what he regards as my less-than-friendly personality. I am friendly. Just not with him. Today’s coupon was for half-priced salt-and-vinegar fish and chips and some honey lager—which I hate to admit sounds kind of yummy. He scrawled a note on the back about drawing more flies with honey than vinegar.
Two weeks in, and things are going well on the business end. Better than well, actually. We’re busy throughout the day, we have orders for pickup and takeout all the time, the cupcakes are flying off the shelves and people love our daily cupcake cocktail themes. My social media feeds are full of tags and picture perfect photos of B&B, of groups of friends gathered together in the café, and of delighted smiles and rave reviews.
Even so, I’m barely eking by right now. On the upside, I’m close to being able to cover my expenses without digging too deeply into my line of credit. Am I eating a lot of leftover cupcakes and close-to-the-expiration-date sandwiches that would otherwise be destined for the garbage? Most definitely. But I knew finances were going to be tough at the beginning.
It can take up to three years for a business to grow its legs and with the way things are looking, there is a chance I’ll be able to turn a profit within the next few years. Notwithstanding an annoying neighbor who is taking some of my business.
“This is amazing. You must be on top of the world right now!” Daphne sips her salted caramel martini while scrolling through the Instagram feed.
The last customer left about twenty minutes ago, probably heading next door for whatever Lumberjerk has planned for tonight. I closed up shop and made us a drink and now we’re relaxing at the back of the café, stretched out on the comfy couches and chairs.
Daphne snaps a photo of me lounging on the couch and Paul returns from the bathroom in time to peek over her shoulder. “Definitely post that.”
“Right? It’ll get tons of likes,” Daphne agrees.
Paul comes by first thing in the mornings to drop off the cupcakes for the day, giving me plenty of time to decorate them before opening. But tomorrow he has an out of town event, so he dropped everything off this evening and I convinced him to stay for a drink. There’s no way I could’ve made this work without his help and I’m eternally grateful for his friendship over the past several years.
I wait for Daphne to pass her camera over. “Can I at least see it before you post it? What if I look like a shrew?”
“As if I would post a bad picture of you.” Daphne is appropriately offended; she and I have spent a ridiculous amount of time perfecting posed photos over the past several weeks.
I hold my hands up in supplication. “I know. It’s a conditioned response. I got a message earlier in the week from my sister telling me she thinks my right side is more flattering.”
Daphne’s lip curls in disdain. “I hope you told her to suck it.”
“It’s her way of trying to be helpful.”
“It’s her way of being a bitch,” Daphne argues.
I shrug. Maddy is pretty much always a bitch. I’ve spent my entire life dealing with her, so her random comments are nothing in comparison to some of her other antics.
“Anyway, the only time I’ve seen you possess shrewlike qualities was when you and Raphael broke up,” Daphne continues.
I glare at her. “We do not talk about Raphael.”
“Raphael? How come I’ve never heard of this guy?” Paul asks.
“You have. He’s more commonly known as The Douche.”
“Oh. You mean the guy who was boning you and three other chefs at the same time?” Paul drops into the chair beside mine.
“The one and only. And can we not discuss him, please? It was years ago, before you came along and made me realize there’s more to life than kobe beef and truffle fries. Unlike you, he was more interested in showing me his bratwurst than he was in teaching me anything of value.” I pat Paul on the arm. One of the things I appreciate most about Paul is the fact that our relationship has always been strictly professional and platonic. Which was what I needed after the nightmare that was Raphael.
“Back when you were still trying to please Mummy and Daddy.” He takes a swig of his Manhattan.
“Those days are long gone.” I take another, deeper sip of my martini. It’s more like a gulp. I love my family,