Page 8 of The Forsaken Heir
“See you next week, love,” Lorraine called as I departed.
I zipped up my hoodie and tucked the check into my pocket, then headed for my neighborhood. Up beyond the city, I could see some of the mountains, and the leaves were starting to turn. Bright flashes of crimson, yellow, and orange marked the hills like splashes of pain smeared across a green canvas. The sights of fall always filled me with a deep sense of peace. Other seasonal changes happened slowly, each easing into the other and arriving almost by surprise. Fall, however, announced itself with a spectacular grandeur that I thought surpassed spring. It reminded me of the way my life had changed quickly when my family gave up on me.
Three blocks before my home, I turned down a side street toward the bakery. When I stepped inside, the aroma of baking bread, sugar, and cinnamon assaulted my nose in the most delicious way.
It was busy, but at the moment no one was at the counter, and I hurried up to place my order.
“Hi, there,” the cashier said. She grinned and gave me a knowing look. “Chocolate cherry cheesecake, right?”
Heat crept into my cheeks, but I smiled and raised my hands in mock surrender. “Yup. That’s me. I’m your girl.”
“We’ve got you. Hang on a sec.” She went to the large, refrigerated display cabinet.
“I’ll take the nine inch,” I said. “Not the twelve inch. I’m not looking to give myself a heart attack tonight.”
“Got it. The small ones are in the back. Give me a few seconds.”
While I waited, I glanced around. Most of the customers were sitting at the tables, sipping tea or drinking coffee and nibbling on croissants or muffins. A man in the back corner caught my eye. He was eyeing me unabashedly. For a second, I felt like a steak on a plate. He sat with a few other guys, all of them with the slicked-back hair and tailored suits that screamed finance bros—guys who probably only talked about stocks and mergers and got hard thinking about trading crypto. Ugh.
“Here you go,” the cashier said as she returned with a small box. “One nine-inch chocolate cherry cheesecake.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” I said. “Thank you so much.”
She shrugged and waved me off. “It’s my job. No big.”
“Well, either way, thank you. You guys work really hard, and you’re always nice when I come in here.”
I could tell she was a little embarrassed by my praise, but it was true. People in customer service worked their asses off and wererarely thanked. And really, it was the least a person could do when someone else was offering a service.
She rang me up, and I paid, but before she handed me my receipt, she pointed to the kitchen again.
“The team is testing out a new flavor of layer cake today. Salted caramel. Would you like me to set aside a slice for you? On the house. You could pick it up tomorrow and be part of our test group? Let us know whether or not you liked it?”
“Oh, that sounds amazing. Thank you. I’d love to be a guinea pig.”
“I got you. If I’m not up front, ask for Michelle when you come in.”
“Thank you,” I said, putting a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar—double what I usually put in. “See you guys soon.”
With my cake box tucked into a plastic bag, I turned to leave, but for the second time that day, I found myself face to face with a man who was obviously going to hit on me. Unlike the last guy, this one was less subtle. Rather than looking me in the eyes, he was staring at the swell of my breasts. It was Mr. Slick Hair. He’d separated from the rest of his finance bros.
“Eyes up here, buddy,” I said. “Can I help you?”
He lifted his gaze to mine, a half-lidded attempt at bedroom eyes.
“Hey there,” he cooed. “I couldn’t help but notice you across the room, and I thought I’d come say hi.”
In the back corner, his buddies had put down their copies of whatever newspapers they’d been reading and were watching with interest. Had they taken bets? Probably.
“Well, hi,” I said. “I really need to be going.”
“Hang on, babe.” He put a hand on my arm, and I didn’t like him being in my personal space.
I glared down at the offending hand. “Yes?” I asked, a bit of venom in my voice now.
“Can I get your number? Maybe take you out this weekend for some drinks or something? My treat?”
Slipping my arm away from his hand, I smiled back sweetly. “Sorry, but no thanks.”
