Nope. Not thinking about it.
I’m suddenly intent on rearranging the display of muffins in the case.
“Jacob, hey!” Zoe says, hopping off her chair to go around the counter and grab a cup for his café Americano. “Sadie was just telling me about an idea she has to use Higher Grounds as a space for private events on the nights we close early. As a way to bring in extra income.”
I keep my head down and shuffle muffins from one side of the case to the other.
Zoe explains to Jacob about the desserts and coffee cocktails. When she’s done talking, he glances in my direction. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“Thanks.” My voice comes out breathless. “I thought we could hold Owen’s thirtieth birthday party here. You know, to try it out.”
“Owen would love that.” Jacob gives me a tentative smile. “What can I do to help?”
I’ve stacked and restacked the muffins in perfect rows according to flavor, and there’s no way to keep avoiding him. I look up into Jacob’s eyes, and—oh God—my heart melts like butter. How can he seem so unaffected when I’m hyperventilating over here? Does he do a lot of yoga and meditation or something?
More likely, that night just didn’t mean anything to him.
I pick up a pile of empty dessert trays. “I’ll text you about the party.” Before he can respond, I spin on my heels and flee to the kitchen.
Chapter 25
October
I’m standing at a prep table at Xavier’s, placing cherries on top of a Black Forest g?teau, when Xavier calls my name from across the room. At the sound of his voice, I can’t help but freeze up. I’m scheduled until close tonight. What if he asks me to work the front of the house serving Rob Thurmond again? I won’t have any reason to say no.
While Xavier crosses the kitchen to stand in front of me, I frantically sift through a dozen possible excuses to get out of working with Rob. Maybe I could lock myself in the freezer. Or pretend to slip on a banana peel. How hard would it be to drop a sleeping pill in Rob’s drink? Just as Xavier’s shadow falls over the buttercream black-eyed Susans I’m piping onto a classic Victoria sandwich cake, I come up with my most far-fetched idea yet.
Maybe I should just be honest and tell him what happened the last time I worked with Rob.
“Sadie, I have a favor to ask you,” Xavier says. I take a deep breath, ready to spill everything, but then I hear the next words that come out of his mouth. “I have a customer coming in on Saturday who specifically requested your mango and passion fruit cream puffs. Can you come in that morning and make them?”
My mouth drops open and I stare across the prep table. Not only is Xavier not demanding that I work with smarmy Rob, but he’s not demanding I do anything at all. He’s asking me for a favor.
One might even say he’s being polite.
“I know you specifically asked for Saturday off,” he adds. When has Xavier ever cared about a little thing like his employees’ scheduling requests?
I nod dumbly. Saturday is Owen’s big birthday bash at Higher Grounds, and I took off the entire weekend so I could spend every second baking for the party. I have an unbelievably long to-do list, even with all the tasks I’ve delegated to Zoe, José Luis, and Jacob. But—
I glance at Xavier. He’s never asked me for a favor before. Or spoken to me in a calm, reasonable tone. Could this have to do with the executive pastry chef job? Maybe he really is considering me for the role, because otherwise, he’d definitely be barking at me right now. It’s the only possible explanation.
I can’t really make the cream puffs in advance, they’ll go soggy and limp, so if I say yes, I’ll have to come in on Saturday. I do some quick calculations in my head, cutting several hours from my birthday prep time line. If I finish all my baking for Owen’s party on Friday, I’ll have time to run over here to make the cream puffs on Saturday morning before I go back to help set up the furniture and change into my party clothes. It will probably mean an all-nighter on Friday, and I’ll be exhausted for the party.
But if I say no, it could erase all the goodwill I’m building up with Xavier. I’ll look like I’m not willing to be a team player, and that could be the end of the executive pastry chef job for me. I can’t risk it, especially now that it’s so close.
“Sure,” I say, with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. “I’d love to help out.”
Xavier gives me a long look across the prep table. “Thanks, Sadie. I appreciate it.”
Friday morning, I arrive at Higher Grounds before dawn, and I’ve never been so thankful to work in a coffee shop in my life. Zoe greets me with a double latte, and I practically chug it while I run into the kitchen to organize my workspace and start the assembly line of mini pastries I’ve planned to cover the ten-foot dessert table.
The list is impressive: bite-sized lemon cheesecakes, chocolate cream puffs, and strawberry basil tarts. Orange Creamsicle macarons, rosemary shortbread, and salted caramel cookie sandwiches with espresso cream filling, just to name a few.
It’s a monumental amount of work, but I’m determined to pull it off. Not just for my brother’s birthday, but to help Zoe to keep the café afloat. At some point in the past few months, Higher Grounds became more than just a place where I work a part-time gig. It’s a community.
My community, I realize as I slip out into the main room to find that Mrs. Kaminski has turned into a full-on drill sergeant, barking orders at Jacob and José Luis as they attempt to hang a HAPPY BIRTHDAY sign over the coffee counter.
It’s a bit early for decorations—the café is still open for regular customers today and tomorrow—but Mrs. Kaminski insisted. I think she’s secretly thrilled to be included in our big project. I’m reminded again of the impression I had of her during my Very Bad Year, how I thought she was just a grumpy old bat. Now I know that she lives alone, her husband died years ago, and she’s not allowed to have pets. Higher Grounds is where she found connection, the same way I did.
“Move that to the right. Over there.” Mrs. Kaminski flicks a crooked finger in the general direction of José Luis’s right hand.
“Here?” José Luis tugs at his end of the sign.
“No. That’s all wonky.” She waves to the left of Jacob. “It needs to go that way. Pull it to the left.”
Narrowing his eyes in concentration, Jacob carefully slides the sign an inch to the left, and then looks to Mrs. Kaminski for confirmation. “How’s this?”