Page 7 of Merry Fake Bride

“Shit,” I mutter as tension tightens my shoulders. “One sec!”

Jumping at loud noises is becoming an increasingly problematic issue for cupcake survivability.

Scraping the cupcake off the floor with a knife, I cover the stain with tissue to remind me to come back later then head to the door while cleaning yellow icing off my fingers.

“Can I help you?”

A cheery, smiling young face greets me when I open the door. “Devon?”

“That’s me.”

The young girl thrust her hand toward me. “I’m Faith. I’m here for the interview?”

Her gaze flicks down to my hands and then back up to my face. “Am I too early?”

Interview?

Shit!

It bursts from the back of my mind, and I hide my grimace behind my smile.

“The interview! Of course, no, you’re right on time. I’m sorry, I had a cupcake mishap and completely lost track of time.”

Stepping back from the door, I usher Faith inside and glance at the clock.

It’s almost nine? How long was I moping in the bathroom?

“Oh, wow.” Faith’s grin widens. “I’ve been in here so many times as a customer, but never this early!”

She gazes around with wide, fascinated eyes while I dart around her, opening the blinds and fighting to get the last of the icing off my fingertips.

“You’re interviewing for the assistant position?”

“Yup!” Faith clutches her bag to her waist as she faces me with her wide smile. “It’s just a seasonal position, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct. Thanksgiving and Christmas are just around the corner and we’re always rushed off our feet. This year is looking to be tough, so all the help we can get is welcome.”

“I bet everyone loves ordering from award winners at Christmas time.”

She approaches ‘Steve’, the elegant three-tier gateau, and gasps. “This looks amazing! Was this you?”

“Yes. Don’t worry, you won’t be making anything that intricate.”

“Oh.” Faith’s disappointment is evident in the slope of her shoulders. “It looks so cool, though.”

“And takes years of training.” Fighting to keep my tone light as my body itches at having a stranger lean so close to me while she peers over the counter, I step back and motion for her to follow.

“Let me give you the tour while I set up, and we can talk.”

“Okay!”

By the time I’ve set up the front shop displays and dusted the windowsills and counters in cinnamon to add to the warm Thanksgiving vibe, Faith’s told me all about growing up withher father and three dogs and how she’s planning on heading to Europe in the New Year, taking a gap year in her studies.

Her bakery skills are lacking, but I can make it work.

“I was worried I was just going to be a glorified receptionist,” Faith groans softly. “But I’ll really be back here?”

Her eyes drift between me and the various silver and black bakery machines that take up most of the kitchen.