Page 10 of I Knew You
Kallie wetted a dish rag and wiped the flour off her clothing. “How can we search for new leads on a job? This place isn’t cheap, and your severance probably wasn’t much.”
I looked around the townhouse’s open concept, recessed lighting, and granite countertops. It was a lovely place. Kallie and I had lived together there for five years, splitting the rent. When she’d decided a few months ago to move in with her new fiancé, Brandon, I stayed. I couldn’t stomach moving.
“You would be correct on both accounts. This place is expensive, but also June is driving me insane, so maybe it would be worth a change?” I sighed. “I’ve got a little in savings. But I have to start searching for a job as soon as possible, and then maybe I can decide about the townhouse.” I pointed at the cake, which had a clear plastic window at the top. “What is this?”
“It’s my newest creation.” Kallie put the rag down and lifted the lid. Staring back at me was the most decadently frosted cake I’d ever seen. My senses were overwhelmed by the scent of chocolate and caramel. “It’s a triple-fudge-toffee truffle cake. Something I whipped up this morning. I brought it so you could try it and let me know if it’s something I should sell.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re the best baker in North Carolina, so of course it’s going to be perfect,” I mumbled, reaching into the silverware drawer beside me and pulling out a fork. “But I love you for bringing it here.” I unfolded the box around the cake reverently. I went straight in with the fork, scooping up an undainty amount of cake and icing and shoveling it in.
Then another.
Then another.
“Verdict?” Kallie held out a glass of milk she’d poured while I’d been attacking the cake. My cheeks bulged, so I took a couple of gulps of milk before speaking.
“Would you be hurt if I admit I didn’t taste it on the way down?”
“So hurt,” she said sarcastically.
“It’s delicious. The icing is creamy, and the sugar is perfectly balanced. Put it on the menu. I’ll buy fifty of them right now.”
Her smile grew wider. “Awesome. At fifty bucks a cake…you owe me $1,250 plus tax.”
I drew my head back in mock surprise. “After I just lost my job?!”
“A girl has to make some money!” She laughed.
I quirked an eyebrow at her. “How did you come up with that figure so quickly, Miss I-didn’t-pass-calculus?”
“Hey! College calculus is nothing to joke about.” She pretended to shiver. “Gives me chills just thinking about being back there again.” She took the empty milk glass from my hand and put it in the sink. “I gotta keep my basic math skills sharp. Those teenagers I hired aren’t going to do it for me.”
“Isn’t that why you have a point of sales system?” I poked her with my elbow as she gave me a tiresome look.
“I know this has to bother you more than you’re letting on. You know that if I had the revenue for an extra media person?—”
“You aren’t responsible for keeping me employed,” I cut in, taking another small bite of cake. “I’m upset, but there isn’t anything to do. I have to look forward, starting with building a resume, then putting in applications, and all that.”
“I know, I know.” Kallie grabbed a fork from the drawer to join me. “I wish you’d let me go give that ball-less group of corporate idiots a piece of my mind. They won’t sell a thing without you.”
I waved my fork dismissively. “I’m sure they’ve already replaced me with someone just as capable. I only wish I’d thought ahead and left before they canned me. I’m not prepared. I can’t imagine how interviews have changed in ten years.”
Kallie leaned over the counter, and we looked at each other, forks in the cake.
“You’ll find something quick,” she said. “But, if you don’t, you can always come to the bakery and work with the teenagers. I always need someone to work the register. They draw straws on who will do it because they hate it so much.”
“That’s what you get for using child labor,” I joked.
Kallie and I moved into the living room, away from the cake, and chatted about her employees. She wanted me todiscuss my feelings about the job loss, but I declined to do so. I wanted to pretend that life was peaceful and normal for a few minutes. But when I sat on the couch, the muscles in my lower back spasmed.
“It’s acting up?” she asked, alarmed.
I gritted my teeth and nodded.
“What can I do? Do you need medicine?” I rarely complained about my back, so the panic in her voice was as acute as my pain. I held up a hand for her to stop before she got up from her seat anyway.
“It’s fine. I took some before I drove home. Give me a minute.” I straightened out as much as I could and breathed my way through the tightness. “It’s been getting worse lately.” When the muscles loosened up, I lay back in relief.
“That was intense,” she said, her voice laced with concern. “Tell me you have an appointment with your doctor.”
