Page 2 of You've Got The Love
“Hey, babe. How are you?” Bea asks, making me jump out of my skin.
“Bloody hell, babe. You move like a ninja. I was so engrossed in imagining myself eating one of everything that I didn’t even see you appear,” I laugh.
“You were totally zoned out,” she smiles.
“I really was. Anyway, hows you?”
“Not too bad, super busy today. I feel like we make more and more every day, but it’s never enough.”
“Everyone loves your bakes. That’s a great problem to have, it's better than having to throw stuff away at the end of the day.”
“Yeah, true. What’ll it be? Usual?” She asks as she starts preparing a cake box.
“Yep, almond croissant, pain-au-chocolat, and a selection of other goodies. Oh, and a Chelsea bun, please,” I add shyly.
“Oh, yes, it’s Monday… no wonder you look so good today.”
“Not you too. Jess has already pointed that out. So, I may have taken extra care with my appearance today, that’s not illegal last time I checked,” I add in mock defense as I pat my blonde curls, checking none have fallen out of my carefully crafted messy bun, knowing by the end of the day I'll have blonde ringlets loose everywhere and possibly a rogue pen stuffed in my hair that I’ll find when I get home.
“No, not illegal, but what is illegal is that you don’t just ask that guy out. He’s clearly into you, too.”
“I can’t! It’d be so unprofessional, his flowers are the best, and I won’t ruin that relationship,” I almost whine.
“I get your point, I do, but you two have been circling each other for the last eighteen months now, and I think it's worth the risk. You deserve to be happy, babe,” she remarks as she leans on top of the cabinet, looking at me with serious eyes.
I’ve known Bea—short for Beatrix—since primary school. I got sat next to her on my first day at school, and we’ve been friends ever since. I don’t know what I would have done without her in my life; she’s the best friend and cheerleader a girl could have. She knows everything about me; she’s the only person who does. When people learn you are the daughter of a member of an outlaw Motorcycle Club, they tend to jump to conclusions about who you are as a person. Dad, known to most as‘Chains’, sent me down here to live with my grandparents when I was two years old, as life in a one-percenters MC really isn’t the place for a child to grow up, especially a girl. Bea and I have been bestfriends since. She has never judged me, never looked at me any differently. It’s just not her way.
Bea has that kind of natural beauty that you see YouTubers and TikTokers trying to recreate with layers of makeup, calling it ‘no makeup-makeup’. She doesn’t wear any of the stuff; she doesn’t need it. Her red hair and freckles are next-level beautiful. She hated both growing up, got bullied terribly and was called all the usual‘ginger’names kids think up, but since getting older, she has embraced them.
“I am happy, honest, Bea; you know I am. I love my life, and I feel extremely grateful that I can say that. I’ll have time for a guy later, promise. We don’t all get to meet our soulma–”
“Anyway, still on for Saturday? I’m craving Indian food so bad,” she interrupts me, quickly changing the subject completely as she fusses with the cake box.
“Yeah, course. Jess is up for it, too. Lauren is away visiting her parents this weekend, so it’s just the three of us.” I take pity on her and follow her lead as she guides us away from any mention of Jacob. She refuses to talk about him, which I absolutely get; I wouldn’t want to either if I were in her shoes.
“Yay! Let’s get dressed up, it’s been ages since we’ve been out!” She does a little dance behind the counter, which has me laughing. She’s such a dork, but I love her for it.
“You’re on! Anyway, how much do I owe you?” I ask, getting a twenty-pound note out of my pocket, doing our usual thing where payment is concerned.
“Pffft, your money is no good here, Bell. Take your goods and be gone!” She chirps dramatically, passing me my haul.
“Fine, fine. Put it on my tab, will you?” I grin at her as I make my way out of the bakery.
Smiling, I walk back across the road, calling out ‘hellos’ and ‘hi’s’ to both customers and other shop workers. What a beautiful September day it is. We are being graced with some gloriously warm days, for which I’m super grateful, as the foot traffic has been brilliant in our little town lately. It’s been buzzing with life here, from people food shopping, to catching up with friends at’Isabellas’, checking out the new pet shop‘Tails of Joy’, that my friend Lauren has opened, and just generally milling around.
I notice that Jess is waving me over from inside the shop, so I double-time it back across the road, hoping to God we haven’t got another mouse in the shop. I love all animals, but I prefer those wild ones not to live in the back of my shop and eat their way through boxes.
“Boss, take a look at this for me. It must be a mistake, right?” Jess says seriously, which makes me go straight to her—she’s rarely this serious. I drop the baked goods in the kitchen—which is actually just a sideboard, kettle, tea, coffee, and sugar canisters, a sink, and a microwave—and she hands me the delivery slip for the funeral wreath that she’s just made.
“I don’t understand. Is this some kind of joke? If it is, it’s not a funny one,” I say, unable to take my eyes off the delivery slip. Why does it saymyname?
“No idea? It must be a mistake. Right? There’s not even a message card? Why would someone send you personally a funeral arrangement?” Jess states, looking a mixture of confused and pissed off.
“Yeah, give the shop that placed the order with us a call, they’ve likely put our address in the wrong box, it’s happened before,” I tell her as my eyes stay locked on to the funeral wreath she’s made. It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, packed full of‘Grand Prix’ roses, but it can’t be for me. The roses are a stunning, deep, blood red; they are one of the top-grade roses we use. I’m sure this is a mistake; the florist this was ordered at likely put our address into the wrong box. I guess as I pass the delivery slip back to Jess.
“Where’s the florist that sent the order?” I ask, already sure this is some silly mix-up, as I turn back to prepping for this morning’s wedding consultation with a veryBridezillerybride.
“Erm…London,” Jess replies, already tapping in the number to call.
