Page 41 of Bad Wolf

Exposed brick walls, exposed ceiling beams, and dark wood floors scream functionality and no-nonsense.

I can’t imagine him being overly concerned with interior design, but the little touches here and there represent a man who has a full life. The space is full of framed photos and dotted with hockey, and FDNY memorabilia.

A rack for his bike and some gym equipment take up one side of the expansive square footage, while a comfy looking sectional, coffee table, and giant flat screen take up the other.

“As I said, it’s tiny,” he says as he opens a door and flicks on a light switch. “Just about fits a twin, and is only used by Jack or my brothers. Jenna sometimes if she drinks too much here.”

I perk up at Jenna’s name. “Do you see her often? God, you two were inseparable at one point.”

He nods, “Most days. Her bakery is a block over and she lives above it.”

“Wow, that is close.” I bite my tongue. I bet his brothers have a field day winding him up about how close they still are.

If I were feeling really cheeky, I’d be trying to find out all the gossip, but I’m acutely aware that he’s saving my ass right now, so I let him off the hook.

If they do see each other every day, then I’ll be able to work it all out in no time.

Scott helps get me situated. He kindly makes space for me in the shared bathroom and hands me two fresh towels, one smaller than the other.

“You’ll need an extra one for all that hair, right?” he shrugs and continues to show me around.

Once he’s sure I have everything I need, he turns in for the night, with an apology for leaving me alone tomorrow.

I wave him off. I don’t need him to babysit me, I just needed a spare key and to know how to work the coffee maker I spied the second I walked in here.

I send a text to my dad letting him know I’m safe and that I love him and then climb into bed.

Today with Knox was rough, but I go to sleep feeling positive and ready for this next chapter.

* * *

Standing looking in the mirror, I wonder who I think I’m kidding. I do one last turn just to make sure I’m at least a smidge presentable. I have no interview-worthy pants or blouses, so I’m wearing the only dress I own, along with my leather jacket and a pair of black boots.

I feel like a joke and imposter syndrome rears its ugly head. I’m desperate to make a good impression and I really want Anna to like me. This is Casey’s wife we’re talking about.

I mean, she seemed nice enough on Saturday, but I’m going into this meeting with the hopes of scoring some kind of job and I don’t even have a résumé I can show her.

Graduated Fort Braeden High School, second in class, college dropout, and then sang and danced for six years hardly screams business savvy.

Ugh, I should just cancel. A quick glimpse at the time tells me it’s too late for that, so I diligently lock up and head for the stairs.

When I exit the lobby, I take a gasping breath at how cold it is just as the thunderclouds roll overhead. I survey the sky before leaving the shelter of the apartment building and make the snap decision to take my chances, hoping I’ll reach the bakery before the inevitable downpour.

I round the corner and within a matter of five minutes the little bakery comes into view.

Aptly named Cupcake, its peony pink stripped, scalloped awnings and perfectly put together widow display has my mouth watering, and my heart gives a little squeeze at how proud I am of my friend.

The smell of vanilla and cinnamon and a whole host of other sweet and buttery scents fill my senses and I take in a big breath. This has to be the doorway to heaven, I just know it.

Cute chalkboards adorned with meticulous handwriting and bistro-style seating give it a polished but homey vibe. It’s exactly how I imagine it feels to sit in a family kitchen on a Sunday afternoon, watching a parent bake a pie or pull brownie sheets out of the oven.

Whatever it is, has the place packed.

The line of hungry patrons runs the whole length of the bakery, and every table is full besides one in the very back, right by the end of the counter. I walk past the patrons, immediately smiling when I see Jenna chatting with a customer, wrapping delicate ribbon perfectly around a bright white baker’s box.

My eyes snag on a small, framed photo that hangs on the back wall next to a prep station. I shuffle to get a closer look, and what I see has my lips tipping from a pride-filled smile to a knowing grin.

Jenna’s beaming, holding up a sign sayingWe’re now openand Scott has his arm slung around her, also smiling. But he’s not looking at the camera, no, his blue gaze is trained on Jenna.

---