able to train. We're going to be friends, Jocelyn. I can already tell."
Internally, I whimpered. Then I heard Levi's voice in my head. Smile. Ask questions. Don't make assumptions.
"What's your name? I didn't catch it."
Her hands clapped to either side of her round cheeks, rosy pink from the warmth in the bakery. "Heavens, I'm a mess, aren't I? I'm Joy."
"Joy," I said, the smile coming naturally in light of her comically appropriate moniker. "Nice to meet you."
That made her blush happily, turning her cheeks an even deeper shade of rose. "Let me grab someone for the register, and I'll show you the kitchen. We need to grab some more large boxes and the cinnamon roll cupcakes. We're almost out." She started back behind the counter, then stopped so fast I almost rammed into her. When she turned, she said, "Now, don't worry about your being in that wheelchair. We're all real accepting here. No one will bother you about it, and Jennifer told us we're not to make a fuss over you because you're perfectly capable of handling things on your own."
Her voice was so sincere, her eyes wide and serious, that I wanted to grab her hand and tell her to chill the hell out.
"I won't worry, Joy. But thank you for saying so anyway." I cleared my throat when she didn't start walking again. "They assured me the kitchen is fully accessible, so I should be just fine."
Joy nodded so vigorously, a chunk of hair slipped out of her ponytail. "Oh, it is, I promise. Her husband, Cletus, I'm sure you know Cletus Winston? Of course you do." I shook my head, but she just kept on talking like I did. "He tore the whole thing apart and redid it a few years back when Jennifer needed to be in a wheelchair for a while. He knew she'd hate to be out of work." She sighed, a look so dreamy covering her face that I wanted to snap my fingers in front of her just to keep this show moving. "Isn't that so romantic? He just … fixed all of it for her. Because he knows baking makes her happy."
I chose my words carefully. "She sounds like a very lucky woman."
More nodding. More hair spilled around her face. "She is. You'll probably meet her later. She said she'd try to stop in to meet you."
"Great." I pointed behind the counter. "Should we?"
"Oh, gracious, yes! Listen to me chattering away." Motioning me to follow her, we went behind the glass case, and I smiled at the crisply lined display of confections and squinted at the beautifully done chalkboard sign with the menu as we passed it.
"Joy, does that say dill pickle cupcakes?"
She giggled, glancing over her shoulder at me. "Sure does. We made them a couple of months back as a special request for someone's baby shower, and they were so good, we couldn't believe it. We only make them about once a month, but we usually sell out before noon on the days we have them in stock. I'm surprised there are any left."
My eyebrows popped up in surprise. "Okay then."
"They're delicious," she assured me. "The secret is the bourbon in the frosting."
"Huh." The opening into the kitchen was, indeed, wide enough for me, and I watched as a couple of apron-clad bakers worked efficiently around the long stainless island. They both sent me friendly smiles when Joy introduced me, no violent hand shaking this time as they were elbow deep in cupcake batter, which suited me just fine. "Will I get to do some baking today?"
Joy grinned. "Course you will. But we know you already know how to do that. We heard all about those cupcakes you brought in. We'll start you on the register for a bit, then we'll rotate back here to make one of our recipes."
My face must have been frozen into some horrible expression because Joy bent closer, concern practically oozing from her pores. "Are you okay?"
The words felt like acid coming out of my mouth. "I just … I hope I do okay working at the register." My face flushed hot. "I'm not, I'm not always great with strangers."
Joy waved away my admission. "Hush, you'll do just fine. Most of them are only strangers once or twice. Soon, you'll know everyone who comes in here."
In her mind, that was that, and we started around the kitchen. She showed me where the staff kept their things, and the bins of flour, sugar, and