Page 15 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
He was sogentle.I can handle immature Soren and petty Soren and flippant Soren. But gentle Soren? He’s a beast I’m unaccustomed to.
I let my mind wander wherever it wants as I mix batter, adding and stirring and folding until it’s ready. And though I usually feel relaxed by the time I leave Gemma to get things in the oven, when I head back out to the main café area, there’s still a sense of unease writhing inside.
Gentle Soren. My head wound. The voicemail. And, most concerning because of how it’s making me feel, this nagging sense that there’s something I need to be doing.
What is it? What am I forgetting?
It’s driving me nuts.
My main kitchen employee shuffles past me as I’m rounding the café counter, and I nod to her.
“Hi,” Mel says, sounding out of breath. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re fine,” I say. “You’re not late. Gemma’s getting the muffins in the oven, and I think she started the scones.”
“Perfect,” Mel says. She pulls her long, graying hair into a ponytail. “I’ll go fill the lemonade dispensers and then take over the baking.” She pauses, looking at my forehead. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, relieved that she’s not asking for details. Mel is great. She’s not even a trained baker; she’s someone that Gemma recommended when we were starting out, a woman in her fifties, and we ended up becoming friends. People loved the muffins and scones she made. I wish I could afford to pay her more. Though she’s never asked, and I’ve never said anything, I think she needs the money.
It only takes me a couple seconds to move to the other side of the shop. My bookshop-slash-café is a longish space, with the kitchen and café counter at one end and the bookshop counter at the other. With how much space the bookshelves take up, the dining area comprises only a couple tables and a few comfy armchairs, but my customers seem to like it fine. The front entrance is roughly in the middle, and the wall that faces the town square is lined with giant display windows. It’s a perfect little place.
I knew it would be. I saved for years to be able to rent here. The building owner is some rich guy who has a home and some land in the rolling hills outside of town, but the monthly cost is fair, which I appreciate.
The appearance of my last employee through the front entrance brings with it a gust of air thatfeelslike spring—it smells green, somehow, and crisp, and it makes me think of clear blue skies. Winter in Idaho lasts approximately forever, so I’m glad the snow has finally thawed. I live for the little peeks of green in the rich brown soil and the chirping of birds and unfurling of flower petals.
“Hi,” I say to Calvin as he makes his way from the door to the bookshop sales counter on light feet. He waves at me and then gives his attention to the computer, where I assume he’s clocking in.
“Don’t know how to tell you this,” he says a second later, bounding out from behind the counter and pointing at me, “but I feel like someone should.” Then he jerks his chin up at my forehead. “You did something to your head.”
“Ugh,” Gemma says as she rounds the corner from behind a bookshelf. She wrinkles her nose at him. “You’re disgustingly chipper this morning.”
“I got my beauty sleep,” he says, running one hand over his light brown hair.
Gemma snorts and points at him. “That face makes me think you missed a few hours.”
“Children,” I say in a flat voice. “Play nicely, please.”
“Yes, Mother,” they reply—like they always do. Bickering like children is how they communicate. As long as they get things done, I’m not too concerned. And really, it’s part of our dynamic by now; Calvin is like our little brother, and we’re the sisters he tolerates. I wish any of us were interested in him romantically, because he’s a great guy, but sadly, none of us are. Maybe it’s because he’s younger by quite a few years. But I’m certainly not, Mel is old enough to be his mother, and Gemma has been dating my twin brother on and off for years.
I glance at my watch—it’s time, which means no more speculating on intershop relationships. “Hey, Gemma,” I call over my shoulder as I head to the storeroom. “Go ahead and flip the sign?”
“Done,” she calls back a second later.
I push open the storeroom door, and it swings open and then closed behind me, squeaking slightly on its hinges. The storeroom is muted and dusty with a light that buzzes when I flick it on. Still, it’s one of my favorite places to be in the entire world. It’s quiet, stacked with boxes and boxes of books—mostly extra stock of our best-selling sections. I know where everything is, and something about the way the walls gather around me feels comforting rather than claustrophobic.
I grab a pen and a spare piece of paper, and then I sit down on the brown carpet and take a few deep breaths. I need to organize my thoughts, which means I need to make a list.
I love lists. Like…so much.
I writeTo-Doat the top, and then I begin jotting things down.
-Figure out last night/yesterday
-Retrace steps?
I bite my lip, thinking, until another idea comes to me.
-Call security company for tapes!!!
