Page 39

Jean Paul appeared and went straight to his toolbox. “I must take out the back door for the ovens,” he said. “They must be moved to the alley around the corner and through the front door.”

“But what about the front door?”

“It’ll also have to be removed. But do not worry. It’ll all be fine.”

Margaret shrugged. “It’ll be fine.”

“Of course.”

And so we spent the rest of the day listening to Jean Paul hammer away door frames and to the grunts of the workmen as they struggled to get the oversize stove out of the basement, into the back of a truck, and then through the newly dismantled front door.

All I could think about as I watched them push the monster machine through the front door was my new paint job, which Jean Paul had already chipped when he removed the frame. Progress was slow. Very slow at times. But finally, the last piece of equipment was brought up to the new main-floor bakery.

I shook my head. “Think, Margaret, no more traveling endless flights of stairs.”

“Granted, it was a pain, but it kept the size of my butt in check. This place, if you haven’t noticed, is full of very delicious foods.”

I placed my hand on my expanding hip. “At least I can chalk my fat rear up to the kid and not the cookies.”

“Lucky you. Here’s hoping when you deliver, it goes away.”

My cell rang, and I glanced at the number, which I didn’t recognize. “Daisy McCrae.”

“This is Irene Adams. I’m Meg and Tim’s mom. Meg said for me to call you.”

“Yes.” I moved away from the noise so I could hear better. “Did Meg tell you I offered them a job?”

“Yes. You’re right across the street from my sister’s place.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t called you sooner. I’ve been working double shifts this week.”

“That’s fine. Since Meg is under eighteen, I wanted to talk to you before she started work. She’s the first teenager I’ve ever hired.”

“Meg’s a real good girl.” Irene sounded tired. “I couldn’t manage Tim without her.”

“And it won’t be a problem with Tim.”

“He’s a good boy, and he listens to Meg. Just give him specific instructions, and he’ll be fine.”

“And it’s okay they work here?”

“I think it’s great, a blessing even. Meg could use spending money, and I don’t have it to spare.”

“I’m not paying her a fortune.”

“She’s a hard worker.” She released a shuddered sigh. “It’s hard raising them alone. I can’t give them what they deserve. This job means a lot to her.”

Emotion tightened my throat. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“If there’s ever a problem, you can call me.” She rushed to say, “But they’re good kids, and there won’t be a problem.”

“I’d love you to come by so I can meet you, Irene.”

“I’ll be by soon. Lots of crazy hours at the hospital, and I’ve got to take the work when they offer it. But I’ll be by soon. Thank you again.”

“Sure.” We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and I hung up.

Would I end up like Irene, the single mom working long, crazed hours and grateful for a stranger’s help?

Jean Paul announced the move was done, and I was grateful to push Irene out of my thoughts.

I doled out cash payments to the movers, along with extra cookies from the many batches Rachel had baked in her apartment last night for Simon’s party and bottles of wine, and said goodbye to all of them before one.

Rachel, Margaret, and I stared at the newly configured kitchen. Rachel scrunched her face. “I’m not sure if I like it.”

Laughter bubbled in me. “Really? Well, then let’s put it all back.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Sarcasm does not become pregnant women, Daisy.”

Rachel shook her head as she moved to a stainless steel table and trailed her finger along its smooth surface. “It’s not like I think it won’t work. It’s, well, I don’t know this kitchen.”

“You’ve used every piece of equipment in the joint, Rachel,” Margaret said.

“Yeah, but not in this configuration. What if the flow is off?”

“We’ll find a way to love the flow.” I pictured the strained red faces of the movers. “Because this isn’t changing.”

Rachel opened the oven and peered inside as if making sure all the pieces and parts were intact. “I’ll make it work.”

“Great.”

My cell phone buzzed, and I glanced at the number. “It’s the delivery guy with the new freezer.” I picked up and instructed the guy to come through the front door. “Won’t be long before we’re up and running.”

Rachel grinned. “Thank God. Not baking regularly has been like going through detox. I’m surprised I don’t have the shakes.”

Laughing, Margaret shook her head. “Really, Rachel, you need to get laid.”

Rachel’s eyes widened as a ruby blush rose up her cheeks. Talk of sex always sent Rachel skittering, but instead of retreating, she nodded. “Send up a message to those pagan gods you talk about so much and tell them Rachel could use a little love.”

I laughed. “Rachel, you naughty girl.”

She shook her head. Her cheeks remained red as cherries. “It’s been seventeen months.” She glanced at my stomach. “You two have at least gotten some love in the last year.”

The new freezer arrived an hour later and slid right into the place Jean Paul had created. It was massive, and I caught Rachel opening and closing it several times as she marveled at the empty white interior.

My office was officially gone, the kitchen had been moved, and the wine cellar was at least partly in place. Now, just a couple of days of finishing work and we’d be back in business.

Rachel had to clean her kitchen. The doors had to be rehung.

The wine cellar needed a clean and a final reorganization, and then there was the minor detail of baking enough goods to fill the front case.

Any one of those items could have filled a couple of days each, and we had seven to tackle all of them along with refilling our inventory.

“Rachel, your sex life is going to have to wait,” I said.

She laughed as she shook her head. “It’s been on hold for seventeen months, so a few more days won’t make a difference.”

Margaret shook her head. “Seventeen months. No sex. Damn.”

Rachel nodded. “It has had its challenges.”

Sex with Roger had been very uneventful. The last time I’d had great sex had been with Gordon. Up until a few weeks ago, when my stomach had started acting up, I’d been dreaming about more sex with Gordon. I missed how good he could make me feel.

Margaret rested her hands on her hips. “The definition of hell is no sex and working in the bakery.”

I shrugged. “I could certainly do with more sex, but as far as the bakery is concerned, the place is growing on me.”

“It’s official,” Rachel said. “I have heard it all.”