Chapter 11 - Lucy

I turn my back on Peter and his hurtful comments as I go back to the front counter. It’s not easy to push my emotions away, and I know it’s only a matter of time before I collapse and cry.

I can’t take this anymore. I know this is my fault, but this is worse than prison, being stuck with a man who hates me so much!

As I smile and greet my customers, a sharp ache twists in my chest and worsens by the second. This situation could be bearable if Peter would just choose an emotion and stick with it.

It was wrong to kiss him, I know that. Obviously, we are just not a match, and I shouldn’t be indulging in these fantasies. Maybe his mixed reaction really is my fault.

More customers start pouring into the shop. A lot of them are regulars, but there are also groups of tourists. It’s a chance to make a bit of extra cash, as well as get good word-of-mouth referrals and online reviews.

I head out the back, dreading talking to him but knowing I have no choice.

“Peter?”

“Yes?” he answers. He’s standing by the ovens, and it looks like he’s successfully made a few loaves of bread and batches of cookies.

“Can you help out front?”

“Okay. What do you want me to do?”

“Just serve customers. The only tricky thing is the cash register, but most people will pay by tapping their card. Just call me over if you need help.”

“Fine,” he mutters. “I just need to pull out these jam tartlets before they get too brown.”

I bite my lip hard to stop myself from grinning. The last thing I want to do is have him think I’m mocking him, though I’m not.

It’s just that hearing him say “jam tartlets” with real concern in his voice is stretching my grip on reality. Maybe I’m cracking up.

“Okay,” I say instead. “I have to keep moving, so I’ll see you out there.”

I struggle to keep up with customer orders, keeping a big smile on my face as I rush from one end of the counter to the other. Just when I’m starting to feel stressed again, Peter arrives with several trays of baked goods. He stacks the windows and then turns to face the line of customers on the other side of the display case.

He’s really making an effort! We might get through today without a disaster after all.

Peter looks right at an elderly old man, his face tense and hostile as he glares at him with his hard green eyes. “What do you want?” Peter asks in a challenging tone.

My heart flips so hard in my chest, all the air goes out of my lungs. I’m utterly mortified, but I’m serving a customer right now. If I stop to chastise Peter, I’ll end up offending two people instead of one.

I pull donuts swiftly out of the case with wax paper, wrapping them for a tired-looking mom surrounded by cute, hyperactive toddlers. I keep half an ear on Peter, trying not to cringe.

“There’s your bread,” Peter snaps, slapping it on the counter. “Want something else?”

“Ah…” the elderly man stammers uncertainly.

“Well, get out, then,” Peter says, pointing at the card reader. “Next!”

My chest tightens so much, I see dark spots at the edges of my vision. I finish serving the busy mom, but before I can get to Peter, another customer appears in front of me.

“Hi,” I say, smiling warmly. “What can I get for you today?”

On the other side of the counter, I hear Peter sigh with exasperation as a customer asks him for a special cake. “You really want me to go to the big case?” he grumbles. “I’m not sure I’d know what a triple-cream layered butter cake even looks like. Why can’t you just have a sponge like a normal person?”

Now mortified, I rush to finish serving my customer, desperate to hurl myself between Peter and the next person. The bell above the door keeps jingling as more people come in. Before I know it, the store fills up completely.

I was right. I have cracked. At some point, I fell straight into hell.

“Look, I really don’t know,” Peter’s voice booms through the air. “Does it look like I know the difference between strawberry and cherry? They’re both red. Just pick one and be done with it.”

“Peter!” I shout, barely stopping myself from screaming. “Can I see you out the back for a second?”

“Yeah, okay,” he says with a shrug. “But I’m pretty busy here, serving customers.”

Oh, is that what you call it?

“I guess you’ll just have to wait,” Peter says to the customer, putting down his tongs. “I don’t know how long. Maybe find another bakery or something if you’re really hungry.”

“Peter!” I almost shriek. “Out the back, now!”

I rush through the kitchen doors, and Peter follows me. I can’t believe how calm he looks. To my shock, he almost looks a little proud.

“How did I do?” he asks. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

I take a deep breath. “I can tell. Uh, Peter, do you think you could… be a bit nicer to people?”

“What do you mean? I am nice.”

“Okay… um, I get that you’re trying really hard, but you’re coming off a bit… ah… hostile.”

“Hostile?” he scoffs. “I’m not being hostile.”

“Okay,” I say with a sigh. “I’m going to call in some help from the other girls. Can you work the ovens until they get here?”

“No way,” he says. “I’m really getting the hang of this.”

He turns and goes back to the counter while I use every last scrap of my restraint to hold in a long, hopeless wail. Peter’s voice echoes back to me through the open kitchen door.

“Oh, you’re still here? I thought you’d take off for sure. What do you want?”

Pulling out my phone, I text Fiona and Sarah. Fiona promises to come in as soon as possible, but that will still be over an hour. Thankfully, Sarah is free and can get here within twenty minutes.

I hurry back to the counter and try to serve as many customers as possible while not slapping Peter. He doesn’t seem to notice the strange looks people give him or the way they hurry out of the store.

This might be the worst day of my life. Well, except for my wedding day.

When Sarah arrives, the relief is so powerful, I go weak at the knees. Clinging to the counter, I make a wild gesture towards the kitchen.

“Okay, Peter,” I say. “Thanks, but we can take it from here.”

“Sure,” he says as he literally throws a cinnamon roll into a paper bag. He tosses it across the counter, and it slides toward the customer like a hockey puck.

“You alright with that?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at the poor kid who just caught the bag with his face.

The boy just grunts and flees the store.

For the next couple of hours, Sarah and I work the counter and I try to forget about Peter. Fiona arrives, and even though the store stays busy, we find time to talk as we work.

“It can’t be that bad,” Fiona whispers.

“It really was!” I whisper back. “Sarah, tell her.”

“Can confirm,” Sarah agrees as she busily wraps fried pastry twists. “I think he offended every person in the place, not just the customer he was serving.”

“Seriously, I thought I was going to die of embarrassment,” I groan. “I shudder to think of the online reviews we’re going to get.”

Fiona finishes up with her customer, then turns back to me. “Well, what did you think was going to happen? The poor guy can’t be expected to have much skill with people.”

I gape at her. “You’re sticking up for him!”

“Well, kinda. I mean, it’s not like he and Rider went to school or had any normal kind of life.”

Even though I’m still pretty upset, Fiona’s words make sense. I’m still mortified by how Peter treated our customers, but he did try. Maybe I didn’t give him enough credit for that.

“Hey, check this out,” Fiona whispers, nudging me with her elbow.

I look over to see Sarah serving a few of the wild wolves—Kelta and her scouts. Since I’m not really involved in pack business, I don’t know all their names, but one of the boys is grinning shyly as he talks with Sarah. She’s usually very reserved and almost never comes out of her shell, but her face has lit up as she talks with the cute blond boy.

“That’s Dane,” Fiona says. “Kelta’s brother. He’s only just started coming into town. I know Bae would love to make a match between the town crew and the wild ones. He still worries that they feel like a separate pack. A wedding would make them feel more included.”

“Well, I’ve never seen Sarah flirt,” I reply, chuckling. “If flirting is what I’m seeing.”

“She’s human, isn’t she? Did you tell me she was a witch?”

“Potentially,” I clarify. “She’s not from my old coven. We’ve never really talked about it much.”

“Interesting,” Fiona mutters as she watches the wild scouts leave.

Sarah notices us looking and blushes. “What?”

“Nothing,” Fiona answers, grinning. “Nothing at all.”

We all explode into very silly giggles, then gossip for a few minutes. It feels good to let go for a bit. By the time we’ve cleaned the front of the shop and served the last few customers, I feel like I’ve finished the day on a good note.

The girls wave goodbye as I shut the door behind them and lock it. The sun has just sunk behind the high ridge, and I’m looking forward to going home after such a long, hard day.

My head is full of thoughts of home as I push through the swinging door into the kitchen. I picture taking off my shoes and sitting back with my feet up so vividly I can almost feel it.

“Peter—”

Then I notice the kitchen.

There are mixing bowls all over the benches, full of various kinds of batter and dough. Sticky utensils litter every surface, and three of the ovens are still blazing. Not a single one of them has been cleaned, and there are piles of flour and scraps of burned butter under the doors.

As I approach the benches, I can see bags of chocolate chips torn open, jars of sprinkles knocked over with their contents scattered on baking trays, and random patterns of sugar and spices garnished on top of it all.

“Peter,” I say incredulously. “What the fuck have you done?”

“Huh?” he asks, coming out of the cool room. “Oh, hi. I thought I’d get a jump on tomorrow’s baking. What do you think?”

I think I’m looking at worse chaos than when the last asteroid hit the earth and plunged us into the Ice Age.

“Peter, it doesn’t work that way. All of this stuff would be stale by tomorrow morning, even if you did it right. It has to be baked fresh right before we sell it—that’s why bakers get up at four in the morning!”

“Oh,” he says. “Well, I thought I was helping.”

“You’ve wasted about two days’ worth of ingredients!” I say, my voice rising. “And made hours more of work! It’s going to take forever to get all this cleaned up before we can go home!”

“Look,” he says, shaking a finger at me, “I’ve had just about enough of your attitude. All I’ve done, all day, is try to help. You just can’t stop criticizing me—”

“Peter, I was looking forward to going home after a long day,” I say through gritted teeth. “Now I have to clean up your damn mess, order more ingredients, and find some way to replace all this stuff so I’ve got something to sell tomorrow!”

“I’ll help clean, then,” he says stubbornly. “And from now on, I’ll just stop helping, so don’t even think about asking me.”

I didn’t even notice getting closer to him as we were fighting, but now I’m painfully aware of his nearness. His pretty mouth is right above mine, and I can feel his breath on my cheeks.

That same tension has crept into the air, just like it has every time I felt a moment of connection with him. Even though we’re arguing, I feel extremely close to him right now, and it isn’t just our physical proximity.

It’s almost like I can see straight into his heart.

In his wide, glittering green eyes, I can see a sense of desperation. There is a hint of his soul, as if he’s showing me a piece of his heart.

He really did try. I can see that. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on him.

The pressure between us intensifies, and I lean in, almost without realizing it. At the last moment, I catch myself and pull away, desperately trying not to touch him as I take a few steps back.

Don’t kiss him, goddammit!

“Okay,” I say as firmly as I can. “Let’s just clean up and get out of here. You don’t have to help anymore if you don’t want to.”

“Fine by me,” he snaps. His eyes are so cold and hard that I have to wonder if the moment of connection I felt was even real, or just what I wanted to see.