He puts a tag thingie on my key. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something for sure,” he says. “So you know, there’s a chance Bart’s right. There might be no quick fix. Or a cheap one.”
“I hear you. Thanks.” I turn to leave before I can let this overwhelm me. I’m in a weird place, staying in a weird motel, and now I have no car. It’s all too much.
What in the hell made me think leaving home was such an awesome idea?
Across from the auto shop there’s a cute little bakery-slash-cafe. I figure I’ve got some waiting to do, and there are few things a cinnamon roll can’t fix. At least for a little while.
Something makes me glance back as I cross the street. Jake is still looking at me through the shop window. For some reason, I smile.
Cassie
The bakery lady is far more serious about her goods than I expected, and I’m beginning to regret my bright idea of coming over to talk to her.
“I’m willing to train you, but the work is hard. We’re talking all of the day’s muffins and breads. The workday starts at six in the morning. I close at five but you’d be off by three for coming in early.”
Delia’s Bakery and Cafe has a “Help Wanted” notice up on the bulletin board. I did a quick search on my phone about my car’s potential repair needs. If both Jake and Creepy Bart are accurate in their assessment, I’m going to need some money.
This lady’s looking for someone to work here for a good while though, and I’m not her girl. “Uh, okay. Well, I can definitely bake. I should tell you though that I’m not sure how long I’ll be in town. I was passing through when my car broke down. I hoped I could earn some money for the repairs, but I don’t know how long I’ll be around.”
“Hmm.” Delia softens then.
She seems like a nice enough woman, but from her scrutinizing stare I can tell she’d be a bad person to displease. Suspecting I’ve already managed this, I inch away. The just-eaten cinnamon roll in my stomach turns into stone, souring what seemed like such a bright idea.
“It was a shot in the dark. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” I gather my bagged muffin for later and my coffee and back away, easing toward the door.
“Hang on.” She motions me back over.
“You’re sure you know how to bake? From scratch? Big batches. Not a six-muffin tray from a box mix. Can you proof yeast?”
“Sure. I learned from my mom. I’ve made everything from homemade cinnamon rolls to sourdough bread.” Well, I learned to cook and bake because towards the end, she got too sucked into her own trouble to help me. I got creative and I got used to cooking and doing laundry and everything for the both of us. I was a big fan of cookies and other comfort food until I realized I couldn’t afford to buy new pants.
Don’t even get me started on my love/hate relationship with pepperoni rolls. Cheese and pepperoni baked inside bread? Dangerous.
Delia releases a heavy sigh. “Look, I’ve had trouble finding someone. If you want it and you need the money, the job is yours for as long as you’ll be in town if you promise to give me notice before you have to leave. Think that’s doable?”
I straighten up and fill my lungs with air, looking around the cozy shop. It’s a nice place. The front door is propped open to let a morning summer breeze in, and a smattering of folks are hanging out with newspapers and coffee. It’s a place I could feel comfortable.
I mean, why not, right? I’m here. I had hoped to get closer to the Carolina coast before I stopped somewhere to work, or somewhere with a music scene maybe so I could play some gigs and work on my stage-fright issues.
Well, if this is the universe showing me the finger again, I’ll show it I’m not down yet. There are definitely worse jobs I could have. “Sure,” I tell her. “I’d really appreciate a job for however long I’m able to stay.”
She hands me a binder from under the counter. “You’ll be making all of these in the morning. Two batches of the Morning Muffins. They go fast. Look them over so you’ll be ready to go when you get here. I’ll meet you around back. Come early.”
Oh, crap. Okay. This is kind of a heavy binder. I agreed, though. I don’t back down from a challenge. Backing down is for wimps. “Great,” I say. “And thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
3. STUCK IN SUCKVILLE
Cassie
I pace the worn, pea-green carpet in my little motel room. It’s not a bad place, actually. I’ve got a decent double bed and there’s a bistro table with two chairs. The words I’d use to describe it are “tight but comfortable.” If I try hard enough, maybe I can upgrade it to “homey.”