“How’d your appointment go?” I ask, nearly choking on the words.
Her dainty little hand sets down her knitting needle before she cups my cheek. The warmth from her touch seems to spread through me, melting a bit of the ice around my heart.
“It was fine. They scheduled an MRI for next week. Then we’ll figure out a plan and move forward from there. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
She could be right. But she could also be very wrong. Statistically speaking, twenty percent of breast lumps are cancerous, and the doctors are worried this one has been there for a decent amount of time, which raises the chances, though I know she’ll never admit that to me.
I pat her knee then head to the kitchen in an attempt to mask my emotions under the pretense of leftovers. My chest tightens when I see my options in the fridge. Not because I expect a five-course dinner anytime I come over, but because I know how much my mom loves to cook, yet her fridge is nearly empty. She says she isn’t feeling any different since she found the lump. In fact, she insists she feels fine, which means she’s too anxious to cook and, therefore, too anxious to eat.
Grabbing the first Tupperware I see, I shove it into the microwave then hit start. My ass rests against the Formica countertops as I take in my childhood home. The small kitchen has a dining table tucked into a corner, laminate floors that have seen better days but are mopped religiously, and a bin for mail, which is usually kept in order. Not today, though. It looks fuller than ever. Releasing a sigh, I thumb through its contents. None of the white envelopes have the angry red past due stamp on them, but the papers are still worn as if my mom has used her fragile little hands to worry over them more often than once. Bills. Five of them, and I’m afraid it’s just the start. A weight bears down on my shoulders before the microwave dings, snapping me out of my funk.
I drop the mail back into the organizer on the counter. Grabbing a fork and my lukewarm dinner, I head back into the family room then sit down to watch old reruns of Law and Order with my mom, who’s always been more of a superhero than anything else.
Chapter Five
Charlie
I’ve only been at Get Baked for a few minutes when the bell dings above the front door. A grin spreads across my face when Rhett and his dog, Harry, mosey in.
“Hey, guys!” I greet them.
?
??Hey, Charlie. How’s work going?”
“Meh. I just walked in. What are you guys doing up so early?”
Bending down, Rhett rubs Harry’s head affectionately as he replies, “Indie’s a brat and always wakes up Harry. Sometimes I can get him to go back to bed, but today he wasn’t having it, so we went on a walk. Figured we’d stop by for a quick cup of coffee and a cronut. You know how this big mutt loves his mama.”
“Speaking of which….” I turn around and call into the back of the store, “Hey, Indie! You have a few visitors!”
Seconds later, Indie walks through with a white apron strapped across her waist and her long, blonde hair tied into a messy bun on top of her head. It’s the smear of flour across her cheek that makes me laugh.
“Harry!” she squeals, her hands fumbling with her apron. Hanging it up, she rounds the counter and starts cooing, “How’s my big guy? How’s my buddy? Did you have fun on your walk? I bet you did! I bet you did!”
Rhett and I exchange amused looks before he interrupts her. “Better be careful, Indie. Your husband’s getting jealous.”
With a roll of her eyes, she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in for a quick kiss.
“That better?” she quips, practically glowing.
Knowing Rhett’s usual order, I pour him a cup of coffee then bag a fresh cronut and pull out a homemade dog biscuit, as well. Indie started baking them when they adopted Harry so he could enjoy a fresh-baked treat too. Surprisingly, they’ve become wildly popular, and he’s not the only pup who snatches them up like a little kid with a popsicle on a hot summer’s day.
“Much better,” Rhett replies. “I’ll let ya get back to work, though. Seems like we interrupted a battle between you and the flour, and you still haven’t earned your victory yet.”
With a gasp, Indie smacks Rhett’s chest then gives Harry another pat. Rhett digs into his pocket and pulls out a twenty, dropping it into the tip jar with a wink. “Tell Levi hi for me. He’s been our contact at Montague Enterprises, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed how well he’s fitting in. If Montague Enterprises isn’t careful, we just might steal him.”
“I think he’s pretty happy where he’s at, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate a little ego boost. And thanks!” I drop my chin to the tip jar, but he waves me off.
“No problem. Tell Sophie hi, too, when you see her.”
Sophie is the other girl who works the front of the bakery. Our shifts rarely cross over because she’s pregnant with twins and doesn’t work too often, but I give Rhett a thumbs up. “Will do.”
When they exit, I tell Indie, “I’m so jealous of your dog. I want one so freaking bad!”
“Right? Before I met Rhett, I was dating a guy who was allergic to dogs. Needless to say, it was rough not being able to own one.”
“Yeah. It’s killing me, but I don’t know if I have time for that kind of commitment.”