“Am I making it up, too?” a voice calls from the back of the restaurant. It’s Sonya, one of the servers. “Because you cornered me in the break room one night and implied I’d lose my job if I didn’t do what you wanted.”
“The same thing happened to me.” The bartender steps out from behind the bar.
Now Xavier is the one sputtering.
The woman from the anniversary couple turns to her companion. “This is disgusting. We’re leaving.” She marches away from the table, and I notice with great satisfaction that the heel of her shoe lands directly on Rob’s foot.
Across the room, another group stands up and tosses their napkins on the table. As they head for the door, several other tables of customers follow.
“Wait!” Xavier calls to the rapidly emptying room, but one by one each table gets to their feet and walks out. He turns to me. “You’re going to regret this.”
I shrug because Xavier can’t hurt me anymore. “Why?” I ask innocently. “Because I’ll never work in this town again?” I shrug. “I have a feeling I’m not the only one.”
And with that, I take a step over Rob—another clown on the floor, thanks to yours truly—and for the last time, I turn and walk out the door.
Chapter 39
Back at Higher Grounds, José Luis is making cappuccino and Kahlúa cocktails behind the bar, and Mrs. Kaminski is sitting in her usual spot at the counter. In front of her is a large glass with a straw, and José Luis keeps topping it off with whatever is left in the bottom of the mixer after he pours the customers’ drinks. When I arrive, he produces another glass and straw, and now I’m downing my own leftover cocktail.
From my perch on the seat beside Mrs. Kaminski, I take it all in. The café is bright and festive, packed with people mingling around the dessert trays, chatting in small groups at the café tables, and dancing to the band onstage. At some point in the evening, José Luis dug up a couple of gold feather boas and plastic New Year’s headbands, and both he and Mrs. Kaminski are wearing them proudly.
Customers come by to rave about my pastries to José Luis, and he points to me. “The artiste is right here!” he declares in a voice loud enough to make me wonder if he’s also been hitting the Kahlúa.
My phone buzzes on the counter, and I grab it like it contains the secret to the universe. Which, at this point, it does. My universe anyway. Midnight is approaching, and I haven’t heard a word back from Jacob about my rambling message. I check my texts, and my shoulders slump. It’s a message from Owen, wishing me a happy New Year and asking me what I’m doing.
At Higher Grounds.
Cool.
What are you doing? I’m shamelessly hoping he’ll mention Jacob.
The usual, Owen replies, telling me exactly nothing. Or maybe it’s telling me everything. If Jacob and Owen are together, Jacob would have said something about my message. The fact that my brother is completely silent on the subject doesn’t seem like a very positive development. I drop my phone back on the counter.
Zoe, who’s been absent since I arrived, pushes open the front door of the café with an armful of milk jugs balanced in her hands. I run over and grab two of them to lighten her load.
“Thanks, Sadie.” Zoe hefts the rest of the plastic containers onto the coffee bar, handing one to José Luis to mix up another batch of cappuccino cocktails. “I had to run to the deli down the street. With the mad rush for your pastries over the holidays, we’ve been selling out of drinks, too.” She gives me a grin, her white teeth contrasting against her dark skin. “Not that I’m complaining; you’ve been amazing for business. In fact, if there was any chance you could come in and bake a couple more days a week…”
I turn to look at her, shaping the idea in my head like a ball of focaccia dough.
Zoe holds up a hand, probably taking my silence for lack of interest. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pressure you. I know you’re stretched thin already. And,” Zoe gives me a rueful smile, “baking at Higher Grounds isn’t exactly your dream.”
And suddenly, it’s so clear, I can’t believe I didn’t see it.
“Actually, Zoe, what if it is my dream?”
Zoe rounds the counter so she’s standing on the other side, facing me. “What do you mean?”
“I love this place, you give me tons of creative freedom, I make my own hours, and I work with the best people in the world.” I lean on the counter, my excitement building. “What if I want to work here full time? Or… even better. What if we were partners? I have some money saved. Why would I open my own place when everything I need is right here?”
Zoe’s mouth drops open. “I—You’d want to do that?”
“You’re selling out of everything I make. What if I could really focus on increasing the pastry offerings and building our private events? And we haven’t even talked about catering. I know some really hardworking people who unfortunately might be out of a job soon—” I think back to the customers marching out of Xavier’s restaurant. We could hire the chefs and servers to cater our events. “There are so many possibilities.”
“Sadie,” Zoe says, looking a little dazed. “I completely love this idea. But, what about your dream of opening your own bakery?”
I think about that dream. Of all the dreams I’ve been chasing during my Very Bad Year. I was so wrapped up in what I thought I wanted I didn’t stop to recognize what I actually had.
I’ll never make that mistake again.
By some miracle, I’ve been given a second chance on my second chance, and I’m not about to blow it.
“Zoe, I don’t really want my own place. I want to work with people I care about, who care about me. And that’s you.” I grab her hand and squeeze. The combination of caffeine, alcohol, and adrenaline leaves me a little light-headed, filling me with emotion. I turn to José Luis. “And you.” He blows me a kiss. “And you, too, Mrs. Kaminski.” I smile at the older woman. Her eyes are glassy from the cocktails, her HAPPY NEW YEAR’S headband askew, and she smiles back at me for maybe the first time ever.
Finally, my gaze slides back to Zoe. “So, what do you say?”
Across the room, the band pauses the music and the singer steps up to the mic. “Only one minute until midnight!” he announces. And suddenly, we’re swallowed up by the crowd jumping to their feet. Noisemakers rattle, José Luis pops corks on bottles of champagne, and the band plays a drumroll.
“Ten…”
Someone slides a bubbling glass into my hand.
“Five…”
Someone else wraps a gold feather boa around my neck.
“Three…”
And then Zoe is back in front of me, clutching my hand. “Yes. Let’s do this.” She flashes me a grin. “Partner.”
“One…”
I throw my arms around her.
“Happy New Year!”
Chapter 40