I stare at her for a few moments, wondering if Peter from earlier is part of that group. Why would people from New York be looking at the space? I’ve asked about renting the place for months to help expand Wake and Bake, and I’ve always been told it wasn’t for rent—or for sale.
I hum under my breath, annoyed. Typically, the Livingston Real Estate group handles all sales in Sutten, but for some reason, our entire block is owned by some other company from out of town. Maybe all along, that space was available; it just wasn’t an option for me.
Reaching underneath the counter, I pull out one of the pastry to-go boxes. I open it, laying out the classic pink doily we put on the bottom of each order.
“Do we still have catering orders?” Lexi asks, confused. There’s panic in her eyes. Probably because we’re just now dying down, and we’re both finally getting the opportunity to take a breath.
“We sure don’t,” I answer, continuing my task. “But if there is something going on next door, I feel like I need to welcome them the only way I know how—with treats.”
Lexi smirks as she shakes her head at me. “So you’re taking treats over there, but you’re really going over there to snoop?”
I snap the tongs between us. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Our most popular croissant sold out this morning, but I pick out a few other customer favorites that we still have left to include.
Once I have a dozen different options in the box, hoping that’s enough for whatever kind of crowd is gathering next door, I close it and even add a cute Wake and Bake sticker to seal it shut.
“We might have new neighbors to welcome, Lexi. This is the nice thing to do.” I wink at her, setting the box on the counter so I can adjust the claw clip in my hair.
I probably look like a wreck after the long morning and afternoon that I’ve had, but I don’t care about my appearance too much. I’m not trying to impress these tourist businessmen—I’m just trying to get information on why the space next door is suddenly available for sale when I’ve been told multiple times otherwise.
I wrap the long tendrils of my dark hair in a twist, pinching the sides of the clip together and securing it in my hair. My hair is too messy to even try to wear down, but I do pull out a few pieces in the front to attempt to style the updo a little more.
“How do you still look so good after an afternoon like that?” Lexi comments, looking down at her coffee-stained apron. We accidentally collided at one point during the chaos, sloshing a fresh espresso shot onto both of us. Luckily for me, her apron took most of the damage.
I roll my eyes at her. The only thing I did this morning was put on mascara and a little bit of blush. I didn’t have time to do anything else before I had to race to the shop to get things started for the day. I wouldn’t describe myself as put together, but it’ll do. I don’t care about impressing anyone with my looks, but I wouldn’t mind if they loved my treats. Maybe if I can impress one of the owners before the sale is final, they’ll reconsider and sell it to me instead.
I’m about to head out the door when Lexi rushes forward, pulling at the string of my apron. “Wait!” she calls, tugging at the neck loop. “Maybe take this off first?”
I laugh, looking at the abundance of flour and icing covering the fabric. “Yeah, probably should.”
The apron makes a soft thud as I toss it onto one of the counters behind us. “This T-shirt isn’t the most professional attire either,” I note, kind of wishing I’d worn something else this morning.
Lexi shakes her head at me. “It works. It’s better than the apron. Plus, I think the Wake and Bake merch is cute. Own it, Pippa.”
My shoulders straighten as I flash her a wink. “You’re totally right. Time for me to go make some friends.”
2
PIPPA
There are multiple SUVs lined up in front of the gallery. A man in yet another suit stands outside the front door. He presses a phone to his ear, not even noticing me walking toward him.
“I just don’t see your vision for this. Who would want to come here to look at art?”
He sighs at whatever is said on the other line and then scowls, creating a crease on his already wrinkled forehead. “No, I’m not questioning you, sir. It’s just that—”
The person on the other line must be upset because he pulls the phone away from his ear slightly.
My cowboy boots scuff against the pavement as I come to a stop. The sound catches the guy’s attention. His eyes travel up and down my body. He grunts, clearly displeased. “See you in a bit,” he clips before tapping something on the screen. His eyes focus on the box in my grasp.