I Will Set Your Valentine On Fire

Chapter Four: Make the Most of It

Anthony

The café closed at seven, but it took me another hour to finish cleaning and do the final tally of the day’s sales. I carefully recorded the totals and filled out a deposit slip, but I wouldn’t go to the bank until Tuesday, the one and only day of the week that Dottie’s was closed. I then packed up a cardboard box with all the account records that Myra had requested.

I had already been over the books myself, so I knew what Myra was going to find.

Aunt Dot hadn’t made money on the café in several years. Most months she was lucky if she broke even. The ingredients and supplies for the bakery had been getting more and more expensive, and her loyal customer base was aging, and frequenting the café less and less. It wasn’t an optimistic picture.

I guess that’s why Dot was thinking of selling the place, instead of letting me take it over.

My gut was heavy with mixed feelings of dread and excitement as I locked up, hefted the box onto my shoulder, and started climbing the back stairs.

Ten years. It had been ten years since I had laid eyes on Myra Holden. Seeing her sitting in the booth, her back ram-rod straight, her shoulders back, her dark hair twisted into a professional bun, her big, cold eyes rimmed with dark lashes that needed no make-up.

There was a reason they used to call her the Ice Queen in high school.

She could still freeze a person’s blood with one hard, frigid stare.

I pushed open the door, and was a bit surprised to find her sitting on my couch, still wearing her winter jacket, her stocking-feet propped up on the coffee table, sound asleep. Her mouth was open a little, and she didn’t snore, but she made a little huffing sound with every exhale.

Asleep, she looked so much softer. That hard shell fell away, and I had a glimpse of the real Myra. The one few people ever got to see. The one I thought was extraordinary.

When I set the box down on the table, she jerked awake. Her feet dropped to the floor, and she sat up, rubbing her eyes like she was confused and didn’t remember where she was, or why she was there. Then she locked eyes with me, and I could practically see her memories snap into place, and that stiff, emotionless mask fell over her features.

“You didn’t tell me you were staying in the apartment,” she said. Although it was a statement of fact, her words dripped with accusation. “Aunt Dot said it was vacant.”

I dragged my hand over my face. “Yeah, I know. I have to start the baking at five in the morning, and as you can see, it's after eight before I finish. Crashing here just made more sense than driving twenty-minutes back and forth to the farm.”

“The farm?” She echoed blankly.

“Yeah,” I wanted to sit. My feet were dog-tired, but my only choices were the love seat next to Myra, or the high-stool chairs around the table. I wouldn’t have minded sitting next to Myra, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t like it, so I opted for sitting on the coffee table, hoping it was sturdy enough to hold my weight. “I took over Grandpa’s Christmas tree farm after he died.”

“Oh,” I could tell by the emotions flickering across her face that she hadn’t realized that my grandfather had passed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s been eight years,” I said flatly.

“Um, right, so,” she pushed herself to her feet. “Anyway, I didn’t know you were using the apartment, and, you are right, it makes sense that you need it now, since you are running the bakery. I’ll just go back to Rutberg and get a hotel.”

I cringed. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?”

“I guess you haven’t heard, but they are using the hotels in Rutberg to house the homeless. It’s been a big disaster. Drugs, bugs, vandalism, assault. There have even been some shootings. It’s on the news every night . If you want a nice hotel, you’ll have to drive all the way up the mountain.”

She groaned. The accommodation up on the mountain was mostly resorts for skiers, and at this time of year, they were probably booked full, and very expensive. Not to mention it would add another half hour to her commute.

“Look, it’s no big deal. You can use the apartment. I’ll drive home. Just let me grab a few things.” I stood up also.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is silly. I’m only going to be here for a few weeks. We can share the apartment.” She eyed the love seat, which was actually one of those couches that unfolded into a full-size bed. “But, I want the bedroom.”

“Deal,” I said quickly. Never mind that the sleeper-sofa was too small for my body, or that the mattress was thin and lumpy as hell. I was tired, and I didn’t want to drive back to the farm.

And truth be told, I wanted to stay close to Myra. Three weeks wasn't much time, and I needed to make the most of it. “If you don’t mind, I’ll use the shower first. If you are hungry, help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.”