One Look: A grumpy, single dad small town romance(31)

The bakery was busy, as always. I looked back at the sink and, of course, the water level was still going up and up.

I cleared my throat. Sylvie looked up and sucked in a deep breath. She was really getting tired of my shit.

“Sylvie, Huck. I need some help back here. Quickly.”

The muscles in Huck’s jaw moved, and he looked at Sylvie. “I got it.”

He followed me through the doors, and I led him to the sink.

“Damn it! What the—hit that switch. On the wall.” He pointed to a small switch nearby, and I immediately flipped it up.

A motorized whir rose from beneath the sink as the water churned, and it finally started to recede. After the water started to go down, the gurgling was replaced with an angry chewing noise that did not sound good.

“Kill it.”

I obeyed, flicking off the switch and then standing there with my hands behind my back.

Huck sighed and rubbed his hands on a dish towel before pressing the heel of one hand into his eye. “The dishwasher’s water line is tied to this sink. You can’t shove shit down the sink and not turn on the disposal. It’ll get clogged, and the dishwater has nowhere to go. Also”—he reached down into the depths of the sink and pulled out a mangled plastic spatula—“this is the food-prep sink, and this is the dish sink. They have to be separate.” He gestured to each sink in the kitchen.

“Got it. I’m sorry, Huck.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s fine.” He really was a nice guy, and I was just fucking it all up.

Feeling low, I quietly finished my cleaning in the back before slipping to the front of the bakery to see if I could help Sylvie with busing tables or anything else to stay out of Huck’s way.

Wiping tables was something I could manage without incident, so I made sure those white tops shined. Bowlegs’s twin was sitting on one of the stools along the large front window, wearing a red T-shirt and worn-in Moon Boots. “Good afternoon.”

He looked at me, confusion clouding his vision.

“I’m Lark.” I used my apron to dry my hand, then held it out.

His wrinkled hand fit into mine. “You the girl who cried for Bowlegs?”

I stifled a grin at the fact even his twin brother called him Bowlegs. Looking at the puffy ski boots he wore in June told me how he likely got his own nickname, Bootsy. “I did.”

“Much appreciated.” He grinned at me and I smiled back.

“Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m just resting my legs. Enjoying watching GB have a meltdown.”

My eyes tracked where he was looking, and I spotted Wyatt just outside the bakery. He was pacing along the sidewalk. His hair was a mess and looked like he’d raked his hands through it a thousand times. Penny sat on a cement flower planter, looking annoyed as she picked rocks from the planter and tried to toss them at her dad without him noticing.

Wyatt turned to her and said something that made her scowl even harder. Bootsy and I looked on, fascinated by the chaos of the scene playing out in front of us.

“What do you think is happening?” I whispered to the old man.

“Trouble with the law.” He said it so certainly. “Or maybe the NFL wants him back. A real comeback number where he finally gets that Super Bowl ring.” Bootsy nodded as we continued to watch Wyatt pace and gesture wildly. “Think I saw a movie like that once.”

I hummed in agreement. I think I saw that one too.

Just then Wyatt turned and caught us staring. I quickly shifted, giving him my back and pretending to be in deep conversation with Bootsy.

The door whooshed open, causing the bell to clank against the glass. I froze.

“Don’t send anyone. I’ll handle it.” Wyatt’s rumbly, grumpy voice sent tingles racing down my spine as I moved deeper into the bakery to avoid him. “Lark.”

His voice thundered over my name in one deliciously crabby syllable.

I slowly turned and smiled, praying it didn’t falter, as every eye in the bakery was on us.

“I’m hiring you.”

“You’re what?”

“Hiring you. Let’s go.” He gestured toward the exit, expecting me to follow.

“Wait—I can’t just—where are we going?”

He let loose an annoyed sigh. “Look. Everyone knows you’re a terrible server. Huck can’t afford to lose any more dishes, and I need your help. Trust me, if I could ask anyone else, I would.”

Ouch. Okay, well, that stung.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Who said I would even want to work for you?” I spread my arms wide. “I have a perfectly good job here.”

“Huck!” Wyatt shouted across the crowded bakery at my boss, who was stacking fresh pastries into the display case. “Will you please fire her?”

A sly grin spread across Huck’s stupid face. “Lark, you’re fired.”

I rolled my eyes.

“See?” Wyatt said smugly. “You need a job. I have a job for you. You’re hired.”

Huck sauntered over, not even bothering to hide his amusement. “Sorry, kiddo. You’re kind of terrible at this.”

I scrunched my nose at him. “Not cool.”

Wyatt grabbed my shoulders and gently steered me toward the exit.