortable.
“Aw, Jenna,” Mom, the stoic kitchen overlord who never got emotional over anything—not my first word, not my first step, not my graduation—sounded genuinely moved as she saw the things I set out. “It’s lobster themed.”
“Yep,” I said. feeling my cheeks blush.
As much as I had been desperate to distinguish myself from The Lobster T ail and my life spent in dedication to it here in the same small town, I also wanted my menu to be a real reflection of me. And I was Cape Shore, and the Lobster Tail, and the beach, and the tourists, and the lighthouse, and the warm, salty air. I would never be fancy like Jared and Joel. I would likely never travel the world, and if I did, I’d likely miss this very small corner of it the whole time. So, I decided to lean in and embrace it. All of my pastries were beach-themed with a little ode to lobsters in some small way. The breads had a dusting of red flour in the shape of a lobster. The cupcakes had little sugar lobsters. The points of the croissants were made into lobster claws. It was kitschy and cheesy, but I was proud of it. Even if no one bought a single one.
Next to me, Jared set out similar things that all looked a little more high-end without the themed elements. I didn’t think it would much matter. It wasn’t a fair fight. Jared had name and face recognition. Most people would know he was of Wallace fame and want to buy his stuff. But as I stood there in the warm morning sun, it mattered less than it had before.
I was proud of what I had accomplished. If all I could do was work for Jared for a year, then that's what I would do, and I would look for opportunities to start my own bakery when the time came.
“Look at you!” Cat said followed quickly by the click of her camera. The two sounds were inseparable lately.
I smiled, hoping the image wouldn’t be awful. Candid pictures weren’t exactly my forte. “I’m glad you could make it,” I said , feeling unexpected relief at seeing my best friend.
“Are you crazy? I would never miss this. Besides, I will buy every item you are selling if I have to,” she said before giving Jared the side-eye, who just shook his head and smiled. “It all looks amazing.” She snapped several more pictures before giving me a hug and promising to be back.