Page 50 of Kandie Shoppe

The way the community has rallied around her can do nothing but enrage him more. People who do this seek to control their marks. They want them isolated — left feeling abandoned, so they can push them to the brink of despair. He must be enraged she’s not cowed.

By the time the afternoon rush has slowed to a trickle, I’m back in the bakery, this time hanging behind the counter in case another handsy motherfucker decides he wants to comfort her. Unlike the misguided minister, their intentions may not be so kind.

I’m sure several of the guys she never gave a chance will see this as a prime opportunity to make their move.

“Why are you making that sound?” she queries when the shop falls silent after a group of teens leaves.

“What sound?” My brows shoot up. I have no idea what she’s speaking of.

“Like a growl, a warning. The kids looked at you weirdly. That’s when I noticed. You probably do it so much I don’t even pay attention to it.” Huffing out a little laugh, she shrugs.

“I was thinking about how people are going to try to come talk to you now that they think you’re vulnerable.” Giving her a look to let her know I don’t like that bullshit, I add, “Nathaniel probably meant well, but you best believe these local jokers don’t.”

“I’m not some naive girl who ain’t never been through anything U, give me some credit.” She’s bristling and I like it even if she’s mad at me because of it.

“I’m just saying.” I’m not apologizing. I’ve heard how some of the men in this county have talked about her. I won’t have them thinking she’s unprotected.

“I don’t need you to say anything and I don’t need you running away good loyal customers like Nathaniel.” She puts her hands on her hips like she’s letting me have it. “I’ve worked too hard at building this business to let you ruin it.”

“I can guarantee you how you act out in these Shelby-Love streets will ruin you and your business long before I ever will,” I ground out in a hard, scathing tone. “That shit you pulled last night was a fucking felony, need I remind you. Walking home from bars in the middle of the night almost got you fucking raped and murdered. You’re drunk half the time anyone sees you. That’s why motherfuckers think they can lay hands on you whenever they want to.”

I step away before I rail at her more. Her face is wiped of all expression. Her eyes are too big, too bruised as she regards me. Her deep-set dimples mock me. They should be accentuating her happiness at how people are showing up for her not looking hollow from hurt.

I’m not going to take those words back. She needs to stop putting herself in situations that can get her killed.

“You lost your family. You didn’t lose your life, but you will if you keep this shit up, wildcat.” Her eyes well and her nose tinges red beneath the brown. I couldn’t have cut her deeperif I had a blade. I haven’t felt this helpless since I was sixteen and watched my dad rush into that building. That taught me a lesson. Sometimes you don’t get a second chance to make a mistake. You don’t get people back, and I’m done losing mine.

“You can go, U.” I can tell she doesn’t want me here, but she also doesn’t feel safe.

“I won’t.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I look down at her as she tries to do everything in her power to keep from attacking me. A clear sign of growth on her part.

“I can call my cousins.” She takes her phone out of her smock. I grab it.

“Waste of time because I’m not leaving. You can be mad, hell I’m mad, but I’m not leaving and you can’t make me leave. What you gone do? Call the police? Already here.” I smirk down into her brown enraged eyes.

“You ain’t shit.” Huffing, she pivots, throwing me a dirty look over her shoulder. “Dirty ass cop,” she says, disappearing into the back.

A few seconds later, she calls out to me. “Sweep and mop the floor, then wipe down the counters, make new water when you clean the tables, then come back here and wash these dishes.” She laughs, hearing me groan.

“Uh-uh, Sheriff, too late to bitch. My cousins work without complaint and so will you.”

When I’m finally done,she comes back to inspect my work with a jaundice eye. “Not bad,” she mutters, heading back to her workstation in the back where she is working with pastry dough.

“You do this every night?” I get the answer with a dry look.

“Thought you were just going to make cakes.” I think back, remembering the late-night whispers of her dreams.

“Diversify or die.” She shrugs, basting the delicate dough with butter before layering it.

“Taught myself most of the things I know from library books and YouTube, then was able to take some classes here and there.” Eyes focused on her task, she shrugs like what she did for herself is not a big deal.

My chest swells with pride at what she’s accomplished.

“Who would’ve thought winning the Alabama State Fair baking competition would lead to all this?” She waves a hand around her spotless workspace.

Marveling at the sheer amount of work she does every single day, I hang back watching knowing as a person who likes doing things on my own that she has a system and if I tried to help, it would throw off her rhythm.

“Why didn’t Krie ask you to be her pastry chef?” The question comes out before I can snatch it back. I have no idea if this is a point of pain for her.

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