Prologue
Frankie
Out of all the people in all the world to be stuck in the snow with, it had to be him, I thought as I tried again to start my car. Chef Mercer was a dick. I hadn’t wanted him to come with me in the first place, but there hadn’t been anyone else available to help me deliver Melissa Conrad’s wedding cake, and there was no way I could’ve set it up by myself. Although in hindsight, it might’ve been easier without him. I swear people said I was a diva. This man took diva to a whole other level.
He was too important to set up wedding cakes, that was for bakers not for chefs. He was there to run the bakery, not to make deliveries. This order wasn’t big enough to justify the time or effort. The bride was a nobody and should’ve gone to a less prestigious bakery for her simple little wedding cake. God, I’d never heard anyone bitch so much about every single little thing. Sadly, it wasn’t anything new. I’d been hearing it in one form or another since the day he arrived. According to him, he’d been hired to take the shop to the next level and that didn’t include doing what he called ordinary orders. I’d never met anyone so pretentious.
Please start, please start, please start, I chanted in my head as I turned the key one more time. But nope. He turned in the seat and looked at me. “You’re fucking kidding me,, right?”
“No, Chef, I’m not. It won’t start.”
“Deliveries should only be made in the bakery’s van. It’s well maintained and isn’t a piece of shit. The fact that there was another delivery scheduled for today is one more reason this order never should have been taken.”
“The Conrads have always used us for their cakes. They’re loyal customers,” I insisted. “And my car isn’t a piece of shit.”
“They’re small potatoes. We aren’t going to become the premier bakery in the Dallas area by making a couple of birthday cakes a year for someone no one has ever heard of. We need to focus our time and effort on high society events, and if your car wasn’t a piece of shit, it would start, now wouldn’t it? ”
We’d already had the argument about who our customers should be and I knew it was pointless to say anything, so I let him continue his rant as I prayed to the automobile gods for some kind of assistance. The wedding had taken place at a church near my condo, and if this fuck-wad wasn’t with me, I would walk home and have a tow truck take my car to a mechanic. But no, there he was, sitting in my passengers seat bitching.
“Look, Frankie,” he said. “Things are changing. The bakery is going to grow, and maybe you need to decide if you can grow with it. It seems to me that you’re perfectly happy making birthday cakes for children, and if that kind of thing suits you, that’s okay. There’s a place for those kind of bakeries, but this is no longer one of them. If you can’t get on board with that, you should start to look for another job.”
Oh no he didn’t. I slowly turned to look at him. “Did you seriously just suggest I look for another job? I’ve worked there for four years and you’ve been there, what? Two months?”
“Not quite two. But yes, I did. I may have only been there for two months, but I’m the head pastry chef, and I decide who’s a good fit in the bakery. And without an attitude adjustment, you aren’t.”
I took a deep breath. I should be sitting by a giant stone fireplace getting ready to enjoy Christmas with my best friend right now, but no. I didn’t take off work to go see him because I’m a loyal employee, and I love working at the bakery. No, correction, I loved working there. Past tense. It had been miserable since the day Chef Mercer started. Well, fuck that shit.
“Do you have a rideshare app of some kind on your phone?”
“I do, but I’m not paying to get us a ride. It’s your car that broke down.”
“Oh, it’s not for me. It’s only for you. I’m walking home, and I’ll call for a tow truck for my car. I’m sure the wedding party will be happy to have you wait inside for your ride.”
“You live near here?”
“I do, in a condo a couple blocks away.” I’m sure he was quite shocked to discover that I lived here. This was an upscale neighborhood, and there was no way I would be able to afford this area if it wasn’t for my best friend Ripley. But that was none of his business.
“Well, I’ll come with you and get a ride from there,” he said.
“No, they can pick you up here. I’ll be by on Monday morning to pick up my stuff from the bakery.
“You’re going to quit like that; no notice?”
“I am.”
“And you’re seriously going to walk off and leave me here?”
“Yep. If you don’t want to wait in the church, there are multiple coffee shops and restaurants down that way. I wouldn’t go to the left, though, because the neighborhood can get a little sketchy down there.” I should probably feel bad, it was snowing after all, but seriously, I wasn’t leaving him out in the cold. Not only was the wedding just getting started so he had hours before they were done, but as I told him, there were plenty of places for him to wait. Besides, it served him right. I got out of the car and stood there waiting for him to get out.
He slammed the door and glared at me. “You know, if you leave with no notice, you won’t be able to come back.”
I turned to walk away, giving him a one finger salute over my shoulder as I walked off.
Once I was inside the condo, I took off my coat, put on some water for hot tea, and pressed the button to turn on the gas fireplace. Then I plugged in the lights on my sad little Christmas tree. Once my tea was ready, I got comfortable on the sofa and called Ripley. I knew I was welcome at his house for Christmas. Shoot, he’d practically begged me to go for the whole holiday, but I’d declined.
“Hey, hon, what’s up?”
“Have I told you how much I love the fireplace in your condo?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Just every winter since I bought the place. You’re a little obsessed with fireplaces, just saying.”
“Did you see that we got snow?”
“I did, at least it wasn’t ice.”
“Thank goodness, you know how crazy it gets here when we get ice, not to mention how long it takes for them to get things repaired. So what’s going on in your world?”
I’d been running on adrenaline since the argument with Chef Mercer, but I began to relax as he launched into a story about his goats. Not too long ago he’d inherited the ranch he grew up on, and he was back there. We’d met six years ago when he'd moved to the city. He’d been eighteen and I’d been twenty. I’d already been in Dallas for a couple of years and had learned my way around. He latched onto me like a baby bird, and in the beginning, he was dependent on me, but it didn’t take long for that to become mutual. He was the closest thing I had to a brother, and I missed him like crazy.
“So,” I said once he finished his story. “Is the offer to come for the holiday still open?”
I laughed as he squealed like a little kid. “Are you serious? Tell me you’re serious. You better not be kidding around. Daddy”—he called to his partner Reed—”Frankie’s coming for Christmas. Do you need me to get you a plane ticket or are you driving?”