Page 29 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes

Candace

J une came crashing in like an impossible-to-escape tidal wave.

It took a full three weeks to plan, organize, and execute Bagel Bombs’!

renovations. From paint swatches to particleboard, every detail mattered.

Their progress was simultaneously warp-speed and too slow, which left Candace in a constant state of anxious flux—all that, plus the paradox that was her relationship with Daisy.

A shift happened.

Daisy only frowned at Candace half as often. And, most times, it turned to a begrudging, dimpled smile. Her cutting comments dulled to snarky ribbing, or even the rare compliment.

But it was impossible to say why.

Maybe it was the sheer amount of time they were spending together.

Along with the cafe shifts they co-worked, Candace started helping Daisy with inventory.

They ran errands and baked bombs, shared mundane moments like debating which Simpsons episode to watch, and talked business strategy late into every night.

Candace would get into her (far from) new Nissan Altima, drive back over the bridge to the illustrious Comfort Clam, and sleep like the dead.

Then, she would start the day all over again.

To say she was tired would be an understatement. Not a minute passed where Daisy, Bagel Bombs!, or the future of both were not on her mind. It was exhilarating, too, because little by little their plans were coming together.

Candace just had to break her current trend of messing things up, which included keeping her uncle off their backs.

He called her at the most random times, ‘checking up on her,’ he said, when it was more like keeping her emotionally hostage as he ranted about various topics.

Candace swore the man was in love with the sound of his own voice.

But, she listened, and did her best to keep him happy…

while reassuring him that her work with Daisy DeMarco was a flippant, unserious effort.

Uncle Perry probably did not believe her. When she was young, he made a habit of interrogating her. He seemed to enjoy making her lie, like it was some kind of game, and her secrets were his to collect. Candace would keep playing—and lying—until she won.

Bagel Bombs’! renovation came in two parts: demolition and reconstruction.

Stripping back the stubbornly stuck, crusted layers with a combination of power tools and raw elbow grease was a process.

There were decades of grime in unreachable places, and even a picture frame (filled with a photo of Bagel Bombs’!

opening day) that was rusted to the wall.

Candace was glad they opted to close during the messiest parts, considering some of the horrors they unearthed.

Closing the cafe, however, put them in a tight spot. Their window to complete a very long checklist was nail-bitingly narrow. It would have taken Candace and Daisy ages to do by themselves. Thankfully, they were far from alone.

Demi swept in like a benevolent tornado with a cadre of cousins borrowed from the family restaurant. Despite bickering the whole time, they did the bulk of the demolition in a single afternoon.

Ted Cando stopped by while he was on boardwalk bike patrol. He let Candace borrow a spare crowd-obscuring privacy fence, which allowed them to contain their construction chaos. It was kind of him, especially since Daisy was rude once she found out he had been Candace’s date.

Even Rio and Dotty insisted on lending a hand, despite Daisy’s best efforts to give them the days off. In return, all everyone asked for was a discount going forward.

Candace was so grateful, her heart was ready to burst—along with other parts.

Every bit of her felt like jelly. The hammering, lifting, bending, painting, and myriad of manual labor they undertook in such a short period was more brutal physically than anything she had ever done.

The harsh fluorescent glare from the industrial work lamps was making her head hurt, and she’d ruined multiple outfits.

But it was so, so very worth it.

Tomorrow morning, they would unveil the new Bagel Bombs!

to the world. Candace had been posting online like a pro influencer, trying to drum up interest with sneak peeks and teasers.

Their growing “BagelBabe” fans were metaphorically eating it up.

Now, Candace just had to get them to literally stuff their faces.

It was late by the time they finished the most important tasks on Candace’s checklist. Or very early, depending on how you looked at it.

Dotty was long gone, and Rio got a ride with one of Demi’s cousins after some sparks flew between them during the whirlwind of activity.

It was Demi, Daisy, and Candace left, with all three of them running on fumes.

“Can-can,” Demi said around a yawn, “don’t you think it’s about time to wrap up?”

“Almost,” Candace promised. Their new special of the day sign was refusing to cooperate. “Would you hand me that level?”

She did, quipping, “That sign couldn’t be any straighter if it were a Sears catalog.”

“Are they even still in business?”

“Barely, but you sure are. Look at this place! You’re going to have a line all the way to the other side of the boardwalk onto that rusting pier.”

Demi threw an arm around Candace’s shoulders (closer to her back because of their drastic height difference).

She spun them in a pan-around of the work they’d done.

When she saw Daisy hovering by the new, solid oak backroom sliding barn-style door, she grabbed her, too.

They did not seem to get along overly well—more than once, Candace caught Demi looking at Daisy with unusual scrutiny.

But, for her sake, they seemed to have a truce.

Demi told them, “Wonderwood isn’t gonna know what hit ‘em.” She gave another squeeze, then released. “I, meanwhile, need to hit the hay. I’m bushed.”

Candace was about to tell Demi how grateful she felt.

She had been agonizing how to thank her friend for going above and beyond.

Of all the people who had come in and out of her life, Demi was the one person she knew she could count on.

Before she could get the words out, though, Daisy beat her to it.

Arms crossed, looking adorably embarrassed, Daisy thanked Demi.

“Look… Back in high school, I avoided you because we ran in different crowds.” Both women side-eyed Candace, who had the grace not to huff.

“As an adult, I could be kind of a jerk, ignoring you around town. You’ve never been anything but nice to me, though, and now you’ve done this.

I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m grateful. Thanks, Demi.”

“You’re welcome. Just remember, you’re on the hook for catering my studio’s holiday brunch. And no skimping! My yogis eat like horses.”

“Heard,” Daisy promised. “Get home safe. ”

“I will. Well…” Demi trailed off. Her smile turned thoughtful as her eyes bounced between Daisy and Candace. “Don’t stay up too late, crazy kids. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Demi went to leave through the back. She paused to grab her pouch of a purse and let out an exclamation. “I almost forgot! Leo and Rex found this when they were moving that tetanus-trap file cabinet out of the office. Here.”

It was an old, unlabeled VHS tape. Daisy inspected it with a puzzled expression.

“Thanks.”

They said another round of goodbyes, and Demi left. Candace wrapped up the last few things that needed doing—she knew Morning Candace would be grumpy if Night Candace left her any messes. Daisy, however, continued to study the unexpected find.

“Do you know what it is?”

“No,” Daisy told her. There was something in that no, though, that sounded like she might.

“We should watch it! That old TV in the back has a player. I’ll go get it!”

“I don’t know,” Daisy wavered while Candace lugged the portable relic on the shiny stainless steel prep countertop.

“What’s the matter? Not all mysterious, unlabeled VHSes are sex tapes.”

Daisy snorted. A smirk quirked her lips.

“Don’t lie, you’d like that. But fine. Let’s give it a look.”

Candace was too caught up in the moment, too giddy from the lack of sleep, that she failed to notice the hesitation in Daisy’s voice.

She unplugged the worklights. Moonlight and the glow from boardwalk lamps filtered in through the gaps in Bagel Bombs!

security shutter, but it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. She groped for Daisy in the darkness and guided the woman’s tape-clutching hands to the TV’s slot. Together, they pushed it in.

A catchy musical jingle blared out from the little TV. Grainy, potato-quality images of a bygone 1990s Wonderwood boardwalk flashed over the screen. Women with big, permed hair, rollerbladers, and giant boomboxes were all hilarious blasts from the past. A man’s voice said:

“Spending your vacation at the Jersey Shore? Don’t let it be a bore. Visit Bagel Bombs!, where every bite is an EXPLOSION of flavor.”

Candace’s eyes widened as the video centered on the old Bagel Bombs!

Cafe. The vibrant, weird-looking place that drew her in all those years ago while she wilted at her uncle’s side.

A mouth-watering display of baked bounty she could not wait to try.

The gawky girl who stood at the counter, looking like nothing could tear her down.

It was all exactly as Candace pictured in her memories.

Child-Daisy, who could not have been more than five or so in the video, was joined by her parents at the counter. They sang while Daisy did a familiar dance on the counter.

“Bagel bombs, bagel bombs, bite a burst a’ fun! Bagel bombs, bagel bombs, you can’t stop at one!”

The tape abruptly cut. It was not done, but Daisy was. She pressed the eject button and stood facing the TV. In the inky blackness, she looked like a statue standing so still that she scarcely seemed to breathe. Then, with a clean pivot on her heel, she bolted out the back.