Nothing to Lose Read online

  Nothing to Lose

  Darlene Fredette

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  Nothing to Lose

  Darlene Fredette

  She has one last hope — a small, family-run bakery that might just be baking up second chances.

  Dwindling finances have Jessie Robinson running out of options. With a past filled with failures, she longs for a new beginning. Applying for a job she isn’t qualified for may be another crazy mistake, but at this point Jessie has nothing to lose.

  Juggling two jobs, Travis Cooper has absolutely no time for a relationship and isn’t looking for one. But when his mother hires an unqualified baker, he has more to worry about than three-tiered wedding cakes. Like whether to break his own no-dating-employees rule and make a little room in his life for love.

  About the Author

  Darlene resides on the East Coast of Canada with her husband, daughter, and Yellow Lab. When not working on her next book, she enjoys spending time with her family. An avid reader since childhood, Darlene loves to develop the stories swimming in her head. She writes heartwarming romances with a focus on plot-driven page-turners.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you, Linda and Lori, and my editor, Sharon Ketelaar, for helping me dot my ‘I’s and cross my ‘T’s.

  To my family for their support and unconditional love.

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…

  Chapter One

  Jessie Robinson held the folded classified section of the newspaper between her thumb and forefinger while resting it against the steering wheel. Baker Wanted. She tossed the paper on the passenger seat. ‘Hmm, I can do that job.’

  Instead of following the instructions in the advertisement, she skipped the emailing request, searched for the address on her phone, and drove to Cooper’s Cakes.

  She pulled the single-sheet résumé from her purse. Jessie scanned the wrinkled page. Baker didn’t appear on her list of qualifications. But then neither did typist, receptionist, waitress, or grocery clerk—all past failures. So she couldn’t type fast enough, send calls to the right person, balance four plated orders on one arm, or pack groceries without breaking eggs and squishing bread. She did desperately need a job.

  ‘How hard can baking be? Easy-peasy. Right?’ She knew her words to be untrue. She’d watched shows on the Food Network. The chefs on television made creating desserts appear simple, yet Jessie’s attempts always ended with opening a window and the lid on the garbage can.

  ‘I have no choice, and at this point I have nothing to lose.’ Jessie had thought the same before her previous four jobs. Though, she did excel at one particular skill—making bad choices. If only she could include that talent as a positive trait.

  She drew in a deep breath to calm her racing pulse. Desperation rolled in the emptiness of her stomach. She’d just go into the bakery and win them over. She had to. The two hundred dollars in her bank account would cover her car payment. As long as I don’t eat or drive anywhere, I’m good. Having a sympathetic property-owner gave her thirty days. She’d received a one-month extension from her eccentric landlord on her studio apartment’s rent, but she wouldn’t push his generosity a second time.

  Jessie stepped out of her ten-year-old car and locked the door, smoothing a hand over the wrinkles of her favourite pink skirt. The luxury of an iron would have to wait. Besides, creases were the least of her problems. The tie-dyed-look of added blue smudges on her skirt was due to an oversight of washing everything in one load. Who knew blue jeans and pink skirts didn’t tumble well together? Maybe she’d bring sophistication to the sixties hippie look that was back in style. She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, wishing she could smooth away the nervous fluttering of butterflies.

  ‘Time to go.’ She shoved the résumé back into her purse.

  Avoiding an approaching car, she scurried across the parking lot of the Village Shops. The bakery’s prime location in Dartmouth’s Highway Crossing sat amongst several clothing boutiques, a sporting-goods store, a florist, and a few furniture shops. The building’s red-brick facade, cobblestone pathways, and green-space dividing the parking lot gave the newly developed area an old-town atmosphere.

  Jessie reached the bakery then paused to pull together her fading confidence. ‘Follow a recipe, mix some ingredients, and pop the dish in the oven. I’ve got this.’ She inhaled and pushed open the door.

  A bell jingled overhead, distracting her focus. The overwhelming scent of baked goods tantalized her nostrils. Inside a glass counter sat the teasing culprits. Cookies and an assortment of cupcakes and muffins tempted her growling stomach. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee complemented the quaint surroundings. She followed the irresistible smell to the counter where three pots steamed.

  ‘Good morning.’

  She jumped at the sound of the greeting. Wide-eyed, she stared at the older woman who stepped through saloon-style swinging doors. Other than visible black bangs and a ponytail with a white streak, a red kerchief tied at the back covered the woman’s hair. Three hooped earrings dangled from each ear and a crystal orb hung from a silver chain around her neck. She wiped her hands on a red apron resting over a black blouse and a multi-coloured ankle-length skirt. Jessie caught a quick view of a tiny, grey rose on the inside of the woman’s wrist.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  The name tag pinned on her apron read Heather. She sounded friendly, yet her physical appearance embraced a slice of darkness.

  Jessie gripped the strap of her purse. ‘I’m looking for the manager regarding the ad in the paper.’ At the woman’s daunting silence, Jessie fumbled to fill in the gap. ‘I should have called first, but I was in the area and thought I’d pop in.’

  ‘Bad timing.’ Heather tapped French-tipped fingernails on the counter. ‘Travis has the morning off.’

  ‘Oh.’ Disappointment settled the nervous quiver in her stomach. ‘My fault for not following the instructions in the ad.’ Jessie forced her sulking lips into a smile. ‘Thank you for your time.’

  ‘Hold on a moment, pretty lady.’ Heather held up a hand. ‘The morning rush is over, and I have time. We can chat a bit. Travis is due within the hour. We’ll start the interview and provide him with the details later.’

  Tension stretched across her shoulders. ‘You’re too kind.’

  ‘Have a seat.’ She pointed to the tables. ‘Would you like a coffee or tea?’

  ‘Yes, please!’ Way too eager. Jessie took a breath. ‘Coffee, please.’

  Heather pointed to the pots. ‘We have regular and decaf.’ She raised a brow. ‘But I sense you’re an adventurous gal. I recommend our secret house-blended flavour.’

  ‘A dare I can’t resist.’ She sat at one of the five cherry-wood tables, admiring the bakery’s modest yet stylish decor. To one side of the front windows, an assortment of shelves held a display of simulated cakes designed to appear real enough to eat. A raised tabletop stretched across the other window area where customers could sit on a bar stool and enjoy a quick snack. A larger version of the wooden-lettered signage outside spelled Cooper’s Bakery on one of the beige walls. Black-and-white photographs of the bakery highlighted the opposite wall.

  The older woman placed two coffee cups on the table and a plate of cookies. She held out a hand. ‘I’m Heather Cooper, the owner.’

  Stupid, stupid! Jessie resist
ed the overwhelming urge to smack a hand to her forehead. She shouldn’t have assumed Heather was the front store clerk. She accepted the handshake.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Jessica Robinson, but I’d prefer to be called Jessie.’ Lifting her cup, she sipped the warm liquid. Heaven delighted her tastebuds. ‘Mmm, dark roast.’

  Heather raised an eyebrow. ‘You know your Java.’

  ‘I worked as an assistant. My boss insisted his coffee be poured from a fresh pot and piping hot. Warm and sitting-for-ten-minutes were not acceptable. I learned the hard way about presenting food and drink not to his liking.’ She rolled her eyes, recalling the verbal assault. ‘To avoid tantrums, I tasted his coffee each time to determine the heat and fresh flavour.’ Jessie caught Heather’s inquisitive stare and tensed. ‘But I’d never do anything like that here,’ she added quickly.

  The older woman tapped Jessie’s hand. ‘The thought didn’t cross my mind.’ She pushed the plate of cookies forward. ‘I’m sure you did what you had to in a difficult situation.’

  Jessie stared into the woman’s dark eyes. Did Heather read fortunes in her spare time? Would she guess Jessie’s lack of baking experience? I should go. But the notion of leaving didn’t propel her feet. The dwindling cash in her bank account kept her seated.

  ‘So, Ms Jessica … sorry, Jessie Robinson, do you have a résumé?’

  Caught unprepared, if only she could slip off her chair and crawl toward the door without looking like a complete idiot. Embarrassment heated her cheeks. Jessie pulled the folded sheet of paper from her purse and passed it to Heather. While she watched the other woman study the page, she bit into a cookie. The chocolate chips in the cookie melted on her tongue. If they expected her to produce this type of goodness, they’d be disappointed.

  Heather’s brow furrowed as she read the bullet points on the page. Her fingertips drummed a slow beat on the wooden table.

  With each tapping hit, Jessie’s pulse increased. She held a breath.

  ‘Your résumé is a bit vague.’ Heather glanced back at the paper then to Jessie. ‘Exceptional grades in Fine Arts and Marketing. You worked in photography and held a position as an assistant for a film executive. I don’t see any reference to baking experience.’

  Jessie scrambled for a response. ‘I’m sorry. I must have grabbed the wrong résumé as I left the house this morning.’ Yup, I’m a complete idiot.

  ‘You have more than one?’ Heather’s eyes widened and the rhythmic tap of her fingers paused.

  Did I really believe I could pull off this interview? Jessie held her hands together on her lap, squeezing until she felt the push of a pulse. Inhaling, she met the woman’s stare. ‘I created a separate document to represent my artistic skills. I considered moving my career in that direction, but baking is my passion.’ She couldn’t escape the deep hole she’d dug.

  The bell above the door jingled.

  Jessie was grateful for the distraction.

  Heather stood and met a man at the door, reaching for two of the many bags he carried.

  He strode past the table to set the remaining bags on the counter. The tall man wore jeans and a blue t-shirt, fitting tight across the muscles of his back. Biceps protruded in the short sleeves.

  Nice.

  ‘What is all this?’ Heather peeked into a bag.

  ‘I met with a supplier this morning. He has a new line of trays.’ The man pulled plates and poles from a bag then assembled them to make a three-tiered stand. ‘I thought this would work for the baby shower order. She chose the white tier to display the cupcakes, but because she doesn’t know the gender of the baby, this marbled blue and pink is perfect.’ He placed the stand on the counter. ‘I bought four and a display for the cake—’

  Heather nudged her elbow to his rib, tipping her head toward Jessie.

  He turned.

  Jessie’s breath escaped in a rush, leaving her gaping. Handsome and smoking hot were the first descriptive words that came to mind. Standing at least four inches taller than her five-six frame, he had broad shoulders and thick arms. His short, tousled dark brown hair offset his chiselled jaw, which held a day’s shadow, and his blue eyes were the colour of sapphires. Reeling in a breath, she closed her open mouth.

  ‘My apologies. I didn’t know we had a customer.’ He approached the table.

  Heather followed. ‘This is Jessie Robinson. She’s here about the baking position.’

  He held out a hand. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Travis Cooper.’

  Jessie pushed back her chair to stand and accept the strong handshake. ‘You’re the manager?’

  He nodded then pointed to Heather. ‘This is my mother.’

  Time stood still as his gaze captured hers. She couldn’t lie to this man. Those blue eyes were irresistible. He’d see right through her and the pathetic single-page résumé. Jessie reached for the paper, but Heather grabbed it first and shoved it in her pocket.

  ‘We were advancing to the next step.’ The older woman beamed a smile. ‘Jessie is going to bake us a sample of her skills.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What?’ Jessie opened her eyes wide, her question echoing Travis’. Heather had to know she wasn’t qualified. Could this be Heather’s way of humiliating her?

  Travis turned to his mother and lowered his voice. ‘Didn’t we decide to hold second interviews next week?’

  Heather’s response was less than a whisper. ‘We did, however Jessie is here now and who knows when she’ll return.’

  Never! If she ran now, she might save a small piece of her dignity.

  Heather placed a hand on Jessie’s shoulder, preventing a rapid departure.

  The woman read my mind! Not only was Heather a baker, she was a dark sorceress or mind-reading gypsy.

  ‘The lunch crowd isn’t due for an hour. I’m sure Jessie can whip up a quick recipe.’ Winking, Heather gently squeezed her shoulder.

  ‘I imposed enough by dropping in unannounced.’ A steady thump pounded at her temple. ‘I should go.’

  Heather wrapped her fingers around Jessie’s arm, guided her toward the kitchen, and nudged her through the saloon doors. ‘You can do this. Have faith.’

  Fear and adrenalin willed Jessie’s feet to move. She stopped at the large counter. Sunlight peeked through the slats of the blind hanging over the window. Shelves of baking supplies hung beside a wall of cupboards. A large stainless-steel refrigerator and freezer sat beside a sink and dishwasher. Jessie ambled toward the convection ovens. Heat warmed her chilled arms.

  At one end of the counter a chocolate cake cooled and jelly donuts had been snow-dusted with icing sugar. The room dispensed smells of cinnamon, nutmeg, and apple pie. She longed to bottle the scent of pure delight to the stomach.

  On impulse, Jessie grabbed one of the aprons from a hook and tied the dark fabric around her waist. She remembered her earlier spoken words. Follow a recipe, mix some ingredients, and pop the dish in the oven. I’ve got this. Digging in her purse for her phone, she searched for an easy-bake blueberry muffin recipe.

  ‘I saved a favourite recipe on my phone.’ Dummy! Had she favoured a recipe, she’d know it by memory. Jessie stole a quick glance at Heather who had followed her into the kitchen and leaned on the wall by the doors.

  She set the phone on the counter and read the list. ‘Flour, baking powder, salt, butter, sugar, eggs, milk, and blueberries.’

  Heather showed her where to find the supplies in the cupboard and fridge then returned to her leaning position.

  Opening and closing the cupboards, Jessie gathered the required dry ingredients and set them on the counter. Then, finding a container of fresh blueberries in the fridge, she breathed a sigh of relief. Blueberry muffins weren’t complete without the berries.

  Heat oven to 375. Check. Following the remaining instructions on the small screen, she measured the ingredients and poured them into a bowl. Growing up, her family had hired a housekeeper who also cooked the meals. Hiding from her parents’ le
ctures on what to do with her life, Jessie spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Marsha. She loved watching her cook and helping her peel and dice, but she hadn’t assumed the role of an apprentice. Head in the clouds, Jessie had bigger dreams. Chef or baker weren’t on that list.

  Marsha once told Jessie a recipe usually listed the items in order of necessity. So, according to the recipe she continued to the next list of ingredients. Measuring and pouring them into the bowl, she swiped her phone for the next direction. In a separate bowl. Frustrated, but aware of Heather’s scrutinizing stare from across the room, Jessie forced a calm breath. That step would have been helpful before I mixed everything together. Shaking her head, she proceeded. Blend in blueberries. She spied the blender. She wanted muffin batter, not a smoothie. Recalling Marsha’s cooking techniques, Jessie opted to stir the batter by hand, hoping she’d made the correct decision.

  A tight knot formed across her chest. Hiding her lack of confidence proved difficult with Heather’s silent presence looming close by. Again she hesitated before adding the blueberries. She grabbed a bottle of vanilla from the shelf. Marsha said sweets tasted better with a shot of vanilla, and no one made better desserts than Marsha. Jessie measured a teaspoon of vanilla then added the berries. She tipped the bowl and scraped the sides with a spatula, mixing every morsel of batter. Spoon into paper-lined muffin cups and bake for twenty-five minutes.

  With the tray in the oven, Jessie wiped a hand across her forehead. Relief of completing the task without plastering the room and herself in batter eased the weight on her shoulders. Now she’d wait for the oven to make a miracle happen.

  Heather nodded then left the kitchen.

  Jessie closed her eyes, releasing a heavy sigh. After counting to ten, she opened her eyes then cleaned the mess on the counter and washed the dishes. Confident in her ability to pull off the recipe, she pushed restlessness aside. Even though curiosity bit to see the finished product, she spied the backdoor exit, considering an escape. She wavered between the two choices. ‘No turning back now,’ she muttered under a breath. She walked toward the oven and peeked inside. The blue-dotted muffins were rising nicely.