Page 2 of Sweet Rivals

PotatoBake888: How’d the lobster muffins turn out?

TheBakingChick: We don’t talk about that.

PotatoBake888: But without those muffins, you may never be crowned lobster queen of the year.

TheBakingChick: Damn it! What will I put on my resume? I snorted a laugh as I typed.

PotatoBake888: It’s okay, I’ll still make you a lobster crown even without the muffins.

TheBakingChick: Made with real lobster?!?

PotatoBake888: Only the best for you. If you don’t want to be the queen of the Food Fest. What do you want, TheBakingChick?

TheBakingChick: What every girl wants, I guess. Immeasurable wealth and unlimited success.

Once I had accidentally let my dream of opening a bakery slip, but we hadn’t talked about it since. That was something I kept close to my heart. Only my best friend, Cat, knew anything about it. If I spoke it out loud to anyone else, that made it real, and I wasn’t ready for that yet. PotatoBake888 knew now, but if I had to guess, he didn’t know just how many of my thoughts the idea consumed.

PotatoBake888: Wow? What every girl wants? This is huge! You’ve cracked the code. You should write a book for all the clueless men.

TheBakingChick: That isn’t really in my master plan, but I’ll consider it.

PotatoBake888: You must work with a lot of men at the restaurant

He left off the punctuation, so I didn’t know if it was a question or a statement.

TheBakingChick: They are beyond hope. No “how to” guide is going to get them laid any time this century.

The world of professional cooking had changed a lot, so I heard. It was no longer the sausage party it once had been, but my family’s restaurant hadn’t caught up with the times. Not only were we stuck in the past with having a kitchen full of men, but they were the worst kind of men. I loved them all dearly, but I also wanted nothing to do with them.

I hesitated before typing out the next question.

TheBakingChick: What about you?

I asked, my palms just a little bit sweaty as I typed.

TheBakingChick: What do you want?

PotatoBake888: I’m not sure.

I could feel him pulling away even through the screen.

PotatoBake888: Gotta run. Talk soon…

And there it was. The inevitable cut and run as soon as I ask anything about him. What was with this guy's aversion to sharing personal details? Did he have some terrible secret that couldn’t be uttered even via anonymous online chat? Was he married? Was he a serial killer? Somehow, he seemed too charming to be a serial killer, but maybe that was what he wanted me to think. All those stranger danger lessons of my youth were really paying off.

I shrugged as I logged off with a sigh, dreading when the class would end.

Chapter Two

My alarm cut through my dream, bringing me to a groggy wakefulness as the sun peeked through my blinds in thin strips. I got out of bed and forced myself not to check my computer until at least after I showered. The class had closed weeks ago. I still had access to the chat portal, but Potatobake888 and I didn’t talk as often as we had while the class was running. I still knew so little about PotatoBake888, and I tried very hard not to get my hopes up or acknowledge just how much I missed him.

I climbed out of bed, opening my blinds and sliding my window up to let the warm, salty air wash through the room. No matter how long I lived at the beach (my whole life), I never got sick of it. Working nights at the restaurant often felt like living in a cave, so I made a point of waking up early. Well, early by restaurant standards. The Lobster Tail didn’t open until eleven, so the early shift started prepping around ten-thirty. Then the staff switched over at four for the dinner shift. I wasn’t a fan of either schedule. Despite my parents' best efforts, I had always been a morning person. I don’t think that was the only reason I wanted to open a bakery, but it was certainly a perk.

I threw on a pair of leggings and the Leather Face t-shirt I’d bought on a nearby boardwalk to impress my online guy friend who would never actually see me in it—pathetic—before tying my sneakers.

A while back, I had read the first chapter of a self-help book that I had forgotten almost entirely except for the suggestion to keep your sneakers near your bed to encourage an exercise routine. So that’s what I did, although I didn’t need the encouragement. My morning walk was my favorite part of the day.

I stopped in my kitchenette to start the coffee percolating. Like everything else, I bought it second-hand and it took ten minutes to wake up. Mouse curled his little grey body around my ankles, patiently reminding me that his bowl was empty. I shook out the dry food and scooped half a packet of wet food into his bowl. If I gave him a full packet, there would be dried barf waiting for me after work.