Chapter 17
Rose
When I head over to check on the coffee shop after Tank leaves, I’m shocked to find the pastry case already empty. It’s entirely possible we were kissing a lot longer than I thought.
Kalli’s face lights up when she sees me, but her expression falls just as fast. “I was hoping you’d be coming through the door with more cookies.”
“Or cupcakes!” Molly adds, passing by with a plastic tub of dirty mugs and dishes. Her brown hair is slipping out of her messy ponytail and she blows loose strands out of her eyes. “Hi again, Rose!”
“Everything sold?”
“Every single thing,” Kalli confirms. “I think people might have bought the crumbs if there were any.”
I stare at the empty pastry case, as though willing more things to appear. Tank and I did actually do some baking, but I thought I was baking ahead for tomorrow. “I doubled what I made yesterday because I had so much help. And it’s not even four o’clock.”
Kalli grins. “I guess you more than doubled up on demand. Word of mouth travels fast in Sheet Cake. What can I get for you? On the house.”
After ordering a decaf hazelnut latte, I sit down at the only empty table, next to Glenn.
Once again he has his chess game set up for two while sitting alone.
His white hair is neatly combed back and his white button-down shirt is buttoned all the way to the top.
He gives me a small nod, but when I offer him a smile, he quickly ducks his head, focused on the chess board.
I wonder if he’s playing both sides or … an imaginary friend?
Another quirky person I can add to my Sheet Cake notebook. I’d almost forgotten about that in the last few days. Probably because it’s still in my loft. And because I’ve had no shortage of distractions.
Kalli delivers my latte a moment later in a white mug. “Can you tell I tried to make a rose?” she asks.
When I glance at the foam on top of my latte, I can tell an attempt was made at creating something. But it looks more like the angry scribble that always surrounds Pig-pen from Peanuts.
“Oh, thank you! That’s a thoughtful touch!” This evasive nonanswer seems to appease her, and she heads back behind the counter.
Molly passes by with a rag for wiping tables. “I’ve told her to stop trying with the foam art, but she’s stubborn and just keeps watching tutorials and making ugly lattes,” she whispers to me as she passes.
I hold back a laugh. Kalli probably couldn’t have heard over the wail of the espresso machine.
As I sip my latte—delicious regardless of how it looks—my brain tries to process the empty pastry case.
I had the grand opening for my storefront last month, though it was really more of a mediocre opening.
People trickled in and out that first day, but it quickly dwindled.
I still have a steady stream of cake orders for events, but my hope was to have a place that felt like this: warm, cozy, inviting, and, most importantly, filled with people.
The only empty table now is between me and Glenn, and over the past few days I’ve seen a lot of customers come in and out, wanting orders to go. I rarely have anyone come and sit, despite my efforts to make my space cozy. And I’ve never sold anywhere close to what I have out of Kalli’s pastry case.
Does coffee make the difference? Caffeine keeps people coming through the doors.
Baked goods are a treat; coffee has become to most people a daily necessity.
Once they’re in Kalli’s shop, the pastry case is right there, so it’s an impulse buy.
But I don’t think it’s as simple as that.
Kalli told me in passing that the things she has from her normal retailer never sell out.
Maybe Sheeters are afraid to try new things.
New bakery, new baker, new baked goods. If I give it time, maybe my bakery will be bustling just like the coffee shop.
The town is just warming up to me. But I don’t think it’s that either.
Kalli told me she only opened a few months before I did, and she also moved from out of town.
Then I remember something I had filed away to think about later: Big Mo.
I had a realization on my date with Tank, but then quickly forgot about it—because I was on a date with Tank.
Big Mo bakes pies and cakes. Delicious, based on what I tasted last night at the diner. The chocolate chess pie I had was honestly amazing. Same with the carrot cake Tank ordered. Both were perfectly balanced, rich without tipping the scales on too sweet.
Emily and I both missed this fact when we were doing market research, checking to see if Sheet Cake had similar businesses I would be competing with.
We didn’t find a bakery in downtown Sheet Cake.
The closest cookie shop is a chain in the newer part of town with all the strip malls and planned communities.
Mari’s Diner, which served Big Mo’s cakes and pies, did not come up at all.
Emily’s going to be mad about this—she doesn’t miss details.
Or make mistakes. But I’d bet anything that the diner doesn’t have a website or social media presence.
It doesn’t need one, based on how packed it was the other night.
It seems like one of those familiar town staples everyone just knows.
Without a digital footprint, we wouldn’t have discovered that a chef in the local diner is actually an incredible baker.
So, in a way, I have one unexpected competing business in town. A man who seems much beloved, has been baking here forever, and simply happens to work out of a diner instead of his own bakery.
On our date, the moment Tank mentioned that Big Mo baked, I had a flash of a thought: maybe my lack of business is because the town feels like supporting my bakery would be disloyal to Big Mo.
Maybe buying my baked goods from the coffee shop they already frequent makes the act of buying them less of a traitorous act.
Plus, I’ve mostly had cookies and cupcakes. No pies and cakes.
The diner isn’t direct competition, not really, but the loyal Sheeters might not feel that way. I should discuss this with Tank, but that would mean admitting how close my business really is to failing. At some point I will tell him. I have no plans to start a relationship while keeping secrets.
But I already know this about Tank—when I tell him how it’s really going, he will do whatever he can to fix it.
This is what he does. It’s who he is. And honestly, I love this about him—that he takes care of the people who matter to him.
I watched the wheels turning earlier today as he thought about how to do this for Wolf.
I may love this aspect of his character, but I’m like Kalli when it comes to things that really matter to me: I’m stubborn.
And I want to make this bakery work without Tank waving his magic charming wand and saving me.
I don’t want to be a damsel in distress, waiting for a big, strong man to swoop in.
I’d definitely like the big, strong man I’m now picturing to support me, but I don’t want him to try to save me.
The difference matters.
Also, would Tank even have time to help me? He’s already helping Pat with things around the house and with Evie. He’s helping Chevy with police work and now he’s helping Wolf regain his confidence. I wouldn’t want to be an extra weight falling on his broad shoulders.
“Well, look who we found,” a familiar voice says and I glance up, blinking in shock to see both of the Emilys, standing in front of my table.
I’ve always thought they look like two very different tea cups someone picked up at a thrift store.
Emily is stately and poised with sleek white hair she keeps pulled back in a low ponytail.
Her clothes are always impeccable, usually designer, and she has an icy blue gaze capable of making people wither with a glance.
Jacks is a whole foot shorter than Emily, rounder, and seems set to spill over with mirth at any given moment. Her nearly black hair is wild and short and peppered with gray and she wears flowy floral dresses that she describes as the muumuu’s kissing cousin.
Which I guess makes me the strawberry blond teacup who fits somewhere in the middle of the mismatched set.
“What are you doing here?”
“We tracked you down and now we’re here to take you in. Can we split the bounty?” Emily asks Jacks, tilting her head thoughtfully.
“Depends on whether or not she comes with us quietly.” Jacks grins, her dimples popping. “Or if she tries to make a run for it.”
In a flash, I’m on my feet, hugging them both and laughing. “Oh, stop it. How did you find me?”
“We told you we were coming for a visit,” Emily says. “Just not when.”
“And remember that we have location sharing turned on—ever since Emily signed up for Tinder.”
I still can’t believe Emily still has a profile on the app mostly known for young people and hookups.
But she insists that the dating companies specifically for people over fifty were filled with old people—her words.
When we tried to remind her that by that logic, we are also all old people, she wouldn’t hear it.
“Are you not glad to see us?” Emily asks, pulling back to study me.
“I’m thrilled to see you! Just shocked. It’s been a long day. Come—sit down!”
Emily takes the open seat across from me and Jacks asks Glenn if she can take the empty chair at his table. He looks startled, then gives a quick nod. “And I’d move the rook right there,” she says, leaning in with a wide smile to point at the chess board.
As she moves the chair the short distance from his table to ours, Glenn looks at her retreating back with wide eyes and a little color in his cheeks.
I’m not sure if it’s because almost no one seems to speak to him from what I’ve seen or because she touched his board.
Almost immediately, his gaze drops back to the board.
He frowns, like he’s trying to puzzle through what she said.
“Do you know how to play chess?” I ask her.
“Sort of,” is all she says.