6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Quinn

I stared at the envelope that had come in the mail, then at all the new orders that had come in online, and rubbed a hand over my face. Glancing at the clock, I saw it was close to three. Almost closing time. The lunch crowd should be gone.

I called out to Josh and waited for him to make his way into the kitchen. The bell over the door would alert us to any late customers.

He sat down across from me, at the little table I had installed in one corner. I had an office for my paperwork and another room in the back that we used for breaks and such.

I slid the invitation over to him and waited while he read it.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed excitedly. "This is big! This is awesome!"

The Sweet Spot had been invited to run one of the booths at the Sweet Alps annual Holiday Festival. The festival was open every weekend in December, through Christmas Eve. Local food vendors were invited by invitation only each year, to participate. There were local crafters, Santa for the kids, and other various holiday-themed activities. It was also by invitation only .

It was kind of a big deal, in our little piece of the world, and last year I hadn't had any hopes of being invited. We'd barely been open a year then, and had still been finding our footing.

"What's that face you're making, and why?" Josh demanded.

I slid the stack of online orders over to him. "This isn't all of them. I…I don't know if we can do this, plus the festival." I heard the hesitancy in my voice, not sure where it was coming from. I was never one to back down from any challenge. I'd always been the one that said get it done, and we'll deal with the fallout later.

But we had so many orders! Sooo many! There were just the two of us. The girls could work the counter, but they couldn't bake. I didn't want to turn down any business, but I was beginning to think I would have to.

Josh flipped through the orders, his brow furrowing, nodding to himself. "You know what we need?"

I snorted. "Another baker?" We needed to clone me, is what we needed.

"Can we afford it right now?"

I liked how all my employees always spoke about The Sweet Spot as ‘we'. Never you, or me. This was a team effort, even if I was the owner, and had the final say on everything.

"Not really until April," I answered honestly. Not until I came into my trust.

I had no idea why my grandfather had decided that the ripe age of twenty-four was the magic number to release my trust fund to me. Maybe he thought I'd be a responsible adult by then. Settled down with an alpha, who would oversee the handling of my money, was probably more accurate.

My trust fund was significant. It wasn't Sinclair money, but it meant I wouldn't ever struggle again. Not that I did now, not really, not in my day-to-day life. But the bakery – it would mean a lot for the bakery. It meant I could hire more staff, expand, even buy an actual delivery van. Have a very nice cushion to fall back on for emergencies, plus plenty extra. I saw the quarterly statements, I would be fine for the rest of my life, even if I didn't have the bakery.

My grandparents had been well off. Extremely well off. Rich, they'd been rich. My mom had also been left a trust fund by my grandfather, and my dad had made sure it kept making money, while we lived comfortably off his salary. He said they were saving it for a rainy day. More like it kept mom from touching it, because as much as I adored my mother, she was flighty as hell. She would have probably spent the entire balance on art supplies.

I'm sure Gigi had a say in the setup of the trust, as she had never liked the idea of an omega being dependent on an alpha for anything, especially money. Which always struck me as funny, since my alpha grandfather had been pretty loaded, and Gigi's five mates since his death hadn't exactly been paupers. She'd joked that she had married well the first time, and divorced even better the next five.

I sighed loudly, running a hand through my thick hair, probably making it more of a tangled mess than usual. "April doesn't get us through the holidays."

Josh pursed his lips. "We need a Wade."

I made a face. "What?"

My best friend was great with a lot of things, but baking wasn't one of them. Forget baking, cooking in general was beyond Wade's capabilities. I didn't even allow him near my kitchen at home.

Josh laughed. "Your face, dude! Not to bake. To organize us. This." He waved a hand over the stacks of papers. "These. Schedule, prioritize, make it clear to us to see what we can handle. And who we will have to turn away. "

"It's a lot."

"Dude, we are not turning this down." He waved the invitation at me, decorated with holly berries on it, under my nose. "We aren't turning down the Sinclair Foundation brunch either. The rest is just…we'll figure it out. I'm in, man."

Sometimes he talked like a stoned surfer, but I did appreciate the fact that things rarely got him riled up.

"Good thing you put that couch in your office, we're gonna need it," he continued, not needing me to agree with him. "I can be all over the sugar cookies. Jen and Stacy can cover the front unless we get super busy, and then I can jump in and help them. You can be baking like a mad man back here."

Could we do this? Maybe. "What about the weekends at the festival? It's Saturdays and Sundays."

He shrugged. "For four weeks. I say we tag-team it. We take shifts. Two at the festival, two here. We can close early on those Saturdays, and switch out at the festival. Since we aren't normally open on Sundays, we take shifts at the festival that day, because we are going to have to bake sometime. So, we lose some sleep." He shrugged like sleep was overrated. "We can sleep when we're dead. Worth it man."

"You make it sound so easy." My laugh had a slightly hysterical pitch to it.

"Oh, we're going to work hard, for sure. But it will be worth it. Wade can sort these out, but the reality is, we might have to turn some of them down."

"I hate that."

He shrugged. "Reality. At least until we can get another body in here to bake, and more front staff."

I winced. I was beyond territorial in my kitchen. It had taken forever for me to even let Josh try his hand at anything. I still got a little twitchy if I thought he was touching anything besides the cookies. The thought of another body baking in my kitchen gave me anxiety. I was a complete control freak.

"We can do this?" The hesitancy was almost gone from my voice. Almost.

He put his fist out for me to bump with mine. "We got this."

"Famous last words."

"You should totally upcharge the shit out of that alpha from the other morning."

"He has a name, you know."

Josh shuddered. "He was kind of scary."

"He's okay," I told him, feeling my cheeks flush. The kitchen was hot, I'd been baking all day, that was all. How many times had I repeated that to myself the last few days?

"On the eyes, yeah, but…" He shuddered again. "Not my type."

"Well, your type usually has breasts."

"That is a fact." He smiled, then pushed back from the table. "I'm gonna lock up, and get out of here. Be in early tomorrow. Got orders to fill."

I laughed lightly at him, feeling a little less stressed. Which was a miracle, considering I was going to be seeing Lachlan Sinclair in just a few hours. I'd been edgy and twitchy all day, my skin feeling too tight for my bones. Like I was missing something, and just couldn't put my finger on what it was.

I had no idea what was wrong with me, and could only put it off to seeing him again. He made me feel things I didn't want to feel. The man had invaded my dreams, making my sleep less than restful. I kept telling myself I was just tired, and not full of anticipation for the upcoming meeting with him. I'd slept like shit the night before, my dreams plagued by a big silver wolf, with ice blue eyes .

It was business between us, nothing more.

So, what if I'd perfected some of my savory scone recipes, and come up with a new brownie recipe to present him with this evening at the tasting? I was always messing with new recipes. I didn't make those brownies just for Lachlan. The fact that I'd used two different chocolates, and filled them with raspberry jam, meant nothing.

Absolutely nothing.