Free The Sweetest Thing by Christina Mandelski

say?”
    “Well . . .” I am so going to say YES! But I don’t have 77

    a chance, because Nanny hollers “Sheridan!” I jump, then look up and see, standing next to the case, one of the ExtremeCuisine TV camera guys with a huge lens pointed right at me. I knew it.
    “Where in tarnation is your hairnet, girl? You tryin’ to put me out of business?” When she’s done with me, she turns to the cameraman. “And you’ve got it on film?” She swats at him with the kitchen towel in hand. “Turn that camera off, fool. You want me out on the street?”
    She swoops around the case and glares at Ethan. She’s got a very effective glare. “And you are?”
    “This is Ethan,” I say, slipping my hairnet back on, dying as Nanny sizes him up.
    “Hi,” Ethan says confidently. “Nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand, but Nanny doesn’t take it.
    “I’ve seen you here before.”
    “Yeah, well, you’ve got good . . . stuff,” he replies.
    “Well. That’s mighty nice of you to say. But my granddaughter is on the clock, so if you don’t mind.”
    Ethan stands, the bag of muffins in his hand. “Oh, sorry.” He forces my eyes up with his gaze, then he glances sideways at Nanny. “You have your cell?”
    Nanny’s arms cross as I reach into my pocket and give him my phone. She shifts her weight and harrumphs.
    He enters his number and hands it back to me, then looks at Nanny and winks. Oh God, he did not just do that.
    “Text you?” he asks. I smile and nod.
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    I peek at Nanny, half of me mad that she ruined a real moment, the other half relieved that she interrupted before I said anything really stupid. On camera. She gives me her you-better-watch-it eye as she walks around the cameraman and back into the kitchen.
    Ethan’s opening the front door when Surfer swings around from behind the counter. Oh crap. He’s here, too?
    “Wait, wait, wait,” Surfer says, grabbing Ethan’s arm.
    “Ethan, is it?” Surfer doesn’t give him time to answer. “Hey, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but we’re filming a TV show in a few weeks. May seventh, a Saturday. It’s a Sweet Sixteen, for Sheridan here.” He nudges Ethan and winks. “Hot chicks in bikinis.”
    Surfer looks at me. “He should come, don’t you think?”
    “Uh. If he wants to . . . I guess.” I am beyond mortified.
    “Awesome. We need the cream of the crop at this luau.
    Okay, dude, consider yourself invited. Clear the whole day; we’ll need it.”
    Ethan stares at me, and his eyebrows arch like he’s asking me if this is okay. The corners of my mouth turn up. His eyes move over my face, and he hits me once more with that smile.
    “Yeah, great. I can do that,” Ethan says to Surfer.
    Then he opens the door, says “See ya,” and he’s gone.
    The front doorbell rings its familiar, happy sound. I am in shock. I think I just got asked out on TV. By Ethan Murphy?
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    There’s a grin on my face as I get back to work. I also make a mental note to slip ten dollars into the register since my date forgot to pay for his muffins.
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Chapter 7
bread of life
    It’s the night before Easter, and I am a total insomniac.
    Not because I have to be at the bakery at five in the morning to prepare for the big brunch, or because my fake birthday-slash-TV debut is only two weeks away. It isn’t even because the single hottest guy in the Midwest (and possibly the universe) has kind of asked me out.
    No. Last night I got an e-mail from the hotel on Mackinac Island. It said that Ms. Taylor’s business was in Sault Sainte Marie, on the Michigan-Canada border, but that they hadn’t used her services in a few years. On the other hand, if I booked their hotel for my wedding reception, they’d be happy to refer a bakery of equal or better quality.
    What? I wanted to scream at the computer. I’m not real y 81

    getting married, you idiots. I’m looking for my mother!
    So, what now? That’s what I’m trying to figure out.
    As soon as I go the e-mail, I