His teeth clench as he balls his hand into a fist on the table. “I could fucking kill her ex for doing this to her.”
“I’d help you if the bastard didn’t move to Italy with the woman he cheated on Emma with.”
“If he ever comes back, I’m bashing his face in with a hockey stick.”
“I’ll help you.”
He drops the menu on the table and gets up from the bench. “Let’s go help her bake cookies.”
Emma
Luck is not on my side. For the second time this week, a customer cancels their order last minute.
“You can’t return custom cookies,” I tell her.
She ordered a dozen boxes of iced cookies for her son’s school party. Apparently, she found someone cheaper and changed her mind. I should have said no when she asked for a cash on delivery deal. Now, I’m stuck with snowmen cookies that have the names of her sons’ classmates on them.
After I hang up, I drop my cell phone on the counter. The timer beeps. I grab an oven mitt and remove the cookie sheet from the oven and set it on the counter.
I grab my phone and call my twin brother, Oliver, and set the phone to speaker. “Hey, Ollie. I don’t have time to talk, but I can use some help.”
“Is th“at any way to talk to your womb mate?” Oliver jokes.
“Sorry,” I breathe. “I’m swamped. I have orders due in one hour, and I’m at least two hours behind.”
“I’ll come over,” he offers. “I’m in the neighborhood. I can be there in ten. It’s okay to let someone help you.”
Since my restaurant went under, I haven’t been able to admit that I’m seconds from losing my mind. Of course, Ollie knows. I don’t even have to speak for him to know what I’m thinking.
It’s our twin thing.
He just gets me.
“Thank you,” I mutter. “Yeah, I’d love some help.”
Two dozen orders are in the works, the boxes scattered throughout the kitchen and dining room. My apartment has shit everywhere, wrapped boxes and bags stacked into the living room, blocking my view of the couch. Not like I have time to sit down. With all the past due bills piling up, I don’t have time to rest.
I can sleep when I’m dead.
Last year, I opened my dream restaurant. An Italian bistro in the heart of Center City Philadelphia. I thought years of training under a master chef had prepared me for running a business.
But I was so wrong.
My business partner embezzled the profits, leaving me with a mound of debt. Not what I had expected from my fiancé.
The bastard left me high and dry. He also left me for another woman. They live in Italy now and share all of their amazing pictures on Instagram.
I post about my not-so-thriving side business. Social media is mostly fake, the pictures perfectly staged for the cameras. So I pose in my apron and put on a happy face. That asshole took everything from me, but he will not destroy my passion.
“I haven’t seen you in two weeks,” I say to Ollie as I box another tray of cookies. “How long are you home for?”
“I’m in Philly for a few days. Then back on the road for one game.” He hears me groan, and then adds, “You’ve got me for a full week before I’m on the road again.”
I let out a breath of relief.
“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”
Ollie is all I’ve got.
Our parents died in a car accident when we were nineteen. We were already close before their deaths, and afterward, we became inseparable. When the Philadelphia Flyers drafted him into the NHL, I dropped out of college and moved with him.
Ollie isn’t just my womb mate.
He’s my best friend.
That’s how I ended up applying to cooking schools. I met Chef Alexandre Tremblay at an event for the Flyers. He invited me to his restaurant and taught me a few of his signature recipes. A month later, I applied for a job at his restaurant. I worked my way up from kitchen helper to sous chef.
Then I got accepted into The Restaurant School at Walnut Hill College. Afterward, I got the crazy idea to open a restaurant. I thought I was ready, even allowed Ollie to invest in my failed venture.
I layer the cooled sugar cookies into the box and top them with red and green Hershey kisses. The perfect touch. The bakery around the corner from my childhood home in California added them to all of their Christmas orders. I always ate the chocolate first. This simple thing also reminds me of my parents and all the incredible memories.
Business started booming right before Thanksgiving. Most days, I work around the clock cooking, packing, and shipping. It doesn’t pay nearly as well as a chef. But I’m too embarrassed to show my face in this city.