Page 9 of A Gingerbread Romance

“Goodnight, Greta.”

THREE

Incredible first dates might be good for the soul, but for obtaining a good night’s sleep, they were not. Greta walked briskly down the sidewalk at seven-forty-five the next morning, clutching her phone to her ear, disguising a yawn. She’d tossed and turned for hours, replaying every moment of her evening with Jonathan.

The early morning chill nipped at her cheeks, but she had plenty of time to make it to the office building address a few blocks away. She’d been at the bakery since six, but earlier this week she’d been summoned to a meeting involving her landlord, according to a letter that had arrived on Monday addressed to Jean.

Greta was, of course, going in Jean’s place, since Jean was taking a well-deserved vacation, five weeks long, in fact, and she’d left only two days ago. Jean wanted to see the world before she was too old and feeble to manage it—her words—which, of course, Greta totally supported, although Jean had a long way to go beforefeeblewould become a fitting adjective.

Regardless, neither of them had any idea what to expect of the meeting. The notice had been fairly vague. Something about the sale of the building next door to the bakery.

"Abby, you won't believe how incredible he was," Greta gushed into the phone.

“Really? I’m so glad!” said Abby.

Greta told her a little more about the date.

“I’m almost willing to ignore the fact that you set it up without asking me first.”

Abby's cheerful voice crackled through the line. “That’s the spirit. So, he said he would call?”

“Yes.” The same dreamy feeling she’d had when they’d walked home under the stars last night, arm in arm, rushed back. She sighed.

“And you’re going to see him again?”

“Definitely.”

“And did he kiss you?”

Greta had dreamed about the kiss all night. “Yes, and he was the perfect gentleman.”

“And how was it, on a scale of one to ten?”

“An eleven.”

“Whew! You’re making me sweat.” Abby laughed.

Greta knew the feeling.

Her steps slowed as she reached the address, a two-story, red brick office structure on the other side of town that stood next to city hall. “Okay, sweetie, I just got here. I’d better hang up. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

She ended the call and stepped through the impressive front doors, then followed the signs to an upstairs conference room. She checked the number on the wall again. Yes, this was it.

Straightening the knee-length black skirt she’d worn over her boots today, she opened one of the heavy glass doors, noting the small group of the bakery’s neighbors seated around the table.

Lennie from the novelty shop that sat next to the Smithfield was here. An older man, probably nearing retirement, Lennie nodded at her politely.

Lily from upstairs at the accounting firm in Greta’s building was also there and said hello. Greta found a seat at the far end of the large boardroom-style table next to Nancy, who owned the small clothing store in the same building as Lennie’s.

But who were the other three people at the table? Two middle-aged men and one woman, both in expensive suits. And what was this about? Why had Greta been called here? In her new role as owner and manager, was this something she’d have to do often? She pondered the question.

A few people chatted quietly, but a mostly awkward silence had settled over the room. Someone slurped noisily from a coffee cup, and another chugged from a bottle of water.

The door opened again, and Greta’s aging landlord, Silvio, walked in with a smartly dressed younger man in a suit.

Silvio offered a cordial glance to the group, but Greta noticed his eyes barely met theirs as the pair took their seats.

She checked the black-and-white clock on the wall again, tapping her fingers nervously against the screen of her cell phone. Seven fifty-nine. Would she be called upon to speak in front of the group today? Was she supposed to have prepared something?

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