Page 17 of A Gingerbread Romance

Berg nodded, then ticked some buttons on a calculator and read out an estimate for two weeks’ work which amounted to approximately fifteen hours each week of his time. “It’ll be more for other specialists if I need to hire any. Will that be okay? I can send you an estimate beforehand, of course.”

Jonathan nodded. If you had money, why not use it to help people? Besides, he’d put her in this position—not purposely, of course, but he’d allowed Brett and Elaine to waltz in and demand what they wanted without a thought to the future of the people involved. He owed it to Greta to help.

“That sounds great. Whatever it takes.” He reached for his wallet.

“Perfect. Thanks, Mr. Olsen. I’ll get in touch with Ms. Ross right away.”

“Please, call me Jonathan.”

* * *

Greta walkedHenry Berg around the store on Monday morning, appreciating, as she always did, the sweet, buttery fragrance of pastries, croissants, and cinnamon rolls that hung in the air. Henry had commented on the mouth-watering aromas, too, and had mentioned that his mother was a regular customer there and that he’d been in many times in the past.

She still wasn’t clear how it was he’d shown up to help, apart from the phone call on Friday, but she was more interested in what he could do for her, since it was obvious she needed help.

He’d wanted to see everything that went on at the bakery and had asked a lot of questions and taken a lot of notes, trying to get an accurate picture of their day-to-day operations. He’d recommended several things related to inventory and tracking, but assured her there was nothing to be improved about the quality of their baked goods.

“Your reputation stands on its own, Greta. So, let’s talk marketing,” said Berg, heading for the gingerbread house in the window. Greta studied his tall, lean but muscular frame, topped with a mane of short, blond hair as she followed him to the window.

Henry was friendly, upbeat, and completely professional, and had given her no reason to dislike him so far. It was almost a shame her heart was still caught up in Jonathan.

Ugh.She had to stop thinking about Jonathan. The way his smile lit up a room. The way his attentive gaze warmed her blood to a simmer. The way he rocked a pair of jeans.

It wouldn’t have mattered if Henry had ridden in on a white horse—which he practically had. She was Team Jonathan, through and through.

Sadly.

Greta had been surprised to get the call from him, but Henry, who’d told her to call him ‘Berg’, had explained he’d been hired as a consultant to improve the bakery’s bottom line.

“Okay, well, marketing is, admittedly, not my strength,” said Greta.

When Greta had balked initially at the potential cost of his services, he’d assured her she wouldn’t owe him anything, that her bill would be taken care of.

This, alone, was perplexing, but it was also like a little gift from heaven. An answer to her prayers.

Greta had called Jean as soon as she’d hung up the phone to find out how they could afford this, because undoubtedly, her grandmother was behind it. Jean’s quick response pattern, after all, was the reason she’d so swiftly planned a trip across the southern half of the United States as soon as she’d made the decision to retire.

So, Greta hadn’t been surprised at all that the woman had hired a consultant on the spur of the moment to get the store back in the red this season in light of the building sale, now that she couldn’t be there herself. It was typical Jean Weber behavior. Always in a hurry. Always running the show.

Of course, Jean hadn’t picked up the phone and returned her call yet, so Greta hadn’t been able to confirm it. With spotty cell service at times and a busy sightseeing schedule, Jean had only a few moments to talk.

The only time Greta had managed an in-depth conversation with her since she’d left had been several nights ago when the chartered bus was driving down the highway from South Carolina to Georgia. And even then, Jean had hung up after only ten minutes to play cards with her friends.

Regardless, now that Henry Berg was here and making a lot of sense, Greta had decided not to question her grandmother’s judgement. The woman wasn’t about to let her legacy fall apart, was she? So Greta had better get cracking and accept Berg’s help.

“Okay, so I do have a few social media accounts for the bakery. I just don’t know how to optimize them.” She never really knew what to post or how to use the platforms to get people into the shop, besides running a sale now and then.

“We can work on that. I’ll have my gal, who specializes in promotional campaigns for social media, get in touch with you. She’s great.”

“Oh, okay,” said Greta hesitating, “but how much is that going to cost? I’m a little concerned about how the bakery’s going to afford all of this.” He already knew the store wasn’t making much of a profit. She wasn’t afraid to bring it up.

“Don’t worry,” he said warmly. “I’ve been assured by the party who hired me to employ all the means necessary to improve your business, whatever it takes, Ms. Ross.”

Greta’s brow rose. Wow. She mulled it over, then let out a breath. “Okay, well, if Jean put it that way, then I guess I’ll quit asking about the cost.” Far be it from Greta to refuse professional assistance, if that’s what her grandmother wanted. “And please, call me Greta.”

Berg smiled. “Will do.” With a look around, he glanced through the large front windows of the store. “All right, so I noticed you don’t have curbside pickup. Have you considered offering it?”

Greta stood next to him and looked out at the gray afternoon, where shoppers in coats and scarves passed by carrying shopping bags. “We’ve considered it, but the city’s only allotted us four parking spaces. My grandmother worried that we’d be upsetting our regular customers if we allocated even one of them to curbside.”

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