Page 8 of Cupcake of the Month (Just Add Peaches #2)

Jordan opened her bedroom door the next morning to the smell of bacon and coffee wafting down the short hallway from the galley kitchen.

While the scent wasn’t a normal occurrence for her room in the renovated stables, she had two friends who weren’t above bribery with breakfast meat if they needed something.

If their efforts were an attempt to convince her to take the special events coordinator position, she’d have to let them down. After all they’d done for her over the summer, not taking the job seemed like a betrayal, but her life was in limbo. They needed someone committed.

It would be better to be prepared for the situation before she went out there. She took out her phone to text Sebastien, who rounded out their circle of friends when he wasn’t attending to his royal duties in the small principality his father ruled.

I think I’m about to be ambushed. She threw on her robe while she waited for him to text back.

I know nothing , he wrote.

Not helpful.

He sent back a heart and a smiley face, then, Just get it over with. And fill me in later.

She texted a sticking-out-her-tongue emoji and put down her phone. She padded to the common room, inhaling the delicious aroma as she went. At least she’d be well fed.

Brandi had made herself at home on the rocking chair in the common room, her feet on the small table while she balanced her computer on her lap. A plate of bacon waited on the breakfast bar, begging to be eaten, while the coffee maker hosted a full pot.

“Happy Saturday.” Brandi pulled out her phone. “I knew the smell would get you out of bed. Eat while I let Wendy know you’re awake. She’s finishing up with breakfast.”

“I’m going to services in an hour. Eating treif beforehand would make me feel too guilty.” The lie to Josh about keeping kosher was kicking Jordan’s karma. “And why does Wendy need to know I’m awake?”

“More for me.” Brandi reached out her hand, and Jordan gave her the plate. Her friend picked up a strip of the greasy goodness and took a bite. “Eggs are in the microwave.”

“What, no bagel and lox? No schmear? Shameful.” Jordan pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she shuffled over to the food. “To what do I owe this ambush disguised as breakfast?”

“Such a pain, to have friends who want to make sure you’re okay.”

The double doors leading outside opened and Wendy let herself in. Jordan took the plate out of the microwave and made her way to the second recliner. “I’ve been telling you for the past few months that I’m fine.”

“This certified letter does not signify ‘fine.’” Wendy jabbed an envelope at Jordan and lifted an eyebrow. “From a district court in Connecticut. Want to finally explain to us what’s going on?”

Oh, great. It was probably the date of her hearing. “I’m surprised you guys haven’t used your search engine prowess and looked it up yourselves.”

She wasn’t surprised at their avoided eye contact. “Ha! I knew it.”

“We did a quick search and then left it alone. So we really don’t know all that much, Shoenover,” Wendy said. “Do we need to go to the orchard and hit a ball a few times to make you more comfortable?”

“Don’t you usually pitch the fallen peaches?”

“This late in the year? Growing season is over.”

“Spill,” Brandi said. “We’re not leaving until we get all the answers.”

Litigation had put her personal and professional reputation on the line. Anything scandalous having to do with the Shoenover family was big news in West Hartford, and Jordan had fled to her friends for refuge. It had been bliss not dealing with daily reminders.

Jordan had managed to stave off their curiosity while she helped them work out their roles after inheriting the Inn. Now that their lives were settled, they were ready to meddle in hers. “Later. I need to get dressed or I’m going to be late.”

“Saturday morning services don’t start for another hour and a half, and it’s only a thirty minute drive to the temple.

I checked.” Wendy waved her phone, and Jordan cursed her friend’s ruthless dedication.

While it had served her well while training for softball, now it was annoying.

And predictable. Like Wendy would come into this conversation without an agenda.

“You guys are overreacting.” Jordan shoved some eggs into her mouth while Wendy poured the Arabica coffee, giving her time to plan her next words. “It’s stuff that has to do with my company. No big.”

“If that were all, you wouldn’t be avoiding it.” Wendy gave a mug to her cousin, then handed one to Jordan. “Eat. Drink. L’chaim .”

Jordan raised her cup in a toast, then swirled the liquid around, watching the whirlpool rise up the sides of the mug. That was her life, with her in the middle. Drowning. She took a sip, letting the strong flavor sit on her tongue before swallowing.

It was time to confess. She hadn’t wanted to burden her friends when they were going through their own issues, but their insistence now alleviated any need to keep her problems to herself.

“So I take it you know I’m being sued. I came to Georgia because on a slow news day, reporters like to follow me around even though my lawyer told me not engage beyond saying ‘no comment.’ In fact, he’s the one who told me to leave town.

Plus I haven’t had a vacation since I started my business, so here I am.

” She smiled to bring levity to the situation, but her friends were having none of that.

“But you love your job,” Brandi said.

“Yeah, I do.” Jordan shuffled her food around on her plate. “Or did. I’m so paranoid now that I’m not taking on any new clients until this works itself out.

“Who’s suing you?” Wendy asked.

“Disgruntled employees of a previous client.” The eggs were a heavy weight in her belly and she put down her fork. “There’s really not much more than that.

“So what happens now?” Brandi asked.

Jordan glanced at the envelope on the countertop, her name and the Fountenoy Hall address in nice, typed letters. “I guess it depends on what’s in there.”

“Well, open it.” Wendy sat forward in her chair.

“When I come back.” Later would work better. Partly because it would drive efficient Wendy crazy and partly because if she opened it now, she’d want to act on whatever it contained, and she really had to get ready for services.

“You’re killing me here,” her friend said.

“I know.” Jordan toasted her with the coffee.

“Well, fine. In addition to prying into your personal business, I’m also rescinding the offer to be our special events coordinator.

So there.” Brandi gave her a wink, showing off her unusual half green, half brown eye.

She nodded at her cousin. “When you didn’t respond with the enthusiasm that Wendy and I had anticipated, we realized you might think we were pressuring you into taking the job. ”

“I think it best you hire someone else. But the offer was greatly appreciated.” Jordan loved these two women like the sisters she never had, but she had her own business. Her own life. Which she had on hold, but still.

“You can continue in your unofficial position of person-who-does-everything-we-ask until you deem us no longer worthy of your many talents,” Brandi said.

“Which we hope won’t be anytime soon,” Wendy chimed in. “Because you’re…what is it your people say about family? Mashugana ?”

“ Mishpocha . But, really, crazy can be the same thing.” Jordan shook her head. “Thank you. Do you want me to put up a job listing?”

“I did it last night,” Brandi said. “I had a feeling you’d say no. Oh, and we got a lead on a temp chef. Someone on the alumni boards mentioned a caterer that might be interested.”

The conversation moved to other topics, and Jordan breathed a little easier. She knew her friends had her back, but actually voicing what was happening with her business was too close for personal comfort. It was like she had failed, and it rankled.

“So. Your temple’s morning services.” Brandi scraped her leftover bits of food onto Jordan’s plate and stacked them. “Single men there?”

“Are you asking for me or for you?” Jordan said.

Wendy nudged Jordan with an elbow. “Doesn’t your mother want you to find a nice doctor or something?”

“My mom wanted me to be the doctor.” Jordan stood up and put her mug in the sink. “I’m not going there to find a man.”

“True.” Brandi smiled. “But a man might find you.”

***

Josh stared at his closed box in the post office lobby, the key gripped in his hand.

It had already been an endless Sunday shift at Essie’s.

Emma had alternated between hair flipping and pouting at him in her crusade for alcohol.

Kenny had smelled like brownies from Colorado.

Josh had taken initiative when a customer had been struggling with putting together different flavors for a dinner, but George had taken over and sent Josh off to sweep the damn floor.

Five more years.

The mailbox taunted him, dared him to leave without checking it.

Times like these, he completely sympathized with Schrodinger’s Cat.

Right now, the contents contained endless, if unrealistic, possibilities.

A postcard from Jordan. Mail from a lawyer saying the courts released his parents’ funds, so he and his brother no longer had to scrape by and live paycheck to paycheck.

A notice that an unknown relative had passed away and Josh was her heir.

Opening it would slap him back to his existence. It’s not like there’d be anything new that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

He hoisted up his gray backpack, got on his bike, and pedaled the few miles to his apartment, arriving a sodden, sweaty mess.

He secured his bike and entered the foyer, ignoring those mail boxes as well.

He unlocked the door to the lobby with its peeling wallpaper décor, letting the sweet breath of the air conditioner steal over his body.