Page 2 of Daddies' Holiday Toy

ThatI would understand working against me.

Small towns like this aren’t trusting to newcomers and even less so when it comes to what they put in their mouths.

But my bakery’s been in business for a little over five years.

That’s plenty of time to prove myself.

Which I thought I had up until recently.

My gaze drifts down the hallway that runs alongside the kitchen when I pass by it.

I find my eyes latching onto the office door that’s still cracked open.

The faint strip of light cutting across the floor feels like a taunt considering I know what’s waiting for me on top of my desk: a giant stack of paperwork that I’ve been avoiding looking through all week.

Checks to cut, books to balance, accounts to verify.

All the things I absolutely hate, and dread, running a business.

I nearly groan.

Those damn books…

Even thinking about them now as exhausted as I am makes my stomach twist painfully.

Another day of low sales to record and another column of red ink bleeding across my ledgers now that today’s turned out to be a total failure.

At this point, even walking past my office is becoming a painful reminder that not all dreams are meant to be forever and that I might be clinging to some ideal that seems to already be slipping right through my fingers.

My hand scrubs over my face.

But what am I supposed to do at this point?

I’ve invested too much money into my bakery to simply give up on it and let it fail.

Yet at the same time, the more money I sink into this place, the deeper the hole I’m digging that I’ll eventually need to fight my way out of.

It’s a catch-22, and I’m not sure which option is going to leave me with less regrets in the end.

No matter how many nights I lie awake and stew on weighing both sides of the spectrum, I’m coming up blank.

I exhale again and tug my apron over my head.

It catches on my ponytail, instantly annoying me, before I’m forced to yank a little until I shove my head free.

It hands limply from my hand as I lift it to hang on its hook over by the fridge.

The pocket feels heavier than usual when I pull my phone free.

More reminders from my calendar that rent’s coming up.

Some texts from my best friend, asking me when I’ll be able to actually leave at a decent time and have dinner with her.

And at the end of the list: two missed calls from Mom.

Shit.

My teeth gnaw at the inside of my cheek, guilt pricking at me.