Bless his heart, he’d foreseen her need to stay organized to help combat the fibro fog. Utensils, pans, and tools, along with specialty items that didn’t need to be in the main kitchen all the time were stored on shelves and in two large sets of stainless cabinets with drawers, each one bearing several labels reflecting the contents neatly stored amongst dividers inside.

Along many of the shelves, where pots, dishes, pans, and other assorted items resided were more labels, taped to plastic cards affixed to the wire racks. As well as places for standard dry supplies like sugar, flour, salt, and the like.

“Do you have the cooler labeled like this, too?”

She felt her face heat. “No. They wouldn’t stick.”

“Does the label maker have a label?” He laughed, but she sensed 88 Tymber Dalton

no meanness behind it.

“You think I’m crazy?” she asked.

“Yep. You’re crazy,” Charles gently teased.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Shows how much you know,”

she lightly retorted. “I’m not crazy. My mother had me tested.”

Charles roared with laughter at her playful smirk. “Ah, you love the show, too, huh?”

“Yeah. The Big Bang Theory has to be my all-time favorite. No matter how crappy I feel, I can watch that and laugh. I practically know all the episodes by heart.” She dumped the ball of dough out onto the floured board. “I have all the past seasons on DVD, and the current ones on my DVR. I can watch them over and over again and never get tired of them.”

“Something we have in common, then,” he said.


He’d finally coaxed a smile out of her. If it meant he had to go around quoting The Big Bang Theory all the time, he’d do it.

Anything to make her smile, to take the perpetual look of pain from her face for a moment.

Admittedly her system, while perhaps appearing to be overkill to those who didn’t understand how bad the mental fuzziness dubbed fibro fog could be, was genius. It meant he’d have little trouble finding things or figuring out what to do next.

She led him over to a little alcove between the office door and the bakery. Several shelves held clean aprons and dishtowels. Another held a box of hairnets. “Sorry they’re not a fashion statement,” she said. “Health regulations. If you’re working the counter, or doing cleanup, you don’t need one, but for actual prep work and baking, you do.” He realized she’d worn her hair in a braided ponytail today. She reached up and deftly twisted it into a makeshift bun before pulling one of the hairnets over her hair and grabbing an apron. She handed It’s a Sweet Life 89

him a hairnet and an apron. “I’m going to have you working with Ruth this morning. She’s handling today’s usuals. We make them every day. Grover takes on the more specialty items and helps me with some of the decorating.”

He pulled on the hairnet before slipping the apron on over his head and tying it around his waist. “Point me in the right direction.

I’m here to help.”

When Grover showed up a few minutes later, he walked over to Allan and, out of earshot of Libbie, leaned in and asked, “She doing okay today?”

He glanced across the kitchen, where Libbie had just headed out into the storefront. “I think she’s hurting, but she’s good at hiding it well.”

“You better believe she is. She don’t like to ask for help. She’s a proud, stubborn, independent woman.” He tapped Allan on the shoulder before wagging a finger at him. “Remember what I told you.

I’m counting on you two being my eyes and ears.”

Allan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

By the time the store opened at seven thirty, the display cases were over three-quarters full with more items on the way out of the ovens or fryers. Three people were lined up outside the door when Jenny raised the shades, unlocked the door, and welcomed them in.

Allan was surprised to discover some of the items, while technically fresh, were prepared in advance and frozen. “I don’t know why I never thought of that,” he said to Grover while lifting a tray of bread into the oven. Libbie was in the store, helping Jenny serve the wave of morning customers as more filtered in.

“It’s a time-saver. Some things, we have to make fresh every day or they just wouldn’t taste as good. Or Little Miss Pigheaded refuses to make them ahead because she prefers to do them the same day. But we do ahead what we can the afternoon before, sometimes even a couple of days before. She don’t like to do them too far in advance.

Special order items are always made fresh, like wedding cakes.”


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Dalton

“How many of those does she do?”

“Not as many as I wish she would. They pay really well, but it’s hard on her. I can do basic stuff, some piping and flowers, but she’s the artist when it comes to the fancy cakes. Not to mention she’s only one person and only has twenty-four hours in a day. She can’t predict when her pain will be bad, so she rarely takes on more than one special order a week that requires a lot of decorating.”

“What about Ruth?”

“She’ll do the stuff we sell in the store, like cookies and cupcakes and the likes, or frost the cakes before Libbie takes over, but she doesn’t do as much as I do when it comes to the special stuff.”

Allan considered that. “How hard is it to do that kind of stuff? I’m artistic. I draw.”

He smiled. “Drawing isn’t the same as sculpting sugar in three dimensions.” He closed the oven and set a timer before walking over to the list and crossing off yet another item. “Come here.” He led Allan into the office and showed him two shelves full of cookbooks, cake decorating manuals, and other food-related guides. “Make sure to ask Libbie first, but I’m sure she’ll say yes to letting you borrow any of these.”

Allan pulled one out, a basic primer on decorating cakes, and flipped through it. “I think this is really neat. Do you think she’d let me practice?”

“Absolutely. If you get to the point where you can do some of that for her, it’d be a huge weight off her shoulders, I’m sure.”

Allan returned the book to the shelf and followed him back into the kitchen. “So what’s next?”

Grover pointed to Ruthie. “She’ll show you how to whip up cake batter for the red velvet cakes. They’re one of our best sellers.” Allan knew he’d never remember everything he’d already learned, much less what he knew was coming. Then he glanced at the list hanging on the whiteboard and he realized he didn’t have to. From the laminated recipe pages in the notebooks, to the well-organized storeroom, all he It’s a Sweet Life 91

had to do was follow directions and enjoy his morning. Ruth and Jenny were as welcoming as Grover and Libbie had been.

It struck him that while he liked what he did in Miami, and enjoyed many of his coworkers, he didn’t have the easy camaraderie there that he’d found after just a few hours in this bakery.


Dr. Smith showed up for his daily cruller fix at his usual time.

When he held out his hands and waggled his fingers at Libbie, she held her hands out for his inspection. “How’s the pain today?”

“Not too bad. The naproxen are helping. Plus Mandaline brought me a couple of things to try.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Eye of newt?”

She laughed, knowing the doctor was only teasing. “No, one is a blend of oils and the other is an ointment. They really seem to be helping. They don’t take the pain totally away, but they do seem to tone it down somewhat.”

He grinned. “Hmm. I’ll need to go have a few words with that little witch for trying to steal my patients as well as holding out on me. Seriously, I have a few other fibro patients. If it’s working for you, I’m interested in seeing if my other patients might benefit, too.

I’m always on the lookout for alternative treatments that might help them.” He released her hands and reached for his wallet.

“Well, I’m definitely a happy client.”

“That’s good enough for me.” He handed her a couple of ones to pay for his order and picked the bag up. “I’m just glad to see you smiling again.”


When Mandaline came in for her daily order that morning, Libbie didn’t miss the sly smile her friend wore as she spotted Charles 92 Tymber Dalton

working in the back.

She leaned in, motioning Libbie close with a crooked finger.

“Hang on to them,” she whispered.

Libbie let out a snort. “Sorry to disappoint you, but they’re gay.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Doesn’t mean a girl can’t dream about them, though.”

Mandaline handed her a check and winked. “Wish big, dream hard, and it should come true. What are you doing next week for Samhain night?”

“Huh?”

She giggled. “Sorry. Halloween. I’ve got Samhain on the brain.

I’m teaching a series about Pagan and Wiccan sabbats and esbats.

Tonight’s subject is Samhain. Are you joining in on the festivities?”

The local chamber of commerce held an annual trick-or-treat celebration downtown, both to help promote local businesses and to help cut down on the number of wild little urchins running rampant through the darkened streets of Brooksville proper.

Which also meant, in theory, fewer houses getting TP’d and egged. “I’m going to make and bag a bunch of sugar cookies and hand them out. By the way, thank you for pointing Charles and Ken my way. This worked out well.”

“Nice.” She collected her boxes. “I meant about the cookies. And you’re more than welcome about the hunks. How’s your hands?”

Libbie held them up and flexed them. “Between the stuff you gave me, and the naproxen prescription from Doc Smith, I’m not doing half bad. Oh, Doc Smith is liable to pay you a visit. He’s interested in finding out what you gave me so he can try it on some other patients.”

“Good.” She headed out the door. Over her shoulder, she cast one last thought. “Remember, wish big and dream hard.”

Libbie raised a hand to her as she walked out the door and headed across the square.

Wish big and dream hard, huh? She turned and looked through the doorway. Even the hairnet didn’t detract from Charles’


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93

hunkalicious physique.

She closed her eyes. Two handsome, straight hunks from across the hall to warm my bed. That’s what I wish.

She opened her eyes to find Charles smiling at her. Her face filled with heat as she looked down. When she glanced back up at him, he winked at her.

Libbie smiled as she turned around and faced the window. Jenny sidled close to her. “Is his cousin as cute as he is?”

She let out a happy sigh. “Yeah. He is. But they’re gay.”

“I don’t care if they’re gay,” the young mom muttered as she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Gay or straight, my vibrator doesn’t care.”

Libbie laughed out loud so hard she thought she might wet her pants.

“What?” Jenny asked.

“That,” she finally managed. “We both have a Bob.”

“Bob?”

“Battery-Operated Boyfriend.”

Jenny grinned. “Ah. I named mine Sheldon.”

Libbie snorted again, but knew she had to hear this one.

“Sheldon?”

“Yeah. You should know. You’re the one that turned me on to that show. Sheldon. He’s got his favorite spot. At least, I sure know it’s mine.”

Libbie was glad there weren’t any customers in the store as she doubled over with laughter.


By the time Libbie brought Allan a sandwich down from her apartment for lunch, he’d learned far more about the bakery business than he’d ever imagined. Jenny had left for the day, and Grover and Ruth had already eaten. As Allan sat in the office and ate with Libbie, 94 Tymber Dalton

he felt even more awed by her perseverance. She’d obviously put a lot of thought and attention into setting up the bakery’s workflow to make it as efficient and easy to run as possible.

“Have we scared you off yet?” Libbie asked with a smirk.

He shook his head. “Nope. This has been really educating. And fun.” He pointed at the shelves of books. “Grover said to ask you if it was okay if I could borrow any of those?”

She looked where he was pointing. “Sure. Why?”

He shrugged. “I’d like to learn that part of it, too. Maybe I could be more help. If nothing else, I enjoy learning new things.”

He loved her smile. “You’d better watch it or you’ll end up chained to the decorating table.”