Page 17 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

“Do you enjoy it?”

“What?” I said. “Well, yeah, who doesn’t?”

“Who doesn’t enjoy working at a bakery?”

I blinked. “Oh!”

Embarrassment flushed through me. I thought he’d been making sexual innuendo for some reason.

“Ah, well, I do like it,” I said, nodding. “I mean, the rushes and crunches can be really rough, but I like the feeling of camaraderie.”

I burst into laughter, and he gave me a funny look.

“Oh, sorry, it just occurred to me that working in a restaurant during a rush is like one of those outer space shows where they’re under attack from aliens or something. You know, people are shouting at each other across the room, and fire is jumping out of places, it’s great fun.”

Jonathon laughed. “I never knew the culinary arts could be so dramatic.”

“Oh, you just have no idea. But my crew are all consummate professionals. They might talk some smack, but they always deliver at the end of the day. The secret to success really is just surrounding yourself with the right people.”

He gave me a long look, his blue eyes deeply thoughtful. “Amy… would you like to come to dinner with me tonight? After the tournament?”

My heart skipped a beat. I tried to play it casual, but there’s always that moment when a guy who you actually want to ask you out does so. That moment you wish would stretch on forever, where everything is just glorious possibility and wish fulfillment.

“Sure, Jonathon,” I said in a low voice barely above a whisper. “That sounds lovely.”

The loudspeaker announced our next match-up. I was yanked out of my sweet moment by the sound of a name I’d been hoping to hear. Dennis Jackson, who was not only a member of the zoning board and the country club but involved with the Charity as well.

It was another chance to get the name Breadcetera into the ears of a zoning board member, and I was excited about the opportunity—and yet, all I could think about was that Jonathon had asked me out. On one hand, the impending date caused me the usual anxiety—butterflies in the stomach, that sort of thing. But on the other, his asking sort of dispelled some of the tension we’d been shadowboxing around.

Yes, we were both interested in each other and were going to act on it. Boom, sha lock lock boom, to quote the great American philosophers House of Pain. No muss, no fuss, it was outta the way. He’d asked me and I’d said yes.

Now all I had to do was convince the zoning board that Breadcetera was exactly what they both wanted and needed on that corner lot. No pressure.

The reverend and his wife Barbara greeted us at the net for the handshake and coin toss. “Good to meet you,” he said in a deep baritone.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I said. “I’m Amy, I manage a bakery called Breadcetera. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

“Breadcetera? Why, yes, we have heard of it,” Barbara said.

At first my heart leaped for joy in my chest. And then her smile fell and my hopes along with it.

“That was the place where we ordered two dozen chocolate long johns with Bavarian cream, and we got them with lemon cream instead, wasn’t it?”

“I believe so, yes, but everyone was just fine with the lemon.”

“I wasn’t fine. Lemon and chocolate do NOT go together.”

She glared at me, but my baker’s sense of justice wouldn’t let it go even though I knew I should.

“I beg to differ. The acidity of the lemon both mitigates and enhances the experience of the chocolate on the palate. Also, citrus and chocolate have many…”

I cleared my throat. “Ahem. Sorry. So, uh…”

I was eager to move past the awkward moment.

“So this is my partner, Jonathon. We just met today, and he’s already asked me to dinner and so I’m kind of nervous.”

All three of them laughed, and I considered it a victory to get past the awkwardness before. “He hasn’t told me what he does for a living yet, so I just keep making stuff up. He collects and cultivates toenail fungus for a Norwegian lederhosen company.”

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