Chapter 40

40

Annika

Duh-Nuts is a complete and total zoo.

There were so many requests for more bubble waffles over the weekend that we made a bubble waffle breakfast bowl this morning.

Correction:

Bailey made a bubble waffle breakfast bowl, with some kind of fancy cheese in the bubble waffle mix and then filled the cones with scrambled eggs, sausage, chives, and more cheese.

I've made so many new pots of coffee, I've lost track.

Our unicorn long johns are almost gone.

The cookie bars that were supposed to last past the lunch crowd have disappeared.

Mama's sitting at one of the tables chatting with anyone who stops by to say hi. She's attempting to crochet again today, and she's making solid progress on a potholder while she chats with an Asian woman I don't recognize and her son.

Tomorrow, Mama wants to go bowling.

And Roger insists he won't let her back out of it for anything less than nuclear disaster or one of those stomach viruses that requires her to be within seven feet of a toilet at all times.

This is good.

Good good.

Except Bailey starts school in ten days.

Ten.

Days.

I have no idea what I'm going to do without her, and I still don't have a lead on a baker.

She even told me I screwed up our weekly supply order this morning.

And she was right.

If she hadn't looked over my shoulder, we would've had ten times the butter we needed and a fifth of the flour.

And in three hours, we're playing host to another reporter wanting to talk about how much we hate Shipwreck and how we're going to bury them in a baking contest that will be taped live in a television studio so Bailey can't actually do the baking for me.

I'm going to have to memorize a script and then "accidentally" set fire to my fallen crème br?lée cupcakes, because disasters sell cooking shows.

Bailey told me so.

Except Bailey's going back to school the day after taping.

I'm not going to hyperventilate.

And if I say it enough to myself, maybe it'll be true.

The front door swings open, the bells jingle, and three more people I've never seen in my life stroll into Duh-Nuts.

We've had so many people coming over from Snyderville and Cedarton and even up from Copper Valley, just to check out the bakery after the Virginia Blue story went live on their website over the weekend, that the dining room is mostly full of strangers.

Bailey and I serve up more coffee and bubble waffles with eggs, and thank the bakery gods, I can scramble eggs without fucking it up this morning, so we're managing to hold on and get everyone's orders without too much delay.

The thing about customers is, I can't pre-schedule them on my calendar, and I can't predict when someone's going to walk in the door with an order for a dozen cupcakes or a seven-tiered wedding cake, or if they just want to ask if we use organic ingredients in our soft serve.

I'm really not built for this. I like to know what my day will bring. I like schedules and calendars and numbers.

But I can do this for a few more months.

I can.

I have to.

"Annika," Mama calls. "Annika, come here."

Bailey shoos me away from the counter, and I join Mama at the table with the lady and her son.

"Coffee?" I ask them.

"Annika, this is Amy Tanaka. She's here to interview for the baker position."

Amy smiles at me with warm brown eyes. She's petite, holding one of the white ceramic coffee mugs that now has a lipstick stain on it, and I swear she's trying to tell me something meaningful before she ever opens her mouth.

"I saw your ad in the Grandview Rockwell Times ," she says.

I stare at her.

"The Grandview. Rockwell. Times ," she repeats slowly.

I have no idea what she's talking about, which means, yet again, someone on drugs is trying to apply for a position in my bakery.

And this time, she got to Mama first.

Great .

"Bubble waffle?" I ask.

She laughs and shakes her head. "I graduated second in my culinary arts management program at the Art Institute of Virginia six years ago. The shithead who stole my first place slot needs to go down. You're at war with him. I want in."

She glances at Mama, in her dark sunglasses, her face pointed roughly toward the kitchen door, where Roger is working on a leak we have under the sink.

And then Amy winks at me.

To quote Bailey, Oh em gee.

"The… Grandview Rockwell Times …sent you?" I repeat.

"Sure. Let's go with that." Her glance briefly travels to her son, who doesn't look much older than seven, but whose nose is buried in the thickest Harry Potter book. "I'm in the middle of a D-I-V-O-R-C-E that is U-G-L-Y and I need a new job outside the city. I want four weeks of paid vacation, I'll work weekends when I don't have my son, but not weekends when I do. I can start tomorrow if you can find me a babysitter."

While I continue to gape, my mind whirling, because did Grady really just send me a baker ?, she pulls out her phone.

"My resume," she adds dryly.

There she is.

Amy Tanaka. Arms crossed in a white chef jacket in front of a massive wedding cake at the Madison Towers Hotel in downtown Copper Valley.

"You're…a pastry chef?"

"I'm a goddess."

"She likes baking cookies best," Mama tells me. "Sugar cookies. The joy is in the decorating."

Amy nods to the kitchen. "If you'll let me, I'll prove it."

"Um…I need to check your references quick."

She hides another smile behind her coffee mug. "By all means."

I duck into the kitchen and text Grady. Amy Tanaka?

His response is almost immediate. I hate her. Mostly because I spent four years wanting to BE her. She's the only person in the world who can out-bake me.

Such ego. Only one person in the world who can out-bake him.

My phone buzzes again with a new message.

It's not egotistical if it's true.

It won't be true for long.

Not if Bailey keeps up her pace.

But we have a few years before Bailey's ready to fully take over. So I lean out of the kitchen and gesture Amy back.

Her son stays with Mama while Bailey shoots me a what the hell is this? look.

Amy stops in the kitchen doorway, her gaze sweeping over the complete and utter disaster of dirty dishes, spilled flour, splashed grease, oven door half-open, Roger grunting under the leaky sink, and she smiles. "This kitchen is loved."

"Not necessarily by me," I mutter.

She laughs. "So that's the story. Show me to your vanilla, and I'll prep you some scones that'll change your world."

Bailey darts into the kitchen. "What are you doing?" she asks me.

"Interview."

Bailey looks Amy up and down.

Amy does the same to Bailey.

"Where are you from?" Bailey asks.

" Bailey ," I hiss.

"Virginia Beach. My grandparents are from Japan. Where are you from?"

"I'm from Sarcasm and my family tree is full of branches from all over the world that fell off, and good riddance. I don't care where your grandparents are from. I just wanted to make sure you weren't from Shipwreck. Is that your kid sitting with my mama?"

"She's going back to school next week," I tell Amy quickly.

I need a baker.

I need a baker who gets along with Bailey, but first, I need a baker.

"That's my son," Amy tells her. "Baxter."

"Does he bake?"

"Not yet. Do you?"

Bailey looks at me. "I don't know. Do I bake, Annika?"

"She's the queen baker around here," I tell Amy. "And way more agreeable than she comes off at first."

"Food Network?" Amy asks, ignoring me.

"YouTube and Pinterest first," Bailey replies.

"Internet generation." She rolls her eyes.

"This is our bakery," Bailey says.

"I can teach you how to make chocolate croissants that will make your enemies weep, and if I wanted to actually have the trouble of owning my own bakery, I'd be taking over the Madison Towers Hotel in Copper Valley right now. Marry the first time for money. Divorce settlements are way better so you can enjoy the hell out of it when you finally find love. Or so I assume. I don't have actual proof that real love exists."

Bailey's lips part, and she shoots me another look.

This one clearly says she can't decide if she's impressed, intimidated, or scared.

"Also, I'm sorry you can't do this with your mom," Amy adds quietly. "I know that sucks."

Bailey blinks. Her eyes go shiny, she blinks again, and she turns and leaves the kitchen.

"I lost my mom to a car accident three weeks before graduation." Amy's voice is even softer now. "Failed my final exams. Instructors said a good baker could work through pain. Would've failed my practicum, except Grady bailed my ass out. He deserved that number one spot. And here he is, bailing me out again when my life turns to shit."

I'm still not usually a hugger.

But I wrap my arms around her anyway.

I don't need the scones to know.

We just got ourselves a baker.