Revealing Annie - Freya Barker Page 0,15
counter, bumping into the piece of paper with Sumo’s phone number. I brush a finger over his scribbled name—Kyle Matsumoto—and briefly consider calling him. I’ve been struggling whether I should explain my colored contacts, but I’m holding on to the slim hope he somehow missed it.
Oh, who am I kidding, he even asked about my glasses.
I get the feeling who I am would mean little to him, but I’m still hesitant to share, and I definitely shouldn’t do that over the phone. Besides, he left me his phone number in case anything happened and nothing has.
Part of me wishes I’d given him my number as well, but I’d thought of that after he’d already left yesterday morning. With a bit of luck, he’ll show up at the shelter tomorrow.
I take the paper and stick it behind a magnet on the fridge. Just in case.
When my tea is ready, I walk into the living room to shut off lights and get my laptop, which I’d left charging this morning. But when I go to grab it from the TV stand, it’s not there. I was sure I’d plugged it in this morning. Or maybe it was yesterday? Could be.
I take my cup into the bedroom and sure enough, the laptop is sitting on top of my covers.
I must’ve forgotten this morning.
“Morning.”
I look up to find Ted smiling from the doorway into the bakery.
“Morning to you too. Had a good weekend?”
He walks in and grabs his apron from the hook, slipping it over his head.
“I did. How about you?”
“Eventful,” I answer honestly, and when he asks why, I tell him what happened to Edward.
He makes the appropriate sympathetic noises as he fills the large mixer with flour.
Ted does cakes and most of the dough for the breads. He fits the loaves into molds to rise and those go in the cooler overnight, so I can start baking when I come in at four. I’m responsible for the pastries. It wasn’t like that when I first started working here last year, all I did was follow my manager’s instructions, but then he retired and Ted was hired on. It had been his idea to split the responsibilities. That’s when I started introducing things like my Portuguese custard tarts and Canadian butter tarts that have become big hits.
Today I’m doing the butter tarts and I’ve been peeking into the store to see if Sumo happens to come by to resupply his stock of sweets, but I haven’t seen him. By the time I refill the display case with the last tray, I’m pretty sure he’s not gonna show, so I keep six of them aside and box them up.
“Who are those for?” Jenny wants to know.
“I’m bringing those to the shelter.”
It’s not a lie. I will probably bring them to the shelter in case Sumo shows up there. She seems to accept that, which is good, because I don’t want her to make any more of it than I’m willing to admit to myself. It’s bad enough I lay awake too long last night, resisting the urge to call his number.
At noon I grab my bag, the box I set aside, and say my goodbyes.
Blossom’s walk is a short one, since I want to stop by Edward’s for a quick visit before I start my shift at the shelter. He’s in a surprisingly good mood, having been told he’ll probably get to go home tomorrow.
“I’ll be able to pick you up after my shift,” I assure him. It’ll be tight, getting him home and still making it to the shelter for two, but I’m sure Mrs. S. will help me get him settled in. The two of them are much alike, both with a bark worse than their bite.
“I can take a cab,” he mutters, but I can tell his heart isn’t in it.
“I’m sure you can, but there’s no need. I’ll be here,” I state firmly, making it clear that there’ll be no argument and he concedes with an unintelligible grumble.
I’m just getting back in the car when my phone rings in my pocket.
“Hello?”
“Annie? This is Brick. I’ll have your car ready later this afternoon.”
“That’s great, but I won’t be done until five.” In my mind I’m already going over all the things I’d hoped to accomplish after work in preparation of Edward coming home tomorrow.
“Someone’ll be here,” he says, promptly ending the call.
Only then do I realize I have no idea where to go.
Sumo
“Chief, got a minute?”
I catch him alone in his