I’ve wasted enough time, and I feel a little better. I’m sure we’re about to get swamped with customers, so Liv will need help.
Taking an apron off of the hook, I tie it around my waist and make my way toward Liv. Loading cupcakes and cookies onto a tray for the front display, she’s silently mumbling to herself that people need to slow down on the sweets.
I cover my mouth and look toward the main floor of the shop. Mia, the third to our Trio and a valuable co-worker, has long, curly, black hair and olive skin that makes me envious. One word: Tan. Being a redhead, you can understand why I’m jealous. Tan and I don’t mix.
She turns to look at me from across the shop and waves. Writing the customers’ orders down, she walks to me with a bounce in her step.
“Morning, Annie.” She grins and hugs me. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”
I smile at her nickname. She’s been calling me Annie since the first night we took her out drinking, three years ago, and she told me I looked like the redheaded orphan from the movie.
In my defense though, it was pouring buckets of rain and my already wild hair looked even crazier due to the humidity. She was probably right, so I was never offended.
The sight of her walking like an hour-old, baby horse out of the bar was enough ammunition for me to tease her for a good while after. She thought it was hilarious as well, and we still talk about it. It’s an ongoing joke in our friendship.
Wanting the scoop on last night, she practically bounces in her leopard flats.
I’ve grown to really love Mia. When she first started working at the bakery, she was a freshman at the University of Nashville. Super quiet, sweet and innocent, I knew she’d make a good addition to my team. The day she stepped into the shop, I sensed something different about her.
Since then, she’s been our cohort. The three of us are extraordinarily close. She doesn’t know everything about my past, just like Liv, but she knows it’s troubled and doesn’t push for information, which I am so thankful for.
She’s mentioned on more than one occasion she never really had any close girlfriends, and that she was kind of a loner in high school. I’d like to think Liv and I have opened her up to girlfriends. She’s no longer the quiet, timid girl I knew three years ago. She’s lively, sometimes loud and speaks her opinion.
She fits right in.
Now that she’s twenty-one, and living the busy life of a girl who graduated a year and a half early from college, works part-time at the shop and full time at a veterinary clinic, she goes out for drinks with us every Saturday.
It used to not be so legal though.
For her twentieth birthday, Liv chose to get her a fake I.D. Mia was mortified seeing it.
Liv being, well—Liv, thought it was a good idea to sneak her into a bar to have cocktails with us. Mia and I weren’t too sure the plan would work out at the time.
“I got you that fake I.D. for a reason, Mia. Let’s use it.” Liv begs, with big, puppy dog eyes that only work on poor, unsuspecting men.
Mia puts her hand up to block Liv’s imaginary magic stare. “Guys, I can’t pull this off! I may be twenty, but let’s be honest, I look twelve! No bouncer is going to believe me.”
Liv huffs and trills her lips. “You don’t look twelve, Mia. You look fourteen—maybe fifteen.”
Unfortunately, for Mia, Liv is right. She’s five feet tall in heels and weighs maybe a hundred and ten pounds dripping wet. She’s drop dead gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but she has yet to hit her woman growth spurt.
With that said, Liv needs to encourage her if she wants to pull this off, not make fun. I throw a pillow at her head, hitting my target. Score!
Liv pouts and throws the pillow back in my direction but misses me completely.
“Anyway,” Liv drones. “As I was saying, the I.D. is fool-proof. Did you study your information, Andrea Lowell?”
Mia blows a curl from her face and
Taking an apron off of the hook, I tie it around my waist and make my way toward Liv. Loading cupcakes and cookies onto a tray for the front display, she’s silently mumbling to herself that people need to slow down on the sweets.
I cover my mouth and look toward the main floor of the shop. Mia, the third to our Trio and a valuable co-worker, has long, curly, black hair and olive skin that makes me envious. One word: Tan. Being a redhead, you can understand why I’m jealous. Tan and I don’t mix.
She turns to look at me from across the shop and waves. Writing the customers’ orders down, she walks to me with a bounce in her step.
“Morning, Annie.” She grins and hugs me. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”
I smile at her nickname. She’s been calling me Annie since the first night we took her out drinking, three years ago, and she told me I looked like the redheaded orphan from the movie.
In my defense though, it was pouring buckets of rain and my already wild hair looked even crazier due to the humidity. She was probably right, so I was never offended.
The sight of her walking like an hour-old, baby horse out of the bar was enough ammunition for me to tease her for a good while after. She thought it was hilarious as well, and we still talk about it. It’s an ongoing joke in our friendship.
Wanting the scoop on last night, she practically bounces in her leopard flats.
I’ve grown to really love Mia. When she first started working at the bakery, she was a freshman at the University of Nashville. Super quiet, sweet and innocent, I knew she’d make a good addition to my team. The day she stepped into the shop, I sensed something different about her.
Since then, she’s been our cohort. The three of us are extraordinarily close. She doesn’t know everything about my past, just like Liv, but she knows it’s troubled and doesn’t push for information, which I am so thankful for.
She’s mentioned on more than one occasion she never really had any close girlfriends, and that she was kind of a loner in high school. I’d like to think Liv and I have opened her up to girlfriends. She’s no longer the quiet, timid girl I knew three years ago. She’s lively, sometimes loud and speaks her opinion.
She fits right in.
Now that she’s twenty-one, and living the busy life of a girl who graduated a year and a half early from college, works part-time at the shop and full time at a veterinary clinic, she goes out for drinks with us every Saturday.
It used to not be so legal though.
For her twentieth birthday, Liv chose to get her a fake I.D. Mia was mortified seeing it.
Liv being, well—Liv, thought it was a good idea to sneak her into a bar to have cocktails with us. Mia and I weren’t too sure the plan would work out at the time.
“I got you that fake I.D. for a reason, Mia. Let’s use it.” Liv begs, with big, puppy dog eyes that only work on poor, unsuspecting men.
Mia puts her hand up to block Liv’s imaginary magic stare. “Guys, I can’t pull this off! I may be twenty, but let’s be honest, I look twelve! No bouncer is going to believe me.”
Liv huffs and trills her lips. “You don’t look twelve, Mia. You look fourteen—maybe fifteen.”
Unfortunately, for Mia, Liv is right. She’s five feet tall in heels and weighs maybe a hundred and ten pounds dripping wet. She’s drop dead gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but she has yet to hit her woman growth spurt.
With that said, Liv needs to encourage her if she wants to pull this off, not make fun. I throw a pillow at her head, hitting my target. Score!
Liv pouts and throws the pillow back in my direction but misses me completely.
“Anyway,” Liv drones. “As I was saying, the I.D. is fool-proof. Did you study your information, Andrea Lowell?”
Mia blows a curl from her face and
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