Page 97 of Salty, Spiced, and a Little Bit Nice

By the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, I had almost lost all hope.

We only had two walk-in customers during the day, and I was so dejected, a million different doom-and-gloom scenarios played on repeat in my mind: I’d have to declare bankruptcy and lose the business, the CR-V, and every single possession I had. Probably even my trusty sleeping bag. Then, because I had no money left over, I wouldn’t be able to afford my next meal, let alone my diabetes supplies. And since I couldn’t live in the same city as Alec, I’d have to move to another state. But because I didn’t have a car, or money for a plane or train ticket, I’d have to hitchhike my way across the country—and run the risk of spoiling whatever small amount of insulin supplies I had—while praying and crossing my fingers I wouldn’t run into a serial killer who’d kill me and chop up my body before dumping it in a remote area for the coyotes and vultures to feast on. Although I probably would, and when Alec and my family heard about my tragic demise on the news, they’d be filled with grief and remorse, wishing they had treated me with more respect when I was still around.

Pushing the blockbuster horror movie out of my mind, I went to the kitchen to try out a recipe for low-carb strawberry lemon cupcakes, hoping it would help me relax. But fifteen minutes and two messed-up batters later, it was clearly not working.

Great, now I didn’t even have baking as my safe space anymore, because of course the moment I had made it my livelihood, it had all spectacularly come crashing down on me. I knew and had factored this into my business plan, that most new businesses take time to make money and be profitable. But now that I was running one myself, it was much harder than I’d expected.

And after everything that had happened, I couldn’t help but think that this had been nothing but an expensive, colossal mistake.

Groaning, I decided to tell Ruby to go home early while I figured out my next move. Just as I was about to flip theCLOSEDsign around, a young woman strolled in, followed by two other women. All of them were staring intently at their phones. I recognized the first one, who had been here on Thursday. She had been enthusiastically taking pictures and videos of the food, telling me that she was making a reel for her social media accounts.

Yes.I did a mental fist pump, grateful for the repeat customer.

I gave them my friendliest, most enthusiastic smile. “Welcome to Twisted Sweets. How can I help you?”

The first woman beamed back. “Hi. We’ll take half a dozen of your low-carb strawberry and cream donuts, three of the peanut butter cupcakes, and three of the matcha cronuts.”

She turned to her two friends as I started boxing her order. “Trust me, they’re so good,andguilt-free. You’re going to love them.”

One of her friends finally looked up from her phone, catching my eye. She stared at me for a few beats, then her face brightened. “Hey. I know who you are.”

My stomach sank, as she looked down at her phone, her fingers frantically scrolling.

I knew what was coming.

“I was right.” She looked back up at me, a satisfied grin on her face. “You’re the girl from that viral video over New Year’s. The one who rejected George Fitzgerald’s proposal.”

That caught the attention of her two friends, who immediately snapped their heads toward me, their eyes wide with astonishment.

“No way! Seriously?” The third woman shook her head, her mouth hanging open. “Who in their right mind would rejecthim? You actually saidnoto this country’s most famous, hottest, and richest bachelor?”

“She did.” The second woman shoved her phone at the friend, undoubtedly showing her the clip. “See? Same eyes, different hairdo. But that’s her.”

“Girl, you must be out of your mind.”

I gave a weary sigh. “Probably.”

“Probably? No, definitely. Without a doubt. I’m going to tell my cousin about this. She’s obsessed with George Fitzgerald. She’s never going to believe it.”

I knew for a fact that her cousin wasn’t alone in her undying devotion, because I’d had strangers gushing to me about how lucky I was to have datedtheGeorge Fitzgerald, no matter how brief it had been.

An idea suddenly bloomed in my head.What if I could use that to my benefit?

“My cousin wanted to know what he smells like. Do you remember?”

I didn’t, but I said the first thing that came to my mind. “Musk, sandalwood, and leather.” Ignoring their giggles, I finished their order, then rang up their total. “That’ll be fifty-one dollars, thanks. Cash or card?”

“Card.” The first woman whipped out her purse. “Thanks, um,” she peered at my name tag, “Ellie? Thanks, Ellie.”

“Thank you. Enjoy the goodies.” I processed her card andprinted her receipt. And the minute they walked out the door, I went to work on my newest idea.

I’d created a TikTok account for Twisted Sweets weeks ago, but the two videos I’d already posted were probably best described as pitiful and uninspiring.

Or, as Kim had bluntly called it, “fucking pathetic.”

One was a brief look at the front of the bakery, with my voice-over welcoming people to Twisted Sweets. The other one was a ten-second shot of our display case at the bakery, proudly showing off the many different cookies, donuts, cupcakes, and brownies. Combined, the two videos had garnered an extremely laughable fifty views.

Clearly, I still had a lot to learn.

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