Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
T he next two hours were a whirlwind of chatting and selling. Everyone I knew in town stopped by to flirt with Jared, chat with me—including asking lots of questions about leaving the Lobster Tail and why I would work at a bakery and on and on—the tourists were just happy to buy pastries. By the end of it, there was little left to pack up and bring back to the bakery. Jared had, of course, tallied the total number of sales for each of us with me diligently checking over his shoulder.
As I walked back to Jared’s truck, I felt lighter than I ever had. A huge weight caused by crippling doubt and paralyzing hesitancy had been lifted off my shoulders. Of course, as the bakery opened, I hoped I would win.. But regardless of the outcome, I had accomplished something just by putting myself out there. I created recipes and people actually bought them. More than that, they seemed to really like them. My heart felt like it could burst through my chest, and my cheeks hurt from smiling.
I started packing the truck with far less care than we had originally. There was nothing to do with the leftover product. It wouldn’t keep, which gave me an idea. I pulled my stuff back off the truck and headed for the back door of the Lobster Tail.
“Where are you going?” Jared asked.
I shrugged and headed inside.
“Look who it is. Big shot baker,” Jose said.
“Don’t worry, I’ll always remember the little guys even when I am hot shit,” I said. I set my box of leftovers on the serving counter that usually held plates ready to go out and “family meals” that one of the stations cooked and served for lunch to the other cooks each day. The kitchen staff swarmed it.
I walked out of the kitchen to pats on the back and familiar praise that almost felt better. The staff would always support me. But still, it was nice hearing them happy. Jared leaned against the truck, arms folded across his chest in that casual stance of his, and I couldn’t help feeling incredibly grateful for him. I walked around to the passenger side and climbed in.
I let my gaze drift toward Jared as the truck ambled slowly, waiting for the pedestrians that clogged most of the streets. He wore an easy smile as if all was right in the world, and for the first time, I agreed with him. I had to give him credit. He was the reason for all of this. He was the reason I pushed past my anx iety not just today but leading up to today and all of the worry and doubt that I had let myself wallow in for too long.
I let the muggy salt air wash over me as I dangled my arm out the window, closing my eyes to the warm sun as I breathed a sigh of relief and basked in the glow of the moment.
“Thank you,” I said without opening my eyes.
“For what?” he asked.
“For this,” I said.
“Giving you a ride?”
I shook my head and glared at him. His lips pulled into that stupid grin of his. “You are such an ass, you know that?”
“I’m just confused is all.”
“You could just appreciate the credit I am trying to give you.”
“What’s the fun in that?”
“Thank you for giving me a chance,” I said.
The smile fell from his face, and I wasn’t. “You deserved it. You also don’t need me to give you a chance. You are talented.”
I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. I couldn’t possibly let Jared see just how much his words affected me. He was selfish, pompous, flippant, arrogant, and most importantly, in my way. He certainly wasn’t compassionate and thoughtful. He couldn’t be. I wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t be sexy, smart, talented, rich, and kind.
Although as soon as I thought it, the stupid part of my brain that hadn’ t been able to stop thinking about his hands in the walk-in and what they could do wondered why not? Why couldn’t he be all of these things? Maybe we could live happily ever after. It was a strange and uncomfortable thought that made my body run even warmer than the August air.
“Looks like things are progressing nicely,” Jared said as he pulled into a spot in front of the bakery. I felt bad for the men in jeans and long-sleeved tees moving in and out of the hot sun to work on the bakery overhaul as they carried flooring and fixtures to the large dumpster that took up a parking spot along the street. With the town ordinances, that was the closest they could get it. But Jared was right. As we approached, I saw that they had cleared out all of the old stuff and were starting on the new flooring.
“Guess using the office today isn’t an option,” he said. “I’ll head back to my place and tally these numbers.”
Until that moment, I hadn’t considered where he was staying. Had he rented a house? Was he in a hotel? In my mind, he just stopped existing when he wasn’t at the bakery.
“Shouldn’t we tally it together?” I asked.
“I’m hurt that you don’t trust me.” He brought his hand to his chest as if holding a wound.
“I worry about your observational skills if you somehow missed how much I don’t trust.” I barely finished my thought before he turned halfway up the stairs to the boardwalk and started heading back to the car.
With the car door half open, he turned to me, “Well? Are you coming? ”
“Where?”
“To tally our sales,” he said.
Getting in that car and going back to his place sounded like a terrible idea, and yet my feet dragged me to the passenger side, and I climbed in before my brain mounted a strong enough protest.