The most annoying thing about men is they always assume that you actually give a damn what they’re talking about. I stand at the register, nodding to the customer on the other side of the counter in hopes that by pretending to care, he’ll order quicker.
His suit looks expensive, even if it is a little too large on him. Judging by his arrogance and the way he carries himself, coupled with the fact that this is a small town and I don’t recognize his face, my guess is that he isn’t from around here.
“It’s just, I think you should really consider sourcing your coffee beans from somewhere else,” he continues, pushing me past my breaking point.
I give him a sickeningly sweet smile. “I don’t remember asking for your advice. Remind me what you’d like to order again?”
His mouth falls open in shock. “I know this amazing coffee shop in New York that—”
I clap my hands together. “Great, you can get your coffee from there, then!” I look around him, motioning for the next person in line. “Next,” I state, trying to get rid of the guy standing in front of me.
The dude in a suit narrows his bushy eyebrows. “Excuse me,” he argues, turning around to the customer behind him. “I’m not done ordering yet.”
I roll my eyes. We’re packed, and I’m down an employee today due to a stomach bug. The last thing I need is for some tourist to lecture me on where I get my beans from. I’m proud of the relationship I’ve built with my supplier. I’m not in the least bit interested in getting a new one.
My coffee shop and bakery are my pride and joy. Emphasis on my. Wake and Bake is my baby. I’ve poured my heart and soul into this business, and I have no desire to let some stranger tell me how to run it.
My nostrils flare as I take a deep breath. Being rude to customers is not something I enjoy, but I’m tired, and there’s a line of people behind him that I need to attend to. Once I get the chance to step away from the register, I also need to put a new batch of cupcakes in the oven and begin prepping all of the pastries for tomorrow.
There are a thousand things on my to-do list, and none of them involve looking for new coffee beans.
“What can I get you?” I ask, my voice dejected.
His lips purse. I brace for him to bring up the topic again, but he doesn’t. “I’ll take a water, please.”
I fight the urge to tell him we have multiple water stations set up around the shop. At this point, I’ll do whatever it takes to get him out of the line so I can help the next person. “One water. Got it. Name, please?”
“Peter.”
I nod, writing his name on the hot pink cup. “Peter,” I repeat. He looks like a Peter.
I set his cup in the line of drinks that need to be made. I have one of my employees, Lexi, still here with me today, but she’s on lunch, so I’m left taking orders and making the drinks.
Time flies as we get through the afternoon rush of customers. Thankfully, Lexi knows what she’s doing, and upon her return, we were able to get through all of the orders in a somewhat timely manner. Wake and Bake has kind of taken off in the past few months, and I’ve been considering hiring a new employee or two, especially before ski season starts back up and thousands of tourists descend on Sutten Mountain for their winter vacations.
I’m glad it’s been busy recently. It helps dull the sting of losing my mom unexpectedly a few months ago. Losing her was the worst pain I’ve ever been through, and I handled her death the only way I knew how—by throwing myself into work.
I wipe my hands on my bright pink apron, the vibrant color the same as the far wall. “That was crazy.” I sigh, leaning against the counter to rest for a minute.
Lexi nods, pushing pieces of her red hair out of her face. “I think I blacked out. That was way busier than normal.”
“I wonder why,” I muse, taking a sip of my own iced coffee. The ice has melted, and it doesn’t taste as strong as when I first made it, but I need a coffee IV at this point to keep me on my feet, so I slurp it down anyway.
“Someone told me that there’s a large group of people in town looking at the Richardsons’ gallery next door.”
My heart sinks. “Looking at it?”
Lexi shrugs. “Since Barb passed, the space has been left vacant. With no one to run it, and apparently no one local renting it, I think it went to auction. At least that’s what my dad said.”
I stare at her for a few moments, wondering if Peter from earlier is part of that group. Why would people from New York be looking at the space? I’ve asked about renting the place for months to help expand Wake and Bake, and I’ve always been told it wasn’t for rent—or for sale.
I hum under my breath, annoyed. Typically, the Livingston Real Estate group handles all sales in Sutten, but for some reason, our entire block is owned by some other company from out of town. Maybe all along, that space was available; it just wasn’t an option for me.
Reaching underneath the counter, I pull out one of the pastry to-go boxes. I open it, laying out the classic pink doily we put on the bottom of each order.
“Do we still have catering orders?” Lexi asks, confused. There’s panic in her eyes. Probably because we’re just now dying down, and we’re both finally getting the opportunity to take a breath.
“We sure don’t,” I answer, continuing my task. “But if there is something going on next door, I feel like I need to welcome them the only way I know how—with treats.”
Lexi smirks as she shakes her head at me. “So you’re taking treats over there, but you’re really going over there to snoop?”
I snap the tongs between us. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Our most popular croissant sold out this morning, but I pick out a few other customer favorites that we still have left to include.
Once I have a dozen different options in the box, hoping that’s enough for whatever kind of crowd is gathering next door, I close it and even add a cute Wake and Bake sticker to seal it shut.
“We might have new neighbors to welcome, Lexi. This is the nice thing to do.” I wink at her, setting the box on the counter so I can adjust the claw clip in my hair.
I probably look like a wreck after the long morning and afternoon that I’ve had, but I don’t care about my appearance too much. I’m not trying to impress these tourist businessmen—I’m just trying to get information on why the space next door is suddenly available for sale when I’ve been told multiple times otherwise.
I wrap the long tendrils of my dark hair in a twist, pinching the sides of the clip together and securing it in my hair. My hair is too messy to even try to wear down, but I do pull out a few pieces in the front to attempt to style the updo a little more.
“How do you still look so good after an afternoon like that?” Lexi comments, looking down at her coffee-stained apron. We accidentally collided at one point during the chaos, sloshing a fresh espresso shot onto both of us. Luckily for me, her apron took most of the damage.
I roll my eyes at her. The only thing I did this morning was put on mascara and a little bit of blush. I didn’t have time to do anything else before I had to race to the shop to get things started for the day. I wouldn’t describe myself as put together, but it’ll do. I don’t care about impressing anyone with my looks, but I wouldn’t mind if they loved my treats. Maybe if I can impress one of the owners before the sale is final, they’ll reconsider and sell it to me instead.
I’m about to head out the door when Lexi rushes forward, pulling at the string of my apron. “Wait!” she calls, tugging at the neck loop. “Maybe take this off first?”
I laugh, looking at the abundance of flour and icing covering the fabric. “Yeah, probably should.”
The apron makes a soft thud as I toss it onto one of the counters behind us. “This T-shirt isn’t the most professional attire either,” I note, kind of wishing I’d worn something else this morning.
Lexi shakes her head at me. “It works. It’s better than the apron. Plus, I think the Wake and Bake merch is cute. Own it, Pippa.”
My shoulders straighten as I flash her a wink. “You’re totally right. Time for me to go make some friends.”
