Page 2 of Savage in the Sweets
A quick Google search tells me she’s from the ‘90s.
Shit!Where the hell am I going to find a Xena figurine for her cake?
I had assumed she was looking for a princess of the Disney variety, which would be easy to find at our local Walmart. Something tells me that Xena won’t be found on mainstream shelves.
With her birthday tomorrow, having one shipped isn’t an option. I’ll have to hit up the local shops tomorrow.
Lacy:I’ll get on it!
Looking at the displays, I’m rather pleased with how well the items are moving. When I first took over Savage Sweets, after my parents’ death, it was an uphill battle. Keeping a small business running in a small town isn’t easy. You really have to rely on the the community.
As I go to mark down the items that aren’t selling, the door jingles, alerting me to another customer.
Please don’t be a big ass turd….
I look over to see the principal of Wilson’s Grove Elementary School, Irene Bailey, walking toward the counter.
“Hello, Irene!” I enthuse, always happy to see the bright and cheery woman.
She arcs a grumpy eyebrow. “Do you have my fix?”
“I sure do! Espresso with a shot of chocolate, raspberry, and three homemade marshmallows.”
“Phew! I was half worried I was going to fall asleep during the school board meeting, but that should do it for me.”
It takes me less than a minute to make her order, as it’s done entirely by muscle memory. I exchange the steaming cup for a five, thankful I don’t have to make change.
She breaths in the mixture deeply. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
I cast her a wink. “I’ll always have your back.”
Her eyes scan my displays. “Bring whatever you can spare to the board meeting. Those cake pops always seem to go quickly.”
I pull out an extra two dozen cake pops decorated in Wilson’s Grove’s school colors of blue and gold. “Roger that!”
I’ve become somewhat of a staple at school functions. The proceeds I make on school grounds or when I host a fundraiser are split between my shop and the school, both of us benefiting substantially from the negotiation. In fact, without Wilson’s Grove Elementary, I’m not entirely sure I could keep the lights on. More and more, people are shopping online for candy and confectionaries, and my sales are far less than what they were for my parents.
“You really know the fine art of presentation,” she says as she admires the pops.
I busy myself, pulling out and folding cardboard boxes to transport the sugary treats as Irene watches from over the counter. We have a good rapport, and I can tell there’s something on her mind. More than once, I’ve acted as her therapist, listening to her as she rattled off the various situations she encounters each day.
And let me tell you, I do not envy this woman. Not one bit.
“Anything big on the agenda for tonight?” I ask, hoping to ease her mind.
She takes a sip of her espresso concoction, then inhales a deep breath, letting it out quickly. “The playground again. After that kid fell from the platform and broke his arm, people haven’t wanted us to send the kids out to play for recess.”
“That was over a year ago…”
“These parents are so bent on sheltering their children, they don’t realize the importance of playing outside, in the fresh air, on a jungle gym.”
I rack my brain for words of encouragement, knowing that whatever I say is not going to alleviate her stress. I have to try, though.
“I’m sure you’ll handle it well and with grace,” is what I finally muster, fully realizing it’s generic and far from the warm beacon I aim to be.
She purses her lips as though she’s contemplating telling me something. I take a break from the boxes to give her my full attention.
“Have you met the guy who owns the gym moving in next to your shop?”
