by M K Scott
Della might tell a client that a sit-down dinner for three hundred would run about twelve thousand dollars, possibly fifteen, depending on the entrées. After the client yelled for a good five minutes about highway robbery or Della being out of her ever-loving mind, she would restate the price, emphasizing no other caterers were cheaper. Usually, the client stormed off, sometimes muttering about buying a car or making a house down payment for the same price. After a week or so, the client came back after checking with other caterers. On the return visit, they brandished a much slimmer guest list.
That is how she’d treat her too-helpful guy. She only hoped the parking lot wouldn’t be deserted just because of a closed store. Her lips firmed, knowing closed stores generally didn’t have busy parking lots. Those searching for an empty parking lot to meet someone wouldn’t be the type to assist a woman in distress. If nothing else, she did have a can of hairspray. On second thought, the hairspray was in her tote bag.
The turn-off for the store came up on her left. Della signaled, noticing a nearby fast-food restaurant with a long line of people in the drive-thru. At least someone might see her. To be safe, she parked close to the store in case she had to make a run for it. Preparing for any possibility had served her in the past.
“Stop being so paranoid,” she told herself, hoping her mind would follow the order. “Remember, get the bag and go.”
Della saluted herself in the rearview mirror as if following orders. She wrapped her keyring around two fingers to be used as a weapon if needed. The phone went into the back pocket of her chef pants. She inhaled deeply, taking in the aroma of hot, fried chicken. Her stomach protested its empty state, again. Various radio stations slid out car windows and created a noise bubble around the restaurant with the occasional twang of country warring with the heavy downbeat of rap.
Might as well get it done. She still needed to unload her supplies and close the bakery for the night. Taking long strides, she forced her shoulders back and firmed her jaw. Her father liked to remind her not to look like a victim, which meant not staring at her phone, having a slow gait, or even acting uncertain.
Realistically, some guy she didn’t like found her attractive. This must be a daily occurrence for glamorous women like Lacey. How did they handle it? The memory of an earnest, bookish male attempting to give the popular Lacey a bouquet of roses in the high school hallway solidified in her mind. Instead of graciously accepting the gift, she let the roses fall to the floor and splatter everywhere. She made a point of saying she’d never accept anything from the guy and told him not to talk to her in the future. Nearby girls picked up the rejected roses. From Della’s viewpoint, it seemed like Lacey was worried that people might think she and the nerd were friends.
It was too much drama for Della, and she doubted she’d be presented with roses. Even though she probably wasn’t looking her best, she reached up and tousled her hair. Inside the glass door, right beside the ad to reserve your Christmas ham, stood her admirer. Yay, her. As she walked toward the door, she heard voices coming from a side parking lot. Her pace increased when she realized she wasn’t alone. The automatic door didn’t open under her step, but her admirer pushed out the other door, carrying her bag.
He turned and locked the door behind him before addressing her. “I’m leaving now. We can go grab something to eat and then have the ceremonial presentation of the bag.”
Della couldn’t help noticing he had it slung over his shoulder with a decent grip on it. As for her, it had been a long day with even more left to do. Four hundred dollars of chicken breasts could thaw as she wasted time. “I need my bag now. Food is thawing in my car as we speak.”
He unhooked the bag, grinned, and shot her an optimistic look. “Maybe when you don’t have food thawing?”
She knew what he was asking. Even if it got her bag back by accepting, it wouldn’t be right to mislead him, but things would get awkward if she refused. She’d have to avoid Hubert’s in the future. Not the outcome she wanted, Della thought, as a car door slammed, followed by a perky beep. Squeaky cart wheels revealed someone with a grocery cart headed their way. Della turned her head, hoping for someone familiar but knew the odds were against her.
The cart came around the corner followed by the same fellow who changed her tire. How serendipitous! “Oh, my goodness!” She smiled and pressed her hand to her chest. “I can’t believe it’s my friend. I have to go say hi.” She held her hand out for her bag, which the employee gave her reluctantly.
All the same, he had waited, even if he chose to do so for other reasons. She grabbed the bag and wrapped the strap around her hand. “Thanks!”
To make it look more realistic, she trotted up to the guy putting the cart in the corral. “Hey! Imagine seeing you here.”
He glanced up, his eyebrows arched, his mouth slightly ajar. “Do I know you?”
Her rescuer in the rain hadn’t thought about her one bit. Talk about an arrow to the old self-esteem. Della turned her back to the store and her unwanted admirer. She held a finger up to her lips, then lowered her voice. “Play along. I’m trying to get away from this guy. I told him you were a friend.”
“Okay.” He nodded slightly. “Should I ask how good a friend?”
“Close enough that I can come back to this store in the future and take advantage of their bulk sales.”
A look of comprehension crossed his face. “Ah, I see.” He lifted his hand and placed it on her shoulder. “How long should we stand here talking?”
“Not too long. I have food thawing in the car.”
“Me, too. I only meant to help Helen, my grandmother’s friend, with her groceries. Turns out she hadn’t talked to anyone in a while. I could hardly cut her off.”
“That was sweet of you, and I appreciate your help.” If anyone else had casually deposited their hand on her shoulder, she’d have shrugged it off. Even though the weight of his hand on her shoulder appealed, and she enjoyed talking to him, all the same food she couldn’t afford to replace could thaw if she lingered. “But I have to hurry.”
He dropped his hand and managed an awkward side shuffle to get out of her way before saying, “I can understand that. I’m opening a restaurant at the Glendale Triangle Shopping center. Burgers, Brews, and Books. People can grab a burger and a book. Read while they eat or even drink a beer while they share a game with a friend.”
Her lips tipped up even more in what should be an encouraging smile, but it would be hard to know since she couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, it had been used. “Oh! That explains all the games in your car.”
Guy’s brow furrowed and his lips twisted to one side, and then he asked, “That was you? The grumpy, wet woman with the flat tire?”
Somehow, that sounded even less appealing than chunky chick. “I’m afraid so.”
“You look different dry and less angry.”
“Gee, thanks. You must wow the women with your flattery.”
Her impromptu remark surprised Della, but it made Guy laugh. “Something like that. It looks like I’ve rescued you twice now.”
That’s not how she saw it. She crossed her arms and cocked her head to one side. “I’ll give you tire in the rain as rescue. It would have probably taken the auto service a good hour. As for today, I merely employed you as my friend, and you kindly played along. Got it from something I read in a magazine.”
“Really?” He smirked and wrinkled his nose. “It wouldn’t have worked on just anyone, though, would it?”
It wouldn’t have worked on someone more scary or unpredictable than her grocery creeper, but she chose not to mention it. “A little old lady. A sweet old couple. A middle-aged matron. A young mother with children. They all would have accepted.”
“Way to bruise my ego,” he teased.
“Sorry.” She found herself smirking back. “I can’t tell. Has the grocery guy, I mean, dude, left yet?”
He chuckled again. “I saw what you did there. Don’t know what my parents were thin
king to name me Guy.”
“Ha!” She pointed at him. “You think you have it bad. Try to be named Della Delacroix.”
His hand went back to rub his neck as he cleared his throat. “Your parents weren’t big on imagination.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “I got to go. It’s been fun.”
“It has.” Guy stuck out his hand to shake.
Della accepted and remembered to give a firm shake, which her father insisted was a measure of character. His firm, dry handshake would have passed the test. “See ya.”
Since Guy still clasped her hand, she waited for him to notice. He shook his head and released her hand. “Restaurant should be open in a week. Come on by and have a meal on me.”
“When will you be there?” No use going by and missing him.
“Whenever it’s open. Possibly when it isn’t, too. It’s been nice seeing you again. Oh, by the way, I’m still counting today as a rescue. The way I see it, you owe me two rescues.”
Chapter Sixteen
A BIRD TRILLED outside Della’s room before her alarm. With the dropping temperatures, it must be a hardy bird, such as the chickadees that hung out all year round. As an early riser, she noticed the birds often sang before dawn. Some called it singing or calling up the sun—a rather poetic turn of phrase, she mused as she stretched, enjoying an extra minute or two in bed.
Most days started in a rush with her dressing, dashing to work, and then waking up more in the bakery with her first cup of coffee. Today, she just wanted to take a few minutes out of her busy day to think about Guy. So far, he’d impressed her with his nice-guy tendencies. She sighed and hugged her pillow a little closer.
“Don’t go all middle-school girl crush on me,” she murmured to herself.
Even though she didn’t know the man’s last name, she did know he was opening a restaurant. That would be enough for her mother to use her gossip hotline to find out more. Her lips twisted to one side as she considered the ethical implications. “No worse than stalking someone on social media.”
Her bedside clock revealed she had five more minutes before she needed to rise. Five minutes to snuggle under her favorite fleece blanket, on her holiday cat printed flannel sheets, and think about Guy. Her top teeth pressed down on her bottom lip. Correction. She needed to consider her truffle options. After all, she had to test them before she decided on her entry.
Her phone chirped. Mother, of course.
“Hello. I’m going to see you in about twenty minutes.”
A whispered voice replied, “They’re back.”
“Who?” An uneasy weight settled on her shoulders. What if the two strangers her mother obsessed about were back? She regretted blowing off her mother’s concern since Vanessa’s home invasion.
“George and Lennie, the goons I warned you about,” she hissed the words. “I’m outside, walking Tony. Hoped I might see Prince Purrfection. Half a dozen neighbors combed the neighborhood with no luck.” A sharp bark confirmed the presence of the dog. “Hush.”
Della pushed up in bed as unease wrapped around her, and she clicked on the lamp. “You’re outside all alone?”
“I’ve got Tony.”
No reason to point out the dog would be no protection and probably alerted anyone nearby. “Go back to the house. Lock yourself in.”
“I’m coming to the bakery to help get ready for the Bat Mitzvah dinner. You’ve got a lot to do before Saturday.”
Saturday would come fast, and she could use extra help to get ready, but if left to her own devices, her mother might try tracking the men. While that might work on television, she worried about her mother doing something impulsive. As far as protection, the best Tony could do was possibly trip a stranger by dragging his lead as he darted for safety.
“Do that. I’ll be expecting you. Get home and be safe.”
Della hung up the phone with reservations. Her father used to joke there was a right way, a wrong way, and Mabel’s way, and her mother used the latter in most situations. No help for it. She’d get dressed, head out to the bakery, and start her day while she waited impatiently for her mother to show, or she could call Delores, the veteran police dispatcher. With any luck, she’d still be working. Delores, a long-time divorcée, joked she preferred the third shift because most crime happened then. Fortunately, she had her number. The sight of a squad car should send the unsavory sort scurrying like palmetto bugs when the back porchlight is flipped on. Della chose to text as opposed to calling, knowing the woman would have a headset on and possibly her phone on her desk.
This is Della Delacroix. Can you send a squad car to check out the Southern Addition neighborhood?
Her phone chimed displaying a reply. On it. Your mother notified me only seconds before. We could use the two of you on the force. LOL.
The LOL made her wonder if the woman meant it or thought their sleuthing skills were a joke. Della typed thanks, feeling much better about her mother’s safety.
WITH THE OVENS on, the coffee maker perking, and chicken soup bubbling away for the lunch crowd, the front widows took on a steamy sheen. Della hoped it made the place look appealing from the outside—a cozy sanctuary from the winter temperatures. Maybe passersby would be intrigued and visit.
A buzzer signaled that her batch of butter croissants was done. No time to waste. A burned croissant equaled an unsold one. While a popular seller on its own, Della dipped a dozen or more in chocolate. Last week, she started brushing on caramel and sprinkling them with sea salt, which resulted in an immediate sell-out.
After transferring the hot cookie sheet to the stainless-steel work surface, she paused for a moment as a truffle choice coalesced. Caramel with sea salt showed up everywhere in chocolate bars, ice cream, even popcorn. It could be the next pumpkin spice, and it might work as a truffle. Della could create some chocolate caramel truffles dusted with a mixture of sea salt and cocoa. Still, it might be the thing most bakers would do because of the popularity of the flavor combination. Delicious, memorable, and somehow associated with the bakery would serve her best. She could name the truffles. One with a trace of honey, she’d call Love Stung, and a dark chocolate one with an end note of cayenne would be Dark Embrace. However, the last sounded like something from a vampire novel.
A car door slammed, and keys jingled outside the kitchen door. Della glanced at the clock and smiled. Her mother’s prompt arrival eased her mind some, except Stephanie walked through the door instead and waved.
“Yeah, I know I’m early. I was awake and thought I’d come in. Figured you could use some help with the upcoming dinner.”
“Always,” Della agreed and leaned sideways, trying to see around her employee. “You didn’t see my mom outside?”
“No.” Stephanie answered as she unbuttoned her jacket and hung it on the coat hook. She placed an apron over her head before tying her hair back. “Yours was the only car I saw.” Her eyes cut to the step counter on her wrist that also displayed the time. “She’s usually here by now.”
“I know.” Della agreed. “To be honest, my mother isn’t an employee, so she doesn’t have exact hours. She says I’ll see you tomorrow, and I assume she’ll be here at the same time.”
Stephanie touched her shoulder in passing as she moved to the handwashing station. “Sounds like you’re worried. If only parents knew how much their adult children worried. Your mother strikes me as a practical woman. I’m sure she’ll be here and have an incredible excuse for any tardiness.”
The observation surprised a bark of laughter out of Della. “You’re right. She reminds me of that old comedy show featuring Lucille Ball. The two have a lot in common. My mother could have written those scripts. She may have lived them.”
This caused both of them to enjoy a robust chuckle which caused them to miss the door opening again. A burst of cold air drew their attention to Mabel, who was unwrapping a chartreuse, orange, and purple scarf from her neck. Most women avoided such glaring
color combinations, but it had been a gift knitted by a student, which made it extra special.
“Glad to see you two having a good time. What’s got you laughing? I love a good joke.”
Somehow, saying her mother’s similarity to Lucy and her mad antics didn’t seem the best idea. “We were talking about The Lucy Show. You know, where she’s working in the chocolate factory?”
Her mother held up one finger. “That would have been the I Love Lucy show. That one was a howler. Sorry I was late.” Mabel kissed her daughter on the cheek as she passed. “I know you probably counted the seconds, possibly thinking I’d been kidnapped.”
Not kidnapped, but possibly shot. The lurkers would have no reason to kidnap her. She was neither wealthy nor powerful. “Nah.” She cut her eyes to Stephanie, who said nothing.
Her mother wrinkled her nose, smelling an obvious lie. “Well, I was trying to do a good deed. As you know, Vanessa is pretty shook up about the break-in. I felt like she needed some distraction. I took Tony over to her house to serve as protection.”
Her mother adored the dog and thought the rescue pooch set the moon and probably could fly over tall buildings if it really tried.
“You do know Tony is barely bigger than a Pomeranian.”
“He has long legs, which makes him taller. Besides, he has a powerful bark, which makes him an excellent early warning system.”
The last point she’d concede. “He does like to bark.”
Her mother bobbed her head. “Vanessa is going to walk him for me. Who knows? We might be able to work out a deal. She could watch him while I’m here. It might make her miss Prince Purrfection a little less.”
It sounded like her mother might be softening toward her former nemesis. “That was kind. Whatever happened between the two of you anyway?”