2. Beau
BEAU
“Well this is an unexpected surprise,” my sister Gabi says as I walk through the front door of our bakery, Sugar and Sweets. “I normally don’t see you here two days in a row.”
I place a kiss on her cheek before stepping back, quickly eyeing the options for the day. I make a mental note that she loaded up on scones. It’s like she knew I was coming. “Can’t a guy want to see his sister while also checking on the business he owns?”
It sounds like a good excuse. I’m definitely not about to tell her I’m here because her best friend—the SheDevil—ruined my morning, and as a result, my entire day has been shot to hell.
Gabi lifts an eyebrow at me. “He can. But he usually doesn’t on a Wednesday.”
She has me there. I have a pretty set schedule—that she knows of—when it comes to my visits at the bakery. To be honest, when you look at the big picture, my involvement is minimal compared to what she does every day.
On paper, she’s the general manager. In reality, she’s the GM, the head baker, the schedule maker, the order placer, and the face of the bakery.
She knows every regular customer’s name and order.
She always has a smile on her face. This place is hers in every way, from the ever-changing menu to the white and blue gingham logo she designed and applied to the motif throughout.
Me? I’m just the guy who comes in every Tuesday and Friday, stays for an hour or so, pays the bills, and makes sure there’s nothing happening with the building. I mingle with a few customers, take selfies for anyone who’s a fan, then grab a few scones and head home.
I for sure have the better end of the deal.
But my sister doesn’t think so. She’s living her dream getting to run the show, creating pastries in the bakery she brought to life from her own imagination.
I’m just the cash man who uses his bakery owner status to steal treats when he’s having a shitty morning because of a certain tall, blonde, golfer who is also the bane of his existence.
Oh, and to host monthly “poker nights” that have nothing to do with poker. That’s the biggest advantage.
“I just needed to grab a few things,” I say, which isn’t a lie. I’ll pretend to grab an invoice, while also picking up two scones and a cinnamon roll.
Gabi gives me her don’t bullshit a bullshitter look. “Do any of those things have cream cheese drizzle on them?”
I give her a pretend shocked face as my eyes lock onto the cinnamon roll that looks like she just took it out of the oven. “Well look at that! One does!”
She shakes her head at me as she opens the glass case. “You know, you do own the place. You can just come in and say you want things. There doesn’t have to be an elaborate story.”
“What fun is that?” I say, bumping her out of the way so I can snag a maple pecan scone. And a lemon blueberry. Fuck it, and a chai one too. “Plus, you know I don’t like to throw around that I own a bakery. Whether it be with you or anyone else.”
“That’s a bald-faced lie and you know it,” she says, though a smile tips up her lips as she shakes her head. “You’d scream it from the rooftop if I’d let you. Or worse, feature it on your YouTube Channel.”
I take a huge bite out of the chai scone. “Now, that we can agree on.”
“I was kidding,” Gabi says with a pointed look. “If I ever see a camera in here…”
I hold up my hands—one still grasping the last of the scones—in surrender. “I would never and you know it. But, I would like to go on record saying that the episode I filmed from inside—”
“Beaumont Frederick Devereaux, I swear to God!”
“Government name?” I hiss at Gabi, thankful there’s not a customer in here. Or worse, Shelby, who has gone our entire lives without ever hearing my hundred-syllable full name. One she’d use on repeat just to get under my skin. “I told you I wasn’t going to film here. And I meant it.”
“Exactly,” she says. “And now that you know I’ll pull out the big gun, it’ll stay that way.”
She may be a foot shorter than me and two years younger, but I know when my sister says something, she means it. And when it comes to the bakery, she means every word.
It’s why I’ve always followed her lead when it comes to Sugar and Sweets.
When we first opened, I wanted to call all of my media contacts and bring them down.
Have them interview us about the brother and sister duo who were opening a new local business in the West End of Nashville.
One who happens to be a professional golfer who got bored a few years ago and started a YouTube Channel that now has more than a million subscribers.
And, yes, part of that media contingent was going to be my cameraman, Stu, who would be filming behind the scenes footage so we could do a very special episode of my internet show.
It would’ve made Sugar and Sweets an overnight success.
But my sister put her foot down. And while she’s not as stubborn as I am, at that moment, she wasn’t budging.
She was insistent on not using my name, or popularity, to give her a leg up.
Part of me respected it, but a bigger part of me hated it.
All I wanted was for her to succeed. For us to succeed.
Sure, I’m just the owner, but this has always been more than a simple business venture.
It’s a partnership I was more than willing to get into when Gabi was going through a divorce and desperately wanted out of her lackluster accounting job.
It was her dream to have her own bakery, but she didn’t have the means.
I did. I’d been wanting to diversify my portfolio a little, too.
It was a win-win. Especially if I could use my name and contacts to give this place an immediate boost in visibility.
Turns out, she didn’t need me in the slightest. Sugar and Sweets has been a hit from the day it opened.
Now, she did have help from her professional football player boyfriend, Maddox.
His Instagram post—that he made without her knowledge—went viral, and in less than twenty-four hours, the place went from “doing pretty well” to “shit, we need to hire four more employees.” I wanted to be pissed about it, and I was for a second.
Until I realized I didn’t care how or why this place was a success, just that it was.
But I still want to film an episode here one of these days. It’s the least she can give me.
“I just want you to think about it,” I say, holding my hands out like I’m framing a camera shot. “I could make an entire putt putt course in here. Or! Try and make a hole in one through a ridiculous obstacle course where I’d have to putt around plates of your desserts. It would do numbers, Gabi.”
That just makes her roll her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“No, I’m just seeing the vision,” I say. “And the vision would be enough for you to open a second location.”
That isn’t me being cocky, either. It’s the absolute truth. We’ve featured numerous places of business around Nashville, and each of them have told me once the episode was released, their business went through the roof. Yet, the one business where I literally have a key, I can’t film in.
“You and your visions,” Gabi says as I take a seat at one of the empty tables, my pastries and a glass of water in hand.
“What about them? That I’m usually right?”
She lets out a defeated sigh. “As much as it pains me? Yes.”
I hold up the glass of water. “Damn straight I am.”
When I first told Gabi I wanted to start a YouTube Channel three years ago, I don’t think she could’ve rolled her eyes any harder.
I believe her words were, “You’re a golfer.
Why do you need to make videos about golf?
” Which, I get her skepticism. On the surface, it doesn’t sound very groundbreaking.
But I had a vision. An idea. And come hell or high water, I was going to make it happen.
I remember the night the idea came to me.
Sitting on a hotel room chair, scrolling through videos, because I was bored at a tournament and I didn’t feel like going to hang out at the bar.
Been there, done that. The night before, in fact.
And if the conversation that night was any indication, there was nothing I was going to be able to contribute.
Most of it centered around the players’ kids, wives, and/or girlfriends.
Since I’m the most eligible bachelor of the tour—according to several blogs and magazines—I was bored out of my mind.
Maybe one day I’ll be able to contribute to that conversation, but it didn’t happen then, and it’s not coming anytime soon.
I’m too busy living my life. Doing the thing I dreamed of doing since I was a kid.
And right now, a wife or family doesn’t fit into that dream.
When I grew tired of the family talk, I tried to move to another group of guys I know.
I only lasted five minutes in that conversation.
All I needed to hear were the words, “Bro, you have to see this new crypto site that just got launched.” I took my glass of bourbon and did a swift Irish goodbye to my hotel room.
The only good thing about those conversations was that it made me think.
Yes, I was a successful golfer. I’ve won two of the four majors, and have been in the top twenty in money standings for the past few years.
Sponsorship and endorsements generously pad my bank account.
But I didn’t have anything else. Nothing to talk to guys at the bar about. Nothing that gave me an outlet.
Those thoughts kept me up for most of the night.
Finally, I said fuck it, flipped on my phone, and started scrolling through YouTube.
It was my normal way of diverting my attention, falling into a mindless trance, usually resulting in me passing out with videos still playing, draining my battery—literally and figuratively.