Page 57 of The Biker and the Professor
30 Months later
“We’ve gotta openup the doors at some point today, Prof,” Cookie prods me.
I whirl around to where she and the four employees are standing, waiting on me to give the green light.
I’m being nitpicky, meticulous and an “annoying perfectionist” again, and they’re indulging me. I glance over my shoulder at the crowd of people waiting eagerly outside the double doors of Denver’s newest establishment.
Today is the grand opening of “Cookie’s Treats,” our partnership pastry shop.
Although she had initially been averse to the idea of turning her passion into a job, after seeing how contented I’d become once I opened my wine-cream shop, she decided she would take my advice and open a pastry shop, but only if I partnered with her. I wasn’t too swell on the idea of partnership, but when a spot directly across the street from my wine shop became vacant, I took it as a sign.
Six months later, here we are.
It didn’t take me long to realize why she wanted me to partner with her: Cookie doesn’t care about all the extra stuff, she just wanted to bake. While I care about both the extra stuffandthe treats. As a result, I got free reign on the design. I wanted people to feel like they were walking into a storybook when they entered—warm, safe, and tingly. So, I hired a team of interior designers to bring about the cutest, utopia-esque space in the city.
A vibrant blend of pink, lavender, teal, and lime-green accents everywhere. Colorful arrays of flower arrangements, cute chairs, and tables. Comfy cupcake armchairs and rainbow cushions. It’s magical and I love it!
I just wish Cookie could be as excited as I am. Such a killjoy. Like now, she’s just standing there, a glass of liquor in hand, arching her brow at me.
“Well,” I say, “why don't you make yourself useful and go open the doors then?”
“Finally,” she grumbles, before taking a huge gulp of alcohol. “You're like Wonder Woman. With that humongous belly in front of you, I’m daily amazed at your energy level. It’s like,you never freakin’ stop.”
My hand automatically goes to my protruding stomach, rubbing. Yep, I'm nine months pregnant. My ankles are swollen, so are my wrists and fingers. But I wake up every day with the energy of a two-year-old toddler who’s had too much candy.
My due date was over a week ago, but here I am, still pregnant. You’d think I’d be on bed rest, fatigued and anxious, but all I want to do is more and more and more things. It’s wild.
Cookie is right, ever since I got pregnant, I became Wonder Woman. This surge of perpetual energy came out of nowhere. I became the go-to person for assistance. Need help with something? Call Prof, she’ll take care of it, much to Nero’s irritation
As Cookie goes to open the double doors, I wave at the assistants. “Remember, girls, this is wonderland. Utopia. The place of peace, treats, and magical happenings. Smile, smile, smile!”
In response, all four girls immediately slap on smiles as they take their places—one behind the cash register, one behind the huge glass display of freshly baked pastries, one behind the milkshake serve bar, and the other on the floor by the huge cupcake tester tower to meet and greet and answer customer questions.
Their uniforms are short, pleated, lime-green skirts and tight pink tops with “Cookie’s Treats” emblazoned in sparkly letters. I’d lost the battle on that one. Cookie was determined to inject “sexy and provocative” into it somehow. She’d put Onyx in charge of hiring the assistants, and all were required to have toned stomachs, big boobs, shapely bodies, and sparkling white teeth.
Her hand on the door handle, she glances over her shoulder at me and grins. “Here we go, Mary Poppins.”
I grin right back. “Here we go.”
The crowd spill in.
Hurrying out of the way, I waddle over to the glass windows, stealing a spot in the corner. Looking out across the street to my own establishment, “Tipsy Scoop,” I smile. My opening hadn't been this grand. Unlike Cookie, no one knew me, I’d been new around here. Now, it’s a booming business, especially on weekends. Turns out I’m not the only one who loves wine-cream.
Although ice-cream is included, Tipsy Scoop is an 18-and-over establishment. Customers could have their choice of wine-cream, rum-cream, or make their own concoction at the DIY bar. It’s also the newest hangout spot for the Den of Heathens MC.
A year ago, Nero graduated with a Bachelor of Science Degree in Electronics Engineering Technology. Promptly after, he made his leave from the motorcycle club.
However, the motorcycle club did not leave him. Despite no longer being a “brother” of the club, they still treat him like one. Tipsy Scoop could now very well be called The Biker Stop, considering there are atleasttwo bikers in or outside my shop during opening hours. I had a problem with it at first, until sales began shooting through the roof.
The shop had quickly become a popular spot for the ladies. For whatever reason, the women loved the excitement of big, bad, muscled, bikers and their toxic masculinity, the testosterone, the tattoos, their bearded faces, and growly gruffness. Thanks to that, my business is booming.
As for Nero, after graduating, he received a plethora of unsolicited invitations for entry-level engineering jobs. However, almost all of those jobs were based in either California or Michigan, and Nero is not even remotely interested in relocating, so he held out, no matter how enticing the offer. “This is my home,” he’d said adamantly when I told him that as much as I love it here, I would go wherever he goes.
He kept his job at The Metal while he pursued his Master of Engineering degree.
Eventually, he got an exclusive invitation to work at a start-up.
Startups are known to be shaky and unpredictable, and generally, don't offer the same benefits or opportunities for advancement as opposed to working for a larger company. However, the per-hour salary offered was juicier than all the entry-level offers he’d received. After going back and forth on the pros and cons, he decided to take it. The biggest pro being that he didn’t have to relocate. Worst case scenario, the start-up would fail, and he’d be out of a job. But by then, he would have achieved his master’s and would be eligible for a bigger position elsewhere. Not to mention the experience he’d gain from the start-up. Nothing beats real experience.
