Gut roiling at what his game had cost the Grimms in time and supplies, what it meant for their future, I wanted to tell him to take his contract and shove it where the oven don’t heat, but Lookie’s was desperate for the cash.
“Business is business,” Mom agreed. “And I can’t partner with a man I don’t trust, who isn’t upfront with his intentions, who intentionally hurts others to get his way. I’m sorry, but Lookie’s isn’t willing to do business with Leonard’s.”
“Mom?” I lunged at her, wrapping her in a hug. “I have never been prouder of you.”
“Millie, you’re working your poor hands to the bone.” She withdrew, rubbing my palms between hers. “I can’t watch it happen anymore. This was the last straw. Lookie’s was my dream, but you were the one laboring to make it come true.”
“I have never been treated—” Mr. Dross blustered.
“Can it.” Mom squared off against him. “And FYI, your office will get billed for all those orders you put on your nonexistent tab.” She wiggled her fingers. “Have a nice life.”
He spun on his heel and stomped out, catching our eyes before heading next door.
“It’s not too late to call him back.” I had to say it. This—losing Lookie’s—was huge.
“I meant what I said. I’m sorry I pushed you so hard. I know I’ve been a terror lately, but I wanted this place to work. Not just for me, but for you too.” She sighed. “I wanted us to have a family legacy, something for the grandkids.”
Again with the grandkids… Somewhere Sue was eavesdropping and rolling her eyes for me.
“Having a grandmother who prioritizes the treatment of others over the bottom line is a better legacy.”
The two of us were huddled up making contingency plans when Daryl burst through the front door, excitement and guilt tugging his expression in opposite directions.
“Hey.” I went to greet him. “You’re early for lunch.”
“Dross offered us the contract,” he blurted.
Prepared for the announcement, I perched a smile on my lips. “Congratul—”
“No.” He gripped my shoulders and shook his head. “We turned him down. He’s been playing us. Not just us, either. I bumped into my friend this morning, the one I told you helped with the basket weaving on your cake.”
“You ordered a cake from him?” Mom squeaked.
We both ignored her.
“He said the Drosses—not their real name by the way—have pulled this stunt before,” he continued, “pitting struggling bakeries against each other to get free perks they can then resell through their storefront, which, by the way, isn’t Leonard’s.”
“We got scammed?” My knees got wobbly at that point, and I had to take a seat. “They were obnoxious moochers, but a lot of our big clients want big samples before buying the whole cow. I thought—”
“All their paperwork checked out.” Mom sank down beside me. “I called their office and verified.”
“Did you look up Leonard’s’s corporate number or use the one on Dross’s business card?”
Mom groaned and slumped over, resting her forehead on the table. “The card.”
“More fuel for the fire,” Daryl said. “Thanks to my friend’s tip, I dialed up the conclave and spoke to a marshal very interested in what we had to say about what was going down at Lookie’s today.”
“Uh huh. Was that marshal, by any chance, Decker Comeaux?” I didn’t need to hear his answer to know the truth. “You called my dad.”
“I did.” His grin was sheepish. “I figured he already thought the worst of me due to—” He made a vague hand gesture. “Had my story not checked out, he could have added it to his reasons why I’m not good enough to date his daughter.”
“He doesn’t know we’re thinking of dating.”
Not that it made the truth any less, well, true. Fathers were in the business of thinking no one was worthy of their daughters, after all.
Scuffing the toe of his boot on the tile, he winced. “I might have let it slip about how the Drosses gave their final order yesterday, when I came to pick you up for lunch.”
Sprinkles.
Guess this meant Dad would be questioning me both personally and professionally about this case.
“Thanks to that order, I had a window of opportunity. I told Mr. Comeaux where to pick Dross up and an estimate of when. He parked an unmarked car across the street and strolled in to scoop up the Drosses, who are actual siblings—Heidi and Martin Zvonek—then carted them off to the local conclave outpost for processing.”
“That’s good news at least.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “Let’s hope we’re the last bakeries they dupe.”
Mom uttered a miserable groan and thumped her head once more for good measure.
“Don’t feel bad.” I rubbed her back. “Bernadette fell for it too, remember? She can’t lord this over you.”
As if she were a puppet drawn upright on invisible strings, Mom straightened and beamed at me. “You know something? You’re right.”
I tipped back my head to see Daryl. “What will you do now?”
“Cut back on orders and move the operation to my home kitchen. Most folks want to order their cakes online these days anyway. The storefront costs a fortune to maintain, and the money isn’t there.” He glanced between us. “What does the future hold for Lookie’s?”
“The same,” I admitted. “I want a more relaxed schedule. I’m going to invest my savings into revamping my kitchen and work from home for a while until I figure out what my next move will be.”
“We won’t be neighbors anymore.” He took my hand, massaging the knuckles. “It’s the end of an era.”
“Or the start of a new one,” Mom murmured, glancing between us.
“Uh oh,” he and I said together.
“What are you cooking up over there?” I demanded to know.
“What if we went all-in,” she asked. “Together?” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “We could knock down the wall, expand Lookie’s into Grimm’s and—”
“I have to stop you there,” Daryl said politely. “Mom isn’t going to go for a takeover. Especially not after today.”
“Not a takeover,” she protested. “A partnership.”
As much as the idea of saving both businesses appealed to me… “I don’t think two sinking ships can bail out one another.”
“Grimm’s has the most square footage,” Daryl said thoughtfully. “What if we combined forces and saved one of the shops?”
“Of course you would pick yours,” she huffed. “Still, it is the bigger of the two. We didn’t need much with just a cookie menu.”
I got to my feet and moseyed up to Daryl. “Are you asking me to share a kitchen with you?”
“For starters,” he allowed. “This partnership has room for future expansion.”
“You think so, huh?” Butterflies brushed against my insides when his gaze zeroed in on my lips.
A thoughtful expression blanketed his features. “Do you still have the last gift I left you?”
Curious what he was up to, I trotted into my office and retrieved the ring then set it on his open palm.
Much to my delight, Daryl got down on one knee right there on the floor and gathered my hands in his. “Will you, Millicent Ann Marie Comeaux, go into business with me?”
I wiggled the appropriate digit, and he slid the ring, a fusion of salvaged materials, into place. “Mr. Grimm, I would be delighted.”
After all, this was just us practicing what came naturally on a larger scale. Taking the best from each of us—his cakes and my cookies—and combining them into a cohesive whole packaged behind a new storefront.
“Lookie’s Designs?” Mom offered, a hopeful note in her voice. “It’s the best of both worlds.”
“Our new venture deserves a new name.” Eyeballing my new ring, I hummed. “How about Fairy Tale Creations?”
Daryl appeared to mull over the idea. “Depends on if the fairy tale part comes from
where I slayed the dragon and saved the princess.”
“The princess had already slayed the dragon on her own.” I patted his cheek. After all, Mom had turned down Mr. Dross’s offer first. “But she did appreciate the backup.”
“We’ll still have to persuade Mom,” he cautioned me. “She may not want to exchange her monarchy for a democracy.”
“Good point.” My own mom still appeared conflicted over embracing her soon-to-be former nemesis, so I sweetened the pot. “Make you a deal. You lay the groundwork with Bernadette, and we’ll let you take full credit for the idea.”
“Lookie’s has three months until our lease expires.” A stubborn glint lit her eyes with purpose, and she got to her feet. “Someone’s got to spearhead the merger if we’re not going to renew.” She smoothed back her hair from her face. “I’m going over there to talk to Bernadette. I will force her to see reason.”
“Force, as in the way two opposing thunderstorms clashing birth a tornado,” I whispered to Daryl, who chuckled and wrapped his arm around me. Louder, I said, “Go get ’er, Mom.”
“Is it wise to encourage her?” He asked in a low voice near my ear.
“Probably not,” I admitted. The bell over the door tinkled as she exited. “But I was hoping to get you alone.”
His eyes twinkled. “Oh?”
“Oh yes.” I speared my fingers through his hair and brought his head down for our first kiss. His lips tasted of vanilla and sugar, and he smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg. I nibbled the corner of his mouth before pulling back with a sigh to meet his glazed eyes. “That was…”
“Magical.”
“Yes.” I smiled when he stole a second kiss and then a third. “That.”
“That’s how fairy tales work, isn’t it?” he murmured against my lips. “I’m asking for brand awareness purposes.”
“Yep.” Linking my arms behind his head, I sank into him, dazed and warm and full of precious hope for the future for us and our moms. “And they all lived happily ever after.”
Author’s Note
My spin on Rumpelstiltskin stems from two things. For one thing, I was watching Food Network. (I love the competition specials!) I can totally sympathize with the crazy deadlines each show gives the competitors for the completion of a masterpiece. The fun of baking with the motivation of a ticking clock? It seemed like a great recipe for fun to me.
* * *
And secondly, I had to pick which fairy tale fit that mold best. I chose Rumpelstiltskin because the stakes get raised in that story until it’s life or death. That was a good fit for my struggling bakery owners. The loss of their livelihoods might not have been fatal, but the possibility was devastating all the same.
* * *
With that in mind, I hope you enjoyed “The Bakers Grimm.”
* * *
Want to spend more time with the Comeaux family? Check out the Gemini urban fantasy series, starting with Dead in the Water.
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Galatea and Pygmalion - Kate Danley
She walked down the narrow, cobblestone road struggling with the baskets of food. She tightened her veil around her shoulders against the catcalls of the village's men. Her face became a stony blank, as still as her thoughts, as each leering comment caused her heart to harden. She reminded herself that though a rock never hates, it can destroy a person beneath its silent weight.
This young woman named Galatea turned the corner, and the crowded buildings opened up to new construction. Sadness and horror still lingered in this part of town. Most of the rubble had been cleared away after the earthquake, but more still remained.
"So strange…" the people had whispered when the rumbling had stopped.
"Unnatural…" others would whisper back.
The only major damage sustained by the village was the collapse of the unfinished temple, which was to be dedicated to Ares.
"The gods are not pleased," they concluded.
Once, long ago, they thought to make their village a military stronghold, a defensive point against enemy attack. The enemy never came, though, and neither did the army. The hopes for war boats were replaced by fishing boats. The hills were no longer vainly searched for bronze to pound into swords and breastplates, but quarried instead for high quality marble and granite, finer than any found anywhere else in the world.
The men of the village - the priests and the elders - now gathered around the ruins of Ares's temple to decide what to do. Included in this group was Galatea's uncle, a man named Nikomedes. Of all the fine materials cut from the earth, her uncle's quarry was the finest. The town decided that it should be his stone that was used to rebuild on the land where the temple once stood.
Her uncle turned from his discussion to faintly acknowledge her. He motioned towards where she should lay their meal.
Galatea placed the lunch basket on the remains of the steps. She pushed back the drapes of her blue veil to free her arms, taking her time to set out the food so she might listen in.
"Ares has abandoned us," gruffed a town councilor, resting his hands on top of his wide belly as he watched Galatea.
It did not matter that she shrouded herself beneath swathes of cloth. It did not matter that every time she stepped into public, she covered her head and her curly, black hair, her ankles, her wrists… still they stared.
"No doubt! The gods are jealous that we would continue to serve Ares when they have given us other gifts. Because of man's sloth, we did not complete this temple, so they tore it down!" agreed another.
Her uncle rolled out plans drawn carefully on papyrus. "Here is the temple as I would rebuild it. Here is where we shall honor whatever god that you believe is tending to our village now that Ares has gone."
"To Poseidon!" shouted the first councilor. "For he fills our nets with fish and treasures from the sea!"
"Do you think jealous Zeus would stand by if we were to pay homage to Poseidon, when it is Zeus who fought the Titans to give us our land and stone?" shouted another.
A single voice broke through the chaos. It was a man named Adrastus. His voice caused Galatea's blood to freeze in her veins. He was like the black-tipped sharks that swam in the sea, circling silently before striking for a kill. He had been married once before, but his wife had died not long after their wedding night. He swore she had eaten something that caused her throat to close and her breath to stop. Rumors said there were fingerprints around her neck that were more likely the cause. He was a man of cruel appetites. He was hard to please and even harder to calm. His gaze often fell upon Galatea, his hunger plain.
"If Ares has left us, let us pay homage to his lover, Aphrodite. Perhaps she can seduce him to return to our shores," Adrastus proclaimed as his stare at Galatea turned lecherous. There was a murmur of agreement that rippled through the crowd.
Galatea gathered the now empty baskets and stepped away, leaving the men to their lunch, grateful to be free of them. She turned so she could not see Adrastus's golden-colored eyes on her.
A temple to Aphrodite, she thought. She cast her face to the heavens as she prayed. Aphrodite, we shall build you your temple. I shall work my fingers to the bone to aid my uncle in this cause. But only if, through your gifts, any couple that gains entrance finds such happiness and love that their roving eyes are stilled and never directed my way. As long as men like Adrastus are matched with a deserving equal and never the likes of me.
* * *
Galatea stepped into the cool entry of her uncle's house. The foyer ceiling was open to the sky where rainwater could fall into the golden-lined cistern set into the floor. Around the edges were complicated mosaics of animals and flowers, images she had traced with her fingers since she was a small child. She knew every inch and could draw each of them from memory. The brightly colored walls were her canvas, given to her each year to paint as she pleased. The inside of the house was a reflection of her. It was given to her moods, her whims,
her tastes.
She left the entry room through a wide doorway at the opposite end. The house was a rambling, one-story building that circled a carefully tended garden. There were fig trees for the living and rosemary for the dead. All of the rooms of the house opened to this garden, and the breeze blew the scent of lavender and sage indoors.
She turned to the right and followed the red-tiled path to her studio. She pushed aside the heavy material that hung in place of a door and tied it back. The sun streamed in, illuminating the plain walls. She had no need for color here. The room was painted by her imagination every time she worked. The floor was dirt, so she might chisel stone without a care. And tall tables and benches lined the room, filled with her rasps and paintbrushes. Peace and a sense of safety washed over her as she removed her outer veil and draped it on a nail stuck in the white plaster. Her long, simple chiton, pinned at the shoulders and bound at her waist, gave her the freedom to move as she pleased.
She walked to the center of the room, a surprising sense of relief settling upon her as she looked on her work in progress. A wet cloth covered a statue of Ares she had been attempting to sculpt for weeks now. Blocked and unable to decide on the shape of the statue, she had tried to create a maquette. She smiled as she removed the cloth and stared at the face — that hated face. With a mighty fist, she smashed the manlike figure of the god and pounded it down until it was nothing but a mound of shapeless clay.
* * *
She heard her uncle come in several hours later, sighing heavily as he shuffled into the other room. Nikomedes never stopped to see her, to check on the events of her day or see how she fared. She did not mind. She sat, shifting a warm, wet piece of clay from one hand to the other, listening to him as he stirred around the house. He would need her talents for the temple. She wondered if he would come to her studio tonight to tell her of her assignment or if she would need to drag it out of him.
Once Upon A Kiss: Seventeen Romantic Faerie Tales Page 7