My day is hard and long. As I sit behind the counter of the bakery, relieved to be off my feet for the past ten minutes, I mindlessly count the sprinkles on one of the cupcakes from the mural on the wall, it’s that eye catching. It should be, I paid a grip for it in all my locations for the uniformed look. As I change my view, raking my eyes over to the window, something feels off. It’s 9:45 at night and the heavy traffic has finally slowed. I called Jordan an hour ago to say goodnight. I did the final count and locked the safe in the back. Something still feels off.
I look down at the floor. My feet are swollen in my ‘Verses, and my lower back is throbbing. My khaki shorts are wrinkled and black blouse is powdered with sugar and god only knows what else I’ve been into these past five or so hours.
“Is this the life of a “baker”?” I mumble to myself.
“Ms. Barrett, the ovens, counters and fridges are all cleaned. Jonathan cleaned the bathrooms before he clocked out,” Amirah informs.
She’s one of the employees at this location. A bright Drexel student, she’s been a go-getter without a solid plan, reminding me of a younger me. She’s cute and sharp, but with varied direction. I certainly don’t want her spending the next fifteen minutes in a darn bakery with a sulking boss.
“You can go now, Amirah. I know you need time to get ready for the movies.” I smile wryly.
“Really? Thanks, Ms. Barrett!” She claps her hands together excitedly. “I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
Amirah skips towards the back to get her things before leaving for the night. I’m left alone…well, not exactly. I have security outside. It’s great for peace of mind now that Stenton Rogers’ followers know who I am and where I work. As the clock approaches 10:00 p.m., I start fantasizing about the gargantuan glass of wine I’ll have during my bath tonight.
But no self-fondling tonight, Zo!
Ugh! No orgasms for me tonight. I pack up all my things and then lock up the shop. My ride home seems to take forever and the start of a heavy downpour on the way doesn’t help my mood. Once in the apartment, I head straight to the kitchen and pour a glass of cabernet. After starting my bath, tying my hair up into a sloppy ponytail, then stripping down to nothing, I drag my weighty body into the tub. Immediately my mind struggles to discover what could have me feeling this…off. My limbs relax, but I still feel wrestled.
As I replay my day, I search for the problem. Jordan and I got up early and made it to Sunday school. About fifteen minutes later, Stenton was ushered to my pew and sat next to me. Talk about surprised…and flattered. He smelled like a god and looked just the same with his lengthy body caped in a grey gently printed suit and a lavender dress shirt undone at the neck, exposing his tattoos. And as if on cue, I turned to the back to find his security posted like Secret Service. After service ended my family all met up at the country club and convened…like a real family. Although work was busy as usual, even that was uneventful. So why am I feeling so dejected?
Stenton.
“Okay! Okay! Okay!” I snatch myself off the wall of the tub to stand and exit. With considerable planning and very little time, I’m out the door.
~~~~~~~~~~
I impatiently tap my toes against the shiny floor. Then I knock again. My nerves are just as unsettled as my urgent knocks convey. My heart is beating at a feverish rate.
Oh, crap? Am I panting?
The door clicks open. When it’s pulled back, I see Stenton’s thick eyebrows arching, preoccupied with an emotion I’m sure isn’t pleasing. He’s holding a large bowl of popcorn and is wearing a white tank t-shirt, grey sweats and socks.
“What the fu—” he mutters under his breath. “How did you get past secur—” He must put it together because he rolls his eyes. Then they inspect me starting from my head, but stop at my shoulders. “Are you okay? Why are you wet?”