"No, no, no, no!" I quickly lodged myself between the door and Deborah before she could try to escape. "I refuse to let you walk out this door."
I used as much of an authoritative tone as I could muster, but Deborah only smiled and shook her head snickering. "And what? Your five-foot-nothing frame is going to stop me?"
I paused to think about it. In truth, I didn't think of what I would do if Deborah didn't accept my refusal. I only came up to her shoulder, so we both knew that my options were slightly limited. Trying to stop her from walking out this door would be as useful as me stopping a train.
Realizing her sound logic, I went straight to plan B.
And it wasn't pretty.
Making sure that I didn't get anything like flour on my new pants, I carefully folded my knees under me and assumed the position of begging. A very low position, I must admit. But it was all I could do.
Her eyebrow shot up when I clasped my hands in front of me and said, "Please, please, please don't leave me. I know that two weeks ago I approved your notice to quit but . . . I had just finished season six of Grey's Anatomy. I wasn't in the right state of mind!"
But she didn't feed into my plan like I had hoped. Instead, the redhead replied, "You know you look ridiculous right now, Katy."
"I'm a desperate woman!"
She sighed rolling her eyes all the way around and back to me. "Come on. You know that as much as I would love to stay, I can't. I am starting school like tomorrow. It has been set in stone for months now. We discussed this multiple times, remember?"
I pursed my lips. "For some reason, it escaped my mind."
"How convenient," she rested her hand on the doorknob behind her.
In my final act of desperation, I called out, "I'll cut back your hours!"
"In this store? Please."
"I swear on it! I'll only have you work prep in the mornings. The twins can handle the front. Lamar and I will tackle baking," I promised, getting to my feet albeit a little clumsily. "Scouts honor, you won't even so much as look at a mixer."
Deborah's nose scrunched up as if she smelled something spoiled. "After all that I've done for you, you would put me in such a low position?"
"Hey!" I heard Lamar call out from the back room. Prepping was his specialty.
"I could make you cashier and ignore the kitchen altogether," I challenged.
She looked truly terrified now. "You wouldn't dare."
I kept my eyes trained on her a beat longer before I let out a long sigh, dropping the tough act like a sack of flour. "No, I wouldn't. You are too gifted to be a cashier. And even more than that you are too gifted to go to college. You belong here, Deborah! This is your calling."
"My calling is making cupcakes and brownies?"
I crossed my arms. "You make that sound like a bad thing."
She groaned and pinched the bridge of her tiny nose. "Katy . . . I've known you for, how long?"
"Two years."
"Two years," she nodded. "In those two years, when have I ever said that I wanted to be a baker for the rest of my life?" I thought about it and couldn't come up with an answer. She took my silence as confirmation and continued, "Having a bakery, making desserts every day, that's your dream. And I'm completely honored to have been a part of it for so long. But I'm turning twenty-five soon and I don't want to be stuck doing something I'm not in love with. Not that baking isn't great, but it's just not my thing. To be honest, I'm doing this to be more like you."
At that, I was taken aback. "Wait, what?"
"You come in early every morning with a big smile on your face all the way to the end of your shift. I bet you even cook when you get home, too," she eyed me pointedly. My guilty expression must have given me away because she continued even further. "You love what you do and you are so passionate about it. I want to feel the same way. Maybe not as a pastry chef, but as something."
As her words began to sink in, my determination to keep her here slowly melted away like ice cream on a hot day in June. I could see it in her eyes that she wanted this. Of course, I've always known that she wouldn't stay at my shop, but a little part of me secretly hoped that she might change her mind.
For the past year, Katy Cakes had become even more successful when Deborah showed off her skill at baking. Customers came lining up for her cocoa cappuccino cookies that are said to be the best thing in Doral, Florida. It was a fantastic recipe; I had to admit, something I could probably never recreate regardless of my years spent baking.
But now that she was leaving, so were the cocoa cappuccino cookies.
It does put a damper in my day, and sales, but the truth of the matter was that Deborah's happiness was more important than me trying to keep her here. My store is everything to me, but I couldn't live with myself if I were the reason behind her not following her dreams to find what she truly loves.
Because she was right, I loved my job.
I loved coming in at four in the morning to get the business ready for the day. I loved seeing my creations on display for people to ogle at gleefully. I loved doing something that I enjoy every day even if my muscles are sore when I leave. It was all worth it. And now, she deserves that same feeling.
I knew all too well what it was like to be held back from following your dreams, and I will be darned if I became the person who did it to me.
When my determination finally reached its conclusion, I sighed and said, "You're right. I'm sorry. I just . . . don't know how this store will continue without you."
With a gentle smile, Deborah placed a hand on my shoulder giving it a light squeeze. "You survived a whole year without me and you will for many more years. This place will be just fine because it has you. You are the heart and soul of this place, and because of that, this bakery will not fail. You are gifted in many ways besides baking, Katy. Never forget that."
By the end of her speech, I couldn't handle it any longer, I launched into her arms holding her tightly. After settling from the initial surprise, she too wrapped her arms around me. In truth I wasn't just losing a co-worker, I was losing a friend as well. And although I couldn't be happier for her, I would be lying if I said it didn't suck.
When I pulled back, we smiled at each other a moment longer before she perked up. "Oh, one more thing before I go," she was digging through her purse until she pulled out a piece of paper. "If you ever want to make my cookies here is the recipe. Don't lose it."
"I won't," I promised folding it up and placing it in my pocket. "Are you sure you don't want to keep the recipe?"
"No, I have it all memorized up here," she tapped her forehead. "Just make sure to follow each step carefully, or they won't turn out right."
"Got it. I'll try my best."
"Good," she adjusted her purse on her shoulder. We could both feel it. Like the store, our time together was now closed. With a sigh, she held out her pink apron to me. "Here. You can give this to your next baker."
I didn't want to tell her that ever since she put in her two weeks notice, I've been having the worst time trying to find a new replacement. There's just not many people in Doral lining up to take on the role as a baker. In fact, there aren't that many people in Doral to begin with. We may be ten miles from Miami, but the majority of people stay there rather than our little town. We mainly get tourists who are passing through when they take a break from all the festivities. So this might be a little issue, but I didn't want her to worry.
Turning my attention back to the present, I looked at the apron in her hand and shook my head. "No, you keep it. It's always been yours since you've started working here. It wouldn't be right giving it to anybody else. Consider it as a sort of memento of your time here."
"Are you sure?" she brought it back to her chest. "I know you don't have many aprons to spare. And it's stained so it's not that big of a deal."
"But it's stained from the things you made here," I pointed out. "Let them be little memories to take with you while you're away in college."
Deborah smiled down at the apron then up at me. "Thanks, Katy. I will definitely wear it every time I'm making something and think of this place."
"You better," I raised an eyebrow at her although we both knew I was as menacing as a kitten.
After another quick hug, I stepped away from the door no longer a barrier in the way of her path. Although in truth I never really was. We said our goodbyes one final time before she slipped past the door and away from the shop. With my arms folded in front of me, I watched her walk towards her car feeling a tightening sensation in my chest. I guess this is what they mean when they say to let something go when you love it most.
My melancholy thoughts were suddenly interrupted when I heard a voice behind me whisper, "Did she leave?"
"Yep."
"Told you Katy wasn't going to talk her out of it. Cough it up," then there was a groan and a slapping noise. "Thank you for your business with Kellie Meyers. Please come again soo--"
"Shut up."
I rolled my eyes at the two and turned around to see the familiar twins bickering at each other from behind the counter as per usual. At least this won't change.
"Okay, okay. The shows over. Which I'm sure you didn't see because you were cleaning the display cases like I asked you," I said walking towards the blondes noting Ellie's annoyed expression directed at her sister, Kellie, who was now shoving a five dollar bill in her pocket.
As if on cue they looked at each other, guilt written all over their face, and then back to me.
"Of course," Kellie said right when Ellie said, "Sorry."
I eyed the two a moment longer before walking past them towards the back room. "You can kiss your lemon tarts goodbye if the lobby isn't finished by the time I get back."
With my back turned I couldn't see them, but the sound of shuffling feet already gave me my answer that they were instantly getting to work. Lemon tarts work every time.
When I reached the back, I walked in on a tall, dark man putting items away in the fridge before he shut the door. This action produced a small burst of cold air that reached my bare arms causing me to shiver as I walked towards him.
"Is that the last of the product, Lamar?" I asked.
His brown eyes that have always reminded me of our fudge we sell in the fall looked up to find mine. "Yep. All ready for tomorrow morning prep," he untied his apron from behind him. "Is the lobby finished?"
"What do you think?"
"I don't know why I even ask," he shook his head then yanked off his apron setting it on a nearby hook. "And Deborah?"
My lips went into a straight line. "She went home."
"I see."
"Did she tell you goodbye?"
"Yeah, she did. In fact, she gave me these," Lamar held out a baggie filled with different colored macarons. "She knows the way to my heart."
"Well you are pretty vocal about those," I said leaning against a prep table. Lamar joined me making me realize yet again how small I am next to his six foot three frame. At first, I was intimidated by our size difference, but over the years I realized that was unnecessary.
He quickly changed my mind about him when one slow day we sat around talking about all sorts of things. Even though I was half his age, it turns out we had a lot in common. I soon began to feel more comfortable around him enough to consider him my closest friend. Ever since that day I've even trusted him to run the bakery while I was away or sick.
It amazed me that he was such a calm, gentle giant when he was taking care of his three girls by himself. Temporarily, he liked to point out, since his wife was overseas in the army. Still, handling the girls was a tough job, and he has admitted that they drive him up the wall, but I've never seen a father more devoted than Lamar.
We sat there in a comfortable silence while he munched on his macarons when he said, "You seem quiet today."
"Hmm? Oh, yeah sorry," I crossed my ankles. "I guess I'm just a little sidetracked."
"Something on your mind?"
The other thing about Lamar is that he has a fantastic emotion radar. He knows when I'm upset, so there is never a reason try and cover up what's really going on. Even if I lied, he would just pry it out later.
"I'm worried," I admitted.
"About what?"
"About our shop. I mean, what's going to happen to our sales now? Deborah was one of our best."
"She was," he agreed, still munching on his macaron. "But it's not like she will be the last. We will find somebody, and who knows? Maybe they will be better."
"Or maybe we will never find someone, and we will have to double our baking and our hours to make up for our loss of staff. And I can't do that to you. Not when you have the girls."
Lamar frowned at me. "I have never known you to be a pessimist. I mean look at all these positive posters you put up in here," he said gesturing around the room. It was true; I put up several cheap posters with reminders to stay calm or look at the bright side. But here I am shifting from Little Debbie to Debbie Downer. Lamar continued when I didn't say anything, "We have been through much worse than this. If we can get through the time we burnt the mayors birthday cake by accident, we can get through this."
I smiled at the memory. Admittedly a memory I would rather forget, but Lamar had a point. We have suffered and triumphed before. But the store wasn't my absolute primary concern.
"But what about your girls?" I looked at him. "Aaliyah, Monica, Jasmine . . . I don't want to take their father away from them any more than I have to."
"If that situation actually happens, then I'll be fine. I worked longer hours back when I was at the factory. I can always figure something out."
"But I don't want you to have to figure something out--"
"That's not how this works," he cut me off. "You're a smart businesswoman. You should know this. Running and working at a bakery isn't easy. Things happen, people leave, cakes burn, it's a tricky business. I knew the consequences way before I accepted my position here. The girls knew that, too. So whatever we have to do will be done, and life continues on. Besides," he popped another macaron in his mouth, "the girls are almost teenagers now. They practically beg me to leave them alone."
That made me laugh.
"Seriously, I went to Aaliyah's room to tell her dinner was ready and she screamed 'Oh my gosh just leave me alone, Dad!'" he mocked her high pitched voice making me laugh even more. He too was chuckling while shaking his head slowly. "I can't keep up with them anymore. They used to tackle me at the door when I came home from work, and now it's like whenever I breathe I am a bother to them. I don't understand them. Especially Aaliyah. She doesn't want me around her for more than five minutes, and she's always on that phone. I don't understand who she could be possibly texting every minute of every day."
"Well, Aaliyah is talking to a boy now," I informed then quickly regretted it.
Lamar's smile dropped. "She what?"
Oh, fudge muffins.
I tried to backpedal, but it was too late. The words had already fallen out. He sat his baggie down no longer interested in his macarons anymore which was clearly a bad sign. I was about to see Lamar Jones go protective daddy mode.
Thankfully, right when he was about to drill me with questions, the back door swung open and a pair of blondes walked in bickering over something.
"How can you say that Gilmore Girls is sadder than Game of Thrones? Have you even watched it?" Kellie argued.
"I couldn't get through one episode it was too morbid," Ellie waved her off. "But still, have you seen Gilmore Girls? It was a total tear-jerker."
"Are you freaking kidding me? I bet the worst thing that happened in Gilmore Girls is probably one person passing away."
"And Game of Thrones has something worse?"
Kellie snorted. "Two words: Red Wedding."
"Well I have four: You may go first," she ticked off each one on her finger.
Kellie eyed her a moment before throwing her hands up exasperatedly. "How are we even related?!"
Lamar and I both sighed watching the scene before us, all previous conversation gone but not lost. I knew he would bring it up later when he got the chance. When it comes to his girls, nothing could distract him.
After successfully closing up shop, I said my goodbyes while sidestepping Lamar's interview process, grabbed a few pastries and placed them in the basket on my bike sitting behind the store. Thankfully the sun wasn't beating down too badly like the other day, so when I grabbed the handles, my hands didn't feel like I shoved them in an oven. Even though my hair only brushed my shoulders, I pulled back what I could so it wouldn't whip in my face or get caught in my mouth. It's one of my major pet peeves. Once finished, I unlocked the bike, got on, and peddling off.
I've always loved riding my bicycle home. As a child, I used to watch other kids in the neighborhood play with theirs wishing that I had one for myself. Mom was afraid I would get in an accident so even though I asked for a bicycle every birthday, I would end up with an Easy Bake Oven instead. Not that I complained, but I envied the kids who peddled past me at the bus stop heading towards school. They looked so happy and free, and I wanted more than anything to feel that same way.
So once I collected enough money and figured out how to properly use it, I bought my own despite Mom's protest. I quickly understood why the kids looked so happy when they rode around. There was nothing like feeling the wind brushing against my skin or my tired legs after a nice long ride. Ever since then that's all I've used unless the weather outside forced me to take the bus.
Before taking the route that leads home, I made a little pit stop around the corner to a place tucked away from view. If you're not looking for it, you might miss it, but I always knew.
I parked my bike a few feet away from the mountain of cardboard boxes. To any outsider, it would look like a pile of garbage. However, I discovered its real meaning years ago.
"Mr. Phillips?" I called out grabbing the box of pastries. "It's Katy Thomas."
At first, there was no movement, but I still took a few steps forward. "I brought you your favorite today: lemon squares."
It was almost comical how fast the man poked his gray head out. "Is it sour?"
"You know I wouldn't give you something that wasn't," I smiled handing over the box.
"Always so thoughtful," he smiled as he took the box from my hand. His dark eyes twinkled when he opened it up and pulled out a bar. "Goodness, it's like looking at the sun."
"I put a little extra lemon juice in today so it might be pretty sour."
"I can handle it. I'll eat anything you make," he said before taking a big bite. Immediately his sun-kissed face puckered up, and his eyebrows drew in together. "Mmmmm. Nothing better than that. I bet it's only sweet because of you."
I blushed at his comment. "You always say that.
"Well, I mean it every time, too. Thank you, Ms. Thomas," he said sitting his box in his hut.
"You are very welcome, Mr. Phillips," I crossed the space between us to give him a hug.
When I pulled away to look at him, I could see what I had feared. His face was more sunken in than last time and chapped from the August sun.
Even though I bring him things to help, he still refuses. I tell him it's not charity, it's because I want to help, but he lets his pride take over. It took me almost six months before he started accepting my food. The wall was broken at lemon tarts and then lemon puffs until slowly I pieced the puzzle together. Just like the twins, he had a soft spot for lemon.
I fear what will happen to him almost every day. I have offered countless times to work at my store or stay at my apartment for a little while, but he insists that he has a job lined up somewhere else and that he will be fine at his place. I never see him in work clothes though, but I don't push it. I just really hope that he's taking care of himself.
After catching up and talking about politics for a while, he informed me that he was getting tired, so I took it as my cue to leave. I said my goodbyes promising to see him tomorrow then pedaled away.
When I arrived at my apartment complex, I was still thinking of what lemon pastry to make tomorrow when I came to an abrupt stop.
Two men were standing in front of my door.
My heart went off like a rocket. They found me, was all I could think. But as I got closer I realized it wasn't my door that they were in front of, but the one right next to it.
I exhaled in relief when I recognized one man as the apartment landlord, Mr. Vasnev. His pudgy finger was in front of the other man's face yelling something I couldn't make out until I got closer.
"I tell you many times, I give no extension for rent!" his thick Russian accent barked. "I tell you to pay last week, and what do you do? You pay me only half."
"I told you I would get the rest to you tomorrow," the other man groaned.
It was then when I got closer than I could get a good look at him. He appeared to be around my age, maybe slightly older, and I had to admit, he was pretty attractive with wavy brown hair and bright blue eyes. But what really caught my eye was the number of tattoos on his body. Even though he was wearing just pants and a shirt, his tattoos seeped out over his neck, legs, and even his hands demanding to be seen. It was as if his first layer of clothing was black ink. I was completely enthralled and confused.
I would have noticed a guy like that living next door to me a while ago. Maybe he's new. I don't remember the guy who lived there before him moving out though. Although that doesn't say much because I'm hardly ever home these days to really be aware of things like that.
Mr. Vasnev's voice cut through my thoughts when he yelled, "No! Tomorrow is no good! I need rent today!"
Tattoo Guy closed his eyes let out a loud sigh visibly annoyed at the situation. When he crossed his arms, I could see that he was toned even through the mass of black ink.
"Listen, Mr. Victor--"
"Vasnev!"
"Whatever, I can't give you the rent at this very moment," he continued. "I can give it to you tonight, though. In fact, I can give you the rest of the rent for last week and this week. No sweat."
The little Russian man eyed him suspiciously. "You lie."
"I no lie."
I held back a snicker and began to walk past the men towards my door hoping they wouldn't notice. There was a silence as I pulled out my keys, and I thought it was because they were looking at me, but then I heard Mr. Vasnev say, "Okay. No problem, I accept. But you must have it in before nine."
"Before midnight."
"No! That is no good!" he waved his hands around frantically. "No rent, no apartment. Go pack things and leave this place--"
"Eleven-thirty then," Tattoo Guy offered. "I'll even wrap it up in a shiny bow if you want. But eleven-thirty is the best I can do."
I watched as they stared each other down heatedly. It was as if the landlord was challenging him to blink, and I had to admit, I hadn't blinked either.
After a long pause, the little man let out a gruff sigh. "Fine," his pudgy finger was in Tattoo Guy's face again. "But this is last time, okay?"
"Okay," he nodded.
Slowly the landlord lowered his finger but reaffirmed, "Eleven-thirty."
"Eleven-thirty."
"No later."
"Agreed."
"Okay," he turned his shirt frame to leave. As he was walking he called over his shoulder, "And I want red bow on it!"
Tattoo Guy, my neighbor I now realized, rolled his eyes mumbling to himself incoherently. For some reason, I was still frozen on the spot watching him fumble for his key. My hand was raised mindlessly pressing it into what I hoped was the lock when his blue eyes flicked up to mine.
"Can I help you?" he snapped.
I stiffened under his glare realizing that I had been staring at him this whole time. Almost immediately my cheeks flared up, and I was really focused on opening my door now.
"Sorry," I spoke sheepishly. "I-I didn't mean to eavesdrop."
He narrowed his eyes as he twisted his doorknob. "I don't like nosy people."
"Oh, no! I swear I wasn't trying to be nosy," I held my hands up in defense. "I just . . . well, you see . . . I just got back from work and I came up here because, well, I live next to you, and you two were standing outside and it's not like I could just tune it out and I tried to slip past you but I thought you were looking at me and I got sidetracked and I couldn't find my keys and why do you have so many tattoos?"
By the end I was trying to catch my breath it all came out so fast. I don't remember the last time ever being this flustered before. And clearly, I wasn't the only one. Tattoo Neighbor Guy was looking at me as if I just spoke fluent Russian, which, admittedly, would have made more sense.
He blinked a few times, probably deciphering what all I threw at him, when he opened his door and grumbled, "Why the hell did I move here?"
And then he slammed the door behind him making me jump slightly.
I stood there a moment longer trying to process what just happened when I came to the conclusion that I royally messed up meeting my new neighbor. Not only that, but Tattoo Guy probably thinks I'm weird and nosy. Two things I have never been considered as before. Perfect, just my day.
With a groan, I unlocked my door, stepped inside, and threw myself on the nearby sofa wishing that I could summon sleep instantly and pretend this day was all a dream.
Because I am so ready for it to end.
______________________________________________________________
Hello, my loves.
Thank you all SO much for reading the first chapter of Bittersweet! Just a heads up this book is not going to be a small one like I had originally intended. So if you are looking for a quickie, this may not be the one for you. But if you are looking for an emotional roller coaster ride with lots of goodies along the way, I got just what you need.
I hope you all enjoy it! I have spent countless hours researching trying to get it right so I hope it shows as the story goes on.
One more thing to note: This book with have alternating POV but will flow normally. There is a reason why I chose this route for several reasons. I know some people believe it is amateurish, but some of my favorite books are dual POV. I will do my best to make sure it's done right. With that being said next chapter is all Gage, woohoo!
LET'S DO THIS!
+Chapter Song: "Stubborn Love" by The Lumineers
+Questions: What do you think about Katy so far? What is she going to do now that her best baker is gone?
+Fun Fact: If you follow my Pinterest you will see all sorts of research I have done about running a bakery. I also post recipes on there from the book, yum!
If you are enjoying this story so far please feel free to leave a comment/vote letting me know!
Sincerely,
Snow