As Retta helped the next customer in line, she resolved to get more serious about dates. She needed to expand her pool and carve out time to actually go out.
She hadn’t been this strategic about her love life since she was a preteen. But if Retta went with the flow now, she risked showing up to Irene’s festivities without anybody.
When the line thinned out, Retta took it as an opportunity to offer the patrons sitting inside her store some samples. Picking up the tray, she made her way through her bakery apologizing once again about the noisy water heater.
“It’s our new shortbread cookies with blood orange caramel sauce,” Retta said.
The women on their lunch breaks studied the offering and took one each.
It was on this little journey that Retta noticed a woman who was obviously some sort of social media influencer.
The beautiful young woman casually took a bite of a croissant and posed as a man across from her snapped a picture with a professional camera. Once the photo was taken, she spat out the piece she’d bitten.
Sure, it would be easy to make fun of such a display, but Retta refused to hate on anyone’s hustle. The woman had paid for the various treats in front of her after all, and she’d tag Dutch Oven in the eventual posts she’d upload.
Returning to her spot behind the counter, Retta continued to study the influencer’s photoshoot.
“I once tried to do the social media thing,” Cheyenne said, also watching the scene play out. “A girl from my high school started a YouTube channel when we were sophomores and now she’s rich. People buy T-shirts with her face on it. I quit after six months. It was too much work.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Retta said.
In the next set up, the photographer’s hand was in the frame. The woman grasped it and smiled at the camera adoringly. The narrative was clear: she was in a fabulous, wonderful, absolutely superb bakery with a boyfriend or a date.
However, based on how quickly they pulled their hands from each other once the photo was taken, Retta wondered if that was true at all.
“I don’t think they’re actually a couple,” Retta said.
Cheyenne shrugged. “Does it matter? As long as it looks that way to her followers.”
“I guess,” Retta said.
That’s what I need.
She internally chuckled at the absurd idea of toting a guy around at the wedding who was only pretending to be her boyfriend. Even though it would definitely clear up the mental space this damn wedding was occupying, and there’d also be no emotional investment in some long-term future.
“I even heard there were agencies now that you can hire extras to pose in your content,” Cheyenne continued.
Yeah, with all the disposable income Retta was rolling in, she was totally going to rent a boyfriend. She’d stick to the dating apps and the disappointments she was used to.
Cheyenne left her then to clear vacated tables as Retta helped customers who’d walked in.
After processing a payment, she looked up to see Duncan step inside the bakery. His stature filled the door and his presence drew several eyes to him.
“Hi,” he said, walking up to the counter.
She straightened her apron. This was it. She could feel it. “You here about the parking lot?”
“I am.”
“Perfect,” she said, grabbing a glass of water for him and motioning toward a table in the far corner of the store, right behind the croissant-spitting influencer.
Once they were seated, she watched him place his arms, corded in muscles, on the table. They took up the majority of the space, and it felt, even if unintentional, like a gesture of dominance. She straightened in her chair and squared her shoulders.
“The last thing we want to do is start a rivalry here,” Duncan began.
Retta nodded. “Agreed.”
“We get that there’s a parking system in place, but…”
