Page 11 of Craving
“It’s probably just some kids trying to cause trouble,” the male police officer told her with a bracing pat on the shoulder. “We’ll ask around to nearby businesses and let you know what we find.”
“Thanks.”
He nodded to her, then walked away. The two officers stopped to shake Marlon’s hand and exchange a few quiet words, then got in their cruiser and drove off. She watched Ben and Marlon work for a few seconds, then took a deep breath and headed for the kitchen.
Daniel was pulling out beautifully browned loaves from the industrial ovens. He had the last batch proofing in round bannetons—proofing baskets—shaped with his expert hand. Hiring Daniel had felt like a risk, but he’d allowed Camilla to have a somewhat normal sleep schedule, and he was much better at bread baking than she was. More sleep and regular business hours had allowed her to expand the cake-decorating side of the business just as the wedding season hit its peak.
She’d felt like a real businesswoman when she’d hired Daniel. She was spending money to make money, making hard decisions, and watching them pay off. Now it all seemed so precarious. How could she pay Daniel and Ben and the other employees who worked for her?
She’d used everything to make that last loan payment. Everything. Her living expenses for the next little while would go on credit. She’d make payroll with the cash coming into the bakery this week—just. It would have been much, much better to keep a larger float of cash for just this type of unforeseen expense.
But defaulting on a loan from Frankie Smith wasn’t an option. If she hadn’t given him every last penny she owed him, he’d have taken her business.
It had been a mistake to take that loan. A horrible, naive mistake. She had no one to blame but herself and no one to share the burden with, either. She hadn’t told anyone about her debt, probably because even ten years ago when she’d been desperate to secure the lease on this space, Camilla knew taking anything from Frankie was a terrible idea. Shame made it easy to keep quiet.
Deep breaths. It was done now. She could move on. She just had to bridge this last little gap, and everything would be fine.
“You okay, Fox?” Daniel leaned his big arms on the marble countertop they used to handle dough. In his early fifties, Daniel had been baking for decades. He was bald, muscular, and friendly. He had a wife who was a paramedic and two kids he adored. His presence calmed Camilla’s frayed nerves.
She stood across from him and let out a deep breath. “I really didn’t need a broken front window today. The decal alone cost three hundred dollars.”
“You got people knocking that door down from open ’til close,” Daniel told her as he patted her hand. “Customers keep coming back because they love your food. A broken window won’t change that.”
A nod, and Camilla straightened her spine. She’d recover from this. She didn’t owe anyone any money now—apart from the credit cards that were slowly racking up—but she’d clear those when the ground was steady again underfoot. She could weather this storm. “You’re right.”
“Sure am.” Daniel winked, then moved to the proofing baskets to test the dough with a soft poke. Humming to himself, Daniel flipped the baskets over, gave the loaves quick, expert slashes with a bread lame—the blade used to score them—and put them in the oven.
Camilla watched his easy, practiced movements and felt a bit of tension ease. The kitchen smelled like fresh-baked bread, sugar, and warm spices. It was hot back here, cozy and familiar. This was her space. Her baby. She’d fought for it, and now it was hers.
Come what may, Camilla knew she could rely on herself. If nothing else, she knew that.
“I’m going to head to the hardware store for some plywood,” Marlon said, poking his head through the kitchen doorway. “We’ll block out the window opening until we can get new glass in there.”
We. He said it so easily, like it was completely natural that he’d jump to Camilla’s rescue and be part of the clean-up.
She should’ve refused. It was always better to stand alone, not to rely on anyone else. But Camilla was tired. She’d been on her own for so long, and it was nice to have someone take on some of the responsibility. Would it be so bad to accept an outstretched hand now and again? It didn’t mean she was signing up to another loan shark’s outrageous terms. If Marlon wanted to help, maybe she should get out of her own way and accept.
She nodded. “Thanks, Marlon.”
He ducked back out, disappearing behind the swinging door.
“Who was that?” Emily said behind her, wide-eyed. The teenager had been working the register at Camilla’s bakery for six months, and customers loved her. She had just started to take on some simple baking tasks, like dropping cookies, and soon she’d begin training on brownies and quick breads. She was a great employee, but she was also a teenage girl who had just seen a big, burly, sexy man. Her mouth hung open so wide, Camilla was worried she’d drool all over the kitchen floor.
“That,” Camilla replied, “is my new roommate.”
“He’s hot.” Emily smacked Camilla’s arm, her face a mask of disbelief. “Like, really super hot, Camilla! Like whoa! Did you see him?”
Camilla laughed, nodding. “Yeah. I have to see him every day. I live with him.”
“Lucky.” Emily walked to the office, dropped her bag, then stepped to the front. She let out a little scream. “What happened to the window?”
Despite herself, Camilla felt a smile curl her lips. She exchanged a look with Daniel, who just shook his head with quiet fondness. His daughter was Emily’s age. Camilla followed the girl to the front. As soon as Emily heard about the vandalism, her phone was in her hand and she was letting her entire social circle know about the drama.
Before Camilla knew what was happening, the shop was overrun with teenagers. The good news was those teenagers were hungry. She sold out of muffins and donuts within an hour of opening, and when Marlon reappeared with a drill and a couple of sheets of plywood, the play-by-play was all over social media.
While she was closing the drawer on the register after serving a customer, Camilla heard Emily inhale. She followed the teen’s gaze to a young man at the entrance, who was watching the plywood installation with vaguely disinterested curiosity.
“That’s Harvey,” Emily whispered, shaking her hands in a nervous flutter.