I showered and dressed for the day after saying goodbye to Joey so he could do the same. He only lived a few blocks from the bakery and would be back before we opened at 7:00a.m. He was my only employee at the moment, seeing as I hadn’t gotten around to hiring anybody to replace Tiffany after I fired her. I wasn’t entirely sure I needed anybody else to work for me, Joey and I seemed to manage just fine on our own. I grew up with him, going to high school together and then to college where we both studied business. He was more than supportive when I dreamed of opening my own bakery and insisted on becoming my assistant so that we could stay close. Although, deep down I think he just wanted to sample all my new creations. Thank God for our daily runs, otherwise I’m certain we would both be as big as a house.
I tie my favorite apron on and begin pulling the pastries, muffins, cupcakes, and cookies from the back racks and bringing them up front to the display cases. The house specialty is my banana nut muffins that I spent five years perfecting the recipe on. They are insanely delicious and it’s a struggle not to eat every one myself straight out of the oven. I sold out of them every day by noon and nothing made me prouder. At a few minutes before opening, Joey comes hustling through the door carrying two coffees and his award winning smile.
“I’m dick talked out so don’t even,” I say as I open the register and count the money.
“Cupcake, there’s no such thing, trust me. I had them put in an extra shot of espresso for you this morning, figured you might need it,” he says, walking around the counter. “Although, perhaps you’d prefer hard liquor with your coffee today?” He hands me my piping hot cup and I smile weakly. He is handsomely dressed in dark jeans and a bright blue polo shirt that brings out the color in his eyes.
“Thanks and yes, liquor would be my preferred beverage this morning, but I don’t think the sight of me stumbling around the shop wasted off my ass would be good for business.” I take a sip and let the hot liquid run down my throat, instantly perking me up as the front door swings open. “Good morning. And how are my favorite regulars today?”
Mr. and Mrs. Crisp live around the corner and come into the stop roughly every morning for two of my banana muffins. They are beyond adorable and always start my day off with a smile when I see them. “Well, besides the fact that this one kept me up all night snoring, we are just fine, Dylan.” Mrs. Crisp motions towards her husband who smiles sweetly at her.
“You love it, dear. I’m sure you told me once that my snoring helps you sleep.” Mr. Crisp lovingly rubs his wife’s back as she bats him away playfully.
“Oh that’s ridiculous, Harry,” she huffs. I pull out their muffins as I smile and place them in a bag, grabbing the money that was placed on the counter. “And how was the wedding, dear? You stick it to that nasty no good ex of yours?”
I roll my eyes after handing Mr. Crisp his change. “Not the way I would have liked to.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the counter. “Whatever, I’m just glad it’s over with. The cake looked amazing and was apparently delicious.” I motion towards my assistant who is nibbling on a muffin. “This one ate an entire tier by himself.”
He snorts loudly at my declaration. “It was not an entire tier. Well actually, yeah it probably was.” The four of us all laugh together as he devours his breakfast. The man can put away the sweets.
The front door swings open, getting our attention and an older gentleman carrying a white box walks in and up to the counter. Mr. and Mrs. Crisp wave their goodbyes and slip out.
“Can I help you?” I ask, staring at the box questionably. It doesn’t have any labels on it, giving no indication as to where it’s from.
He places it in front of me with a smile. “Good morning. Delivery for a Ms. Dylan.” My eyes widen as Joey steps next to me.
“What the hell did you order?” he asks as I sign the slip for the man.
“I didn’t order anything I don’t think. Who sent this?” The man just shrugs his shoulders and takes his clipboard, pushing the box towards me on the counter and walking quickly out of the bakery. We both stare at the box, glancing up and meeting each other’s eyes.
“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” he asks, arching his brows at me.
I study it suspiciously before replying. “I don’t know, don’t bombs come in unmarked packages?”
“Who the hell would try to bomb you?”
“Well for starters, a certain wife of a certain someone that banged my back out Saturday night,” I huff. He makes a face at me and pulls the white ribbon that is tied on the top, lifting the sides of the box to reveal a folded brown card on top of white tissue paper. I open the card and quickly scan the hand writing.