It's a Sweet Life

Chapter One

Not now. Please, not now.

She slowly rubbed her hands together, wincing over the pain that shot through her knuckles at the motion. Experience told her even soaking them in warm water wouldn’t completely soothe the pain and stiffness away when they felt like this.

It was seven o’clock Thursday evening. With only half of the Palmer wedding order finished, she still had a good six hours of work ahead of her to have everything ready for Friday morning pickup as ordered.

Six hours if I’m lucky.

She burst into tears as she stared at the table full of cupcakes awaiting finishing touches. If she didn’t deliver this job on time, or if she delivered it subpar, the well-connected Palmer family could ruin her reputation and the small bakery, It’s a Sweet Life, that she’d struggled so hard to build.

LacieBelle Addams—Libbie to her friends and family—leaned against the large stainless double fridge and slid down it with her hands cradled in her lap and wrapped in her flour-covered apron. The pain was the worst it had been in months.

That was where she still sat ten minutes later when Grover Johnson, her part-time helper and lifelong friend, came in and found her.

Tsking as he shook his head, the large black man walked over to her and slowly lowered his considerable bulk to the floor next to her.

He wrapped a meaty arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

“Lord, child. Don’t you think it’s ’bout time you went to see Doc Smith?”

She settled her head into his lap, her tears renewing. “I can’t, Grover. I don’t have the money or the time.”

“But you have the time to sit here crying your poor eyes out?”

Grover had been a close friend of her father’s since before she was born, coworkers during the tumultuous days of the civil rights movement of the 60s before opening a law firm together. It didn’t matter that she’d been a white girl. Grover and his wife, Connie, had always welcomed her into their large family of eight kids despite snide comments the families received from people of both races. The man was like a second father to her.

With her own parents dead, Grover and his kids were the only family she had. Connie had passed almost four years earlier after a stroke, right after Libbie had turned thirty-one.

He carefully clasped her hands in his large ones, enveloping them in a tender grip. “I think it’s time for you to consider selling out to Katie Beasley,” he gently said. “She made you a generous offer last month.”

“No. I won’t do that. I have to make this work. Everything I have is tied up in the building and the bakery.”

“Then at least get you some good help in here besides my tired, sorry ole ass. Jenny’s a sweet kid, but you and I both know she’s a few french fries short of a Happy Meal. Not to mention she can’t bake worth a darn. And Ruth is a good woman, but she’s retired and you need someone who can work more than part time for you.”

That made her chuckle. Ruth Callahan only worked mornings and the occasional special order, and usually left once the bulk of the day’s baking was finished. Jenny Millings helped out several mornings a week. She ran the counter for Libbie in exchange for cash under the table and day-old leftovers. She had a part-time job at a convenience store in the afternoons while her two young sons were still in school. It barely helped her pay rent and expenses for her and her kids. She couldn’t afford child care, so she couldn’t work in the evenings. Besides that, her younger son was autistic.

Her ex-husband had been in jail for over two years for a drug charge and obviously wasn’t paying child support.

If looking at anyone’s life could make Libbie feel remotely better about her own situation, it was Jenny’s.

Libbie sniffled and looked up at Grover. “Your ass isn’t sorry.

You’ve been a lifesaver.”

“Glad you and my Connie think so, honey.” He brushed her brown bangs away from her face. “I had another idea, if you’d like to hear it.”

She nodded.

“You’ve got that smaller apartment upstairs. It’s just sitting there gathering dust. Let me get the boys in here to help you clear out all the furniture and those boxes of your folks’ stuff, and you rent it out.

You can put the stuff in my shed. I’ve got the room because I don’t park in there no more.”

“How’s that supposed to help me?” She held up her hands. “That won’t help me get this order out.”

“I’m gonna help you get this order out. But you could use the money you get from rent to pay for someone else to work in here during the day to help you out. Or have the renter work for you part time in exchange for lower rent.”

Grover, bless his heart, shouldn’t even be working. He was retired, and had certainly earned it. She couldn’t afford to pay him, not that he would take money from her if she could afford to pay him.

But on days like this, when cool, late-October autumn days made most people cheerfully start thinking about the upcoming holiday season, Libbie started counting the days until summer hit Brooksville, Florida, again.

The hot, moist summer heat was one of the few things that brought her relief from the sometimes severe pain of her fibromyalgia and arthritis. But the frequent cold fronts that swept through the area in winter played hell with her pain levels.

“You really think I could rent it out?”

He smiled. “I’ve already arranged for my boys to be here bright and early Saturday morning. Tommy’s going to bring his truck, and Jimmy’s going to bring two friends. All they asked in exchange is for you to whip up some of your red velvet cakes.”

She buried her face against his shoulder, holding back her tears.

“Thank you. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

“Honey, you’re family. You know dang well if Connie were here she’d already have that upstairs cleaned out and ready to go.”

Libbie snorted with laughter again. “Yeah, I know.”

Only because of Grover’s help was the Palmer order finished, boxed, and ready for the scheduled morning pickup by one o’clock in the morning. Libbie debated not even going to bed and just staying up to start the morning baking, but Grover nixed that idea.

“You get your butt upstairs and sit in a hot bath for a while and get some sleep. I’ll be back at four to help you and Ruth get the daily stuff going.” He only lived a few minutes away.

She hugged him, struggling to hold back another round of grateful tears. “Thanks.”

He kissed the top of her head, just like he used to do when she was a kid. “No worries, sugar. You grab some winks. We’ll get the morning stuff out the door and you can take a nap later while me and Jenny mind the store.”

Libbie didn’t argue. She locked the back door behind him and slowly climbed the stairs leading to the apartments. When she opened the door to her apartment, Galileo, her huge orange tabby cat, greeted her with a loud meow of disapproval from the back of the couch.

She flipped him a bird. “I’m not in a mood for your ’tude tonight, buddy.”

He jumped off the couch and followed her into the kitchen. There, he twined himself around her legs while she made a cup of hot tea to take into the bath with her. His loud purring filled the otherwise silent kitchen.

Libbie leaned over and picked him up. “You know mommy doesn’t feel good, don’t you?” Usually Galileo acted standoffish and grouchy, unless it was bedtime, dinnertime, or he seemed to sense she felt awful.

And other than her, he hated everyone but Grover. She’d rescued the cat as a young, skinny tom when he was a few weeks old and barely weaned.

Grover joked that if someone had cut his nuts off, he’d be grouchy, too.

The cat rubbed his head against her chin for a minute while she waited for her water to heat in the microwave. When it was ready, she set the cat down and fixed her tea. Galileo followed her into the bathroom and sat staring at her while she undressed and climbed into a tubful of warm water.

When she was comfortable, he put his front paws up on the side of the tub and meowed at her.

“I won’t drown, don’t worry. You’ll get your breakfast in the morning.”

Apparently satisfied by that response, he left the bathroom and headed to the bedroom to wait for her.

Libbie wrapped her hands around her mug and carefully sipped.

The heat soaked through her hands, helping soothe the agony a little.

If I can just hang on through winter, I know I can make it. Snowbirds from up north had started returning to Brooksville, bringing their money with them. Which meant social clubs and churches would be holding their winter events. Restaurants would get busy, and the ones that ordered specialty desserts from her would increase their orders.

Many Blessings, the local New Age store with an in-house coffeeshop, had already doubled their daily orders.

While by not a lot, her daily store sales were also slowly beginning to increase and outpace her expenses. She didn’t have to rely on special orders to make ends meet anymore.

She looked around at the bathroom. When she divorced her ex, she’d moved back home a few months before her parents died in a wreck eight years prior. After they died, she enrolled in culinary school and used the insurance money to help pay bills and tuition.

Upon completing school, she spent a couple of years working at various restaurants and catering businesses in the Tampa Bay area until she had enough training and practical experience to open her own business.

The building’s previous owner, an attorney, had lived in the larger apartment, rented the smaller one out, and used the bottom floor as his law office. When Libbie bought the building two years earlier, she’d emptied her parents’ house and sold it to make the down payment and help pay for equipment.

Her dream come true, to own her own bakery.

So what if she didn’t have any kind of a social life? She’d proved her cheating ass of an ex wrong, that she could do whatever she set her mind to. That she wasn’t worthless.

That she wasn’t a burden, even with her fibro.

Sinking a little lower in the tub, she took another sip of her tea and prayed for the pain to ease up.