Sweet Trilogy: Sweet Talk / Sweet Spot / Sweet Trouble

“I like her, too,” she told Wyatt. “Of course I’ll look after her. I’d be delighted. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there. You don’t have to pay me. I’m happy to help.”

“Don’t make this more than it is.”

“I won’t.”

“You’re grinning. It’s weird.”

“I’m excited. It’ll give me a chance to learn sign language.”

“There’s nothing to be excited about. She’s a kid. You watch her. End of story.”

Maybe for him, but this was the first positive thing to happen to her since she’d moved to Seattle.

“Starting tomorrow?” she asked.

He sighed heavily. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

She held her happy dance inside. “Not even for a minute. Thank you, Wyatt.”

He grumbled something and left. Claire twirled to her room, went inside and fell on the bed.

This was a sign, she told herself. Things were turning around. Everything was going to work out great.

CHAPTER SIX

CLAIRE WALKED into the bakery at four-thirty the next morning. Sid saw her and started shaking his head.

“No.”

She ignored that. “I’m here to work.”

“We can’t afford your help.”

“I did fine yesterday.”

“You had a breakdown.”

Claire didn’t want to think about that. “I had a panic attack and I handled it. I helped out when you were in trouble. You owe me.”

“That’s crap.”

She put her hands on her hips. “It’s true and you know it. Plus, I’m Nicole’s sister. This is a family bakery. I’m family. Put me to work.”

He glared at her. “Why do you want to be here?”

She thought of the line from An Officer and A Gentleman. Richard Gere’s impassioned cry that he had nowhere else to go. “It’s important. I’m offering you free labor. Why is that a problem?”

“Because two days ago, you ruined a batch of French bread. You’re a pain in the ass.”

She winced. “The salt thing wasn’t totally my fault.”

Sid glared at her.

She held up her hands. “Not that I won’t accept my responsibility in the situation. Look, I’m just asking to help out. There must be something I can do.”

Despite the loud noise from the mixers and the hum of the ovens, she would swear she could hear his snort of impatience. Still, he didn’t dismiss her again. Instead he yelled, “Phil, the princess is back.”

Phil, a tall, thin man, stuck his head out from behind a stack of racks. “Tell her to stay away from me.”

“I was thinking she could do the sprinkles.”

“What?”

Sid jabbed his finger at her. “Don’t screw up.”

“Words to live by. I won’t. I swear.”

Sid looked unconvinced as he walked away.

Claire turned to Phil and gave him her best smile. He glowered. “Come on.”

She trailed after him, weaving through narrow walkways, avoiding contact with any equipment. They came to a stop in front of a slow-moving conveyor belt.

“The sprinkle attachment is broken,” Phil said as he handed her a hairnet and gloves. “You’re going to put on sprinkles by hand. Not too many, not too few. You got that, Goldilocks?”

She nodded, wishing she knew how many were the right amount.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” he asked.

She glanced down at her black wool slacks and knit sweater, then nodded.

He muttered something, passed her what looked like a giant salt shaker, then hit a button on the conveyor belt so it started moving again.

Chocolate-covered doughnuts inched toward her.

“Sprinkle,” Phil said.

She hated that she wasn’t dressed right and found his disapproving attention unnerving. Worse, when she upended the shaker over the first doughnut, about a pound of sprinkles tumbled out.

“Just great,” he muttered.

“I’ll get it,” she said, trying not to sound defensive.

“It’s sprinkles. There shouldn’t be a learning curve.” With that, he left.

Claire quickly learned the right angle for the shaker and began to cover all the doughnuts evenly. Chocolate iced changed to white iced and she kept sprinkling. When her right arm got tired, she switched to her left, then back.

Thirty minutes later, both her arms burned and trembled, but she didn’t stop until Phil reappeared and switched off the conveyor belt.