9. Olivia
Chapter 9
Olivia
Landon Crawford was quite possibly the surliest man I had ever encountered. The past couple days with him in my space had been awkward and uncomfortable. The man barely communicated in anything more than grunts and scowls. Thankfully, he was only in my space for a few hours in the morning since he had to be at Murphy’s at nine. He usually showed up to the bakery around the same time I did, and we both worked quietly in our respective spaces until he left to go to the garage. During that time, he said as few words to me as possible.
And I hated that it bothered me.
Landon and I would never be friends, but I hoped we could at least be cordial acquaintances. I realized he blamed me for every hardship his family had endured over the past six years, but I’d hoped time would lessen his resentment. It didn’t matter that it was misplaced. Telling him the truth would only hurt him more. I was resigned to be cast as the villain in his story if it meant lessening his pain, but it was getting harder and harder to withstand his disdain.
I hadn’t caused that wreck. Despite what everyone believed, I hadn’t been drinking at our graduation party, and I certainly hadn’t been driving recklessly. I wasn’t fighting with Lyle.
But he was trying to fight with me.
Flashes from that night played out in my mind like it was yesterday. The yelling, the accusations, the fear. Screeching tires and crunching metal. Blood and smoke stinging my eyes. My breath came in and out in pants as I relived the worst night of my life.
The sound of the back door slamming shut pulled me from the memory. I pinched my eyes shut and took a deep, shuddering breath. Turning to face Roxi, I plastered on a smile while she hung her purse on a hook.
“Mornin’, Livy,” she said as she walked into the kitchen and grabbed her apron. Roxi was one of my grandmother’s—now my—employees. She was the only person Nan ever trusted to help her make the treats. She could whip up a mean donut and had a knack for getting meringue just right. Plus, she was an excellent salesperson. When she was here, we sold out of most items. She was an incredible employee and had worked for my grandmother for nearly a decade. I didn’t want to even think about what would happen to her if I sold the bakery. Would the new owners keep her on, or would she be forced to look for another job?
I swallowed down the guilt clogging my throat. She was just one of many whose lives would be affected if I sold. Mina, my other employee, had two kids at home and a deadbeat baby daddy who rarely paid child support since he couldn’t hold down a job. She needed steady work she could rely on to care for her family. Then there was Mr. Landers who ran Silver Oak Farms where we got most of our produce and dairy products. I couldn’t guarantee that if I sold, they would still get our business. There was so much riding on this decision.
“Liv, are you okay?” Roxi’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I looked up to find her watching me with worry in her eyes.
“Yea, I’m good,” I replied automatically, even though it was far from the truth. “I just need to get these muffins boxed up.” Her arrival signaled that it was almost time for Landon to leave. It was time to put my plan into motion.
Landon would never be a fan of mine, but I wanted to at least be able to have a conversation with him without wondering if he was plotting my murder. So I would kill him with kindness. My grandmother always said that sharing food with someone was the best way to make peace with them. Whether you wronged someone or had a fight with a friend, food was a way of bridging that gap. It was a love language. Sure, I didn’t love Landon. I didn’t even like him, but I wanted us to at least be able to tolerate each other.
I grabbed an empty box with the bakery’s logo and began filling it with lemon blueberry muffins. They were a popular breakfast item and usually sold out within an hour of opening. Closing it up, I pushed my way through the door and found Landon packing up his tools. He straightened and faced me, his relaxed expression hardening as his gaze locked on mine. I swallowed hard and forced my feet to move. He watched me approach, his face giving nothing away as his eyes tracked my movements.
“Here,” I said, thrusting the box at him. “These are for you.” He eyed the box distrustfully as though it contained a venomous snake just waiting to strike.
“Why?” he asked, slowly reaching out to grab the box from me. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed. The sight was a bit comical, but I didn’t dare show my amusement.
“I know you have to rush to the garage when you leave here, and I figured you probably don’t have time to stop for breakfast. So I thought I’d send breakfast with you.”
He eyed me skeptically as if he wanted to probe further but shook his head in acquiescence when I offered him a genuine smile. He grunted what almost sounded like “thanks,” but I couldn’t be sure.
Without another word, he left, leaving me wondering if I’d ever get through to him.