The Love at First Sight Box Set

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 brown sugar underneath the main island. I saw the stainless racks where all the finished items went to wait on trays, and the ovens that were pumping out lots of heat and even more delicious smells.
I smiled when she showed me the design elements and sent up a prayer to the bakery gods that I'd be able to get my hands on them soon.
The first hour flew by with little necessary from me other than to listen to Joy's happy chattering and overwhelming overshare of every square inch of the kitchen.
And this is the mixer, we got that one about two years ago. It's a lot nicer than the one we had before.
Oh, this here is the counter you can pull right out for your own workstation. Jennifer used it all the time. Isn't it amazing that Cletus made it for her? So romantic.
We store the bags of flour and sugar here. You can lift a fifty-pound bag, right? Of course, you can; just don't pay attention to a word I'm saying.
By the time we made our way back to the register, I was ready for a nap. Of course, about half of that could've been because I really, really didn't feel ready to put on my happy, friendly, non-Jocelyn customer service face. Maybe I could leach some of Joy's joy by osmosis. I kept my chair just behind her so she could show me how to work the register, and that was when her curiosity finally got the best of her.
I'd learned pretty quickly when someone was trying to figure out how to ask me about my chair, or whether the thing about to come out of their mouth was going to be completely inappropriate.
"So, how did you …" Her voice trailed off, and she glanced quickly, guiltily down at my legs. "How did it happen?"
If Joy had been anything but sweet and sincere with me, I might have considered messing with her a little bit.
Instead, I gave her a quick smile. "I had an infection that caused inflammation in my spinal cord. The paralysis used to go higher up, past my waist, when I first got sick, but it settled lower with some steroids."
She placed a hand on her chest and gave me a sad smile. Then her eyes glossed over, and panic made my whole body freeze up like a popsicle. If she cried, right here in the middle of the bakery, I might wheel my ass out and not come back.
"And you can't feel anything at all? Like if I dropped something on your poor little feet, you wouldn't even know?" she asked, voice all whispery and trembling with emotion.
I bit down on my lip so I didn't laugh. "I'd be able to tell. Mainly because my eyes work just fine."
She blinked a few times.
"Right, sorry, I'll pull back on the inappropriate humor." I cleared my throat awkwardly.
Houston, we're losing her.
Joy sniffed, and I gave her a look.
"Joy, you promised not to make a fuss."
She blinked again, but this time, I saw her visibly pull herself together. "Right, okay. Sorry."
"You don't have to apologize." I sighed.
She nodded