“You could, though,” Amber said instantly. “He’s been trying to take you out for years.”
“Correction,” I said on a huff. “Brady has been trying to get in my pants for years, which frankly, I still don’t understand. Why does he want to date someone like me when he’s taking out blonde-haired, blue-eyed models every night of the week?”
Amber finished the wine in her glass and set it next to the empty pizza box. “He’s not. Again, that’s just this thing you’ve made up in your head about him. He wants to date you because you’re a chestnut-haired, brown-eyed curvy beauty with a big brain. You put those other women to shame.”
I grasped her hand and squeezed it, the only way I knew how to acknowledge the compliment. “Thanks, but it’s more like I’m a thick chick he’s never going to look back at after he bangs me. Don’t worry. I’m not going to sleep with him and ruin the dynamic we have going at The Fluffy Cupcake.” Maybe a change in subject was in order before Amber decided to marry Brady and me off to have little cupcakes of our own. “I can’t believe how much the business has grown since we opened eight years ago. Do you know that we only have enough supplies for two days? What I ordered last week would have lasted two more weeks just a few years ago.”
Amber’s eyes bugged out, and she leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. “Are we going to be okay? Do we need to make a run to Costco?”
I waved my hand at my neck. “We’ll be fine. Our truck will be here Tuesday, so it’s no problem. I knew we were going through a lot of product, and I wish Brady had come to me sooner with the information. It’s his job to stay on top of inventory.”
“He was,” Amber said, lifting a brow, “as evidenced by him coming to you today. If I know Brady, and I do, he figured you’d need to see a depleted inventory sheet before you’d believe him. You tend to ignore a lot of what he says, and poo-poo his ideas before you give them any consideration. I can’t say I blame him for adding a little shock factor this time. At least you finally listened to him.”
“I don’t poo-poo anyone’s ideas!” I exclaimed, sitting upright on the couch. “That’s not fair!”
Amber lifted a brow in response. “We know you don’t do it intentionally, and we all know why you do it, but that doesn’t mean you’re not missing out on great ideas to grow the business or make your life easier. It’s been especially bad this year.”
My head fell back against the couch, and my eyes closed. Amber was probably right. I did poo-poo ideas that didn’t jive with my plans sometimes. Not all the time, but when I did, the poo-pooing usually involved Brady Pearson.
“I’m tired,” I whispered. “Thinking about or adding new ideas to an already overflowing baker’s bench stresses me out.”
“And pretending everything is fine, doesn’t?”
I opened one eye and pinned it on Amber. “No, but it does allow me to get up every morning and get through the day.”
“I’ve heard of better coping mechanisms,” Amber muttered.
I nearly choked while trying to hold in my laughter. As if Amber had any right to talk about coping mechanisms. I finally sat up and clasped my hands in front of me. “How about we have a meeting tomorrow afternoon? I’ll make a batch of peppermint bonbon brownies, and we’ll even invite Brady. We can hash out ideas, make changes that will improve business and customer flow, and see how we can change things to take a little bit of stress off everyone’s shoulders.”
Amber sat up and threw her arms around me. “I think that’s a great idea,” she whispered. “For you most of all. I’m afraid when the clock flips to midnight on July thirteenth, and you see that red X on your calendar, you’ll think your life is over.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said, ending the hug and nonchalantly waving her off. “My life isn’t over just because I’m single when I turn thirty.”
Amber’s head bobbed on her shoulders as she considered what I said. “I guess what I’m saying is, you’ve lost focus on what’s important. Instead, what focus you do have, is on that red X. You’ve been obsessing about that for the last six months instead of enjoying all the success you’ve earned over the last eight years.” She stood and held up her finger. “You know what? I forgot for a moment that I have the power to change that.”
She stomped off in the direction of the kitchen, and before I could catch up, she’d ripped the month of July off the calendar and ripped it into shreds.
“Amber! What are you doing?” I shrieked from the end of the counter, as she made confetti out of my calendar.
“I’m helping you refocus. The idea that you need to find a man by your thirtieth birthday is ridiculous, Haylee,” she said, sweeping the tiny white pieces into her hand and stomping to the bathroom. She tossed the paper into the toilet and flushed it with aplomb. “There. Officially refocused.”
My mouth opened and closed several times without words coming out. “But—but, how am I supposed to know what day it is?”
“Alexa, what day is it?” Amber asked, waiting patiently.
“Today is Saturday, June first,” Alexa said.
“Problem solved,” she answered, her hands up in the air.
I sighed and shook my head at the woman leaning against the wall of the bathroom. “No, the problem is most definitely not solved,” I whispered, my head in my hands. “That red X was a goal, Amber.”
She put her arm around my shoulders and walked me back into the living room. I sat on the couch and she refilled my wine glass. “It wasn’t a goal, Hay-Hay. It was an albatross around your neck. Love doesn’t happen because the calendar says it’s time. Love happens when the moment is right, and the person you’re with makes you forget about the days on the calendar.”
I brought my glass to my lips and drained it. Amber may be right about that, but the bigger picture was one I couldn’t let anyone see. I lowered my head to my hand and grasped my forehead. I had already found the person who made me forget about the days on the calendar, but dating him was out of the question. Nothing sucked more than working day after day with the guy you’re in love with while knowing you can never be part of his life. Amber might not understand that, but I did, all the way to my crushed and mangled soul.
Three
The scent of peppermint wafted through the bakery, now empty other than the three main players in the business. While Amber and I have several part-time workers that help in the front of the bakery, they weren’t included in this discussion today. In truth, I didn’t have to include Brady, considering he wasn’t a partner in the business, but he was integral to what we do here, and his ideas always held merit. He’s intuitive when it comes to the small changes that can make things so much easier. We’ve already implemented a lot of those ideas over the years, so having him here for today’s discussion made sense.
I made a strangled snorting sound and rolled my eyes. Sure, whatever you need to tell yourself, Haylee. Brady might be a playboy, but he had magic hands. He could get the most stubborn dough to do what he wanted, and the same could be said about women. Brady was great at coaxing young, sweet, dopey girls who made puppy dog eyes at him into his bed. Okay, that’s not fair. All of the girls probably weren’t dopey, unless they were dopey in love. The rest was completely accurate per the Lake Pendle gossip mill.