Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 94585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
J.T. was waiting in the kitchen of the apartment we'd shared over the bakery. He barely gave me a chance to come in before he jumped on my ass.
“What the fuck is going on, Daze? Why is all your stuff packed? How could you quit on Grams?”
I set the berries and Royal's keys on the kitchen counter before I turned to J.T. His familiar face was twisted with anger, his green eyes hard. I got it. He loved Grams almost as much as I did. She'd given him a home when his parents had kicked him out, had showered him with her love, just like she had with me.
“What did she tell you?” I asked, rinsing the berries under the sink.
“That you've been fighting with your parents and decided you couldn't work with them.”
I went still for a second before slowly turning to face J.T. “That's it? That's all she said?”
He shoved his hands in his back pockets, eyes narrowing. “Pretty much. She started to cry as soon as she saw me, so I didn't get a lot. She begged me to talk you into coming back.”
“Huh.” I finished rinsing the berries and started to trim the tops from the strawberries. “So, she didn't say anything about partnering with Dad in the bakery instead of me?”
“No,” J.T. said slowly. “She didn't mention that. You're kidding, right? Your dad's never done a day of work in his life.”
“He's turning over a new leaf, I guess.” I shrugged and concentrated on trimming berries. “He said she's making him a partner and leaving the bakery to him in her will with the stipulation that when he dies it comes to me. According to him, I'm an employee. Not even a manager. And he's my boss. I have to do what I'm told or get out. So, I left.”
J.T.'s hands fell to his sides. “Why would Grams do that? She didn't give him access to the banking stuff, did she? The checkbook or the safe?”
I set aside the berries and got out the rest of the ingredients. “I warned her not to. I hope she listened.”
“You need to talk to her—” he started.
“And you should know,” I went on as if he hadn't spoken, “that I'm the reason we haven't started building the deck for outdoor seating or made any of the other improvements we planned.”
I set the canister of flour on the counter and turned to face J.T. I'd lied to him for way too long. He deserved my full attention now that I was finally coming clean.
“Dad came to me in the fall and asked for a private meeting. Said he had a business plan, and he needed a little capital to get going.”
“Aww, Daze.” J.T. sank into a chair at the kitchen table. “Tell me you didn't.”
“I did. And I used money from the bakery.”
J.T. banged his forehead against the table. Once, then twice. Sitting up, he gave me his most pitying look and shook his head. “Daisy, babe, you're smarter than this.”
“I know,” I wailed, expecting to start crying again at the sheer relief of finally telling the truth, but I found myself laughing instead, shaking my head back at J.T. “I know I am, but he had spreadsheets, and charts, and a business plan. He was wearing a suit! He was so sincere, and I thought that this time, maybe—”
“Or maybe not,” J.T. finished for me.
“Definitely not. Because when he came back and I started hounding him for the money, first he said he was working on it, and then he said it was his bakery and his money, and if I kept asking he'd press charges. Felony theft.”
“Shit, Daze, that's low.”
I turned from the table and started to weigh flour. J.T. shoved back from his chair and joined me. “Mixed berry pie?” he asked.
“Yep.” I shoved the berries at him. “You can deal with these while I get the dough started.”
“Might as well tell me the rest. You quit because Grams shut you out in favor of Darren?”
“Well, yeah. That and a bunch of other things. But I don't care about the job. Not right now. It's so much worse than just the bakery and Grams.”
We worked side by side as I filled him in on the rest. By the time we were weaving the strips of crust over the top of the pie, J.T. was shaking his head again. “Sorry I yelled at you about Grams. I would have walked too.”
“Yeah, I know. And I hate that I made her cry. I just… I can't stand by her side while she lets Dad have free rein on the business. She wants to hope he's changed, but we both know that's never going to happen.”
I slid the pie in the oven and started a pot of coffee. I leaned into J.T.’s shoulder as we watched it drip into the glass carafe.