One minute you're at the top of your game, and the next, you receive a hit that knocks your skates out from underneath you.
Still reeling after an unexpected loss, Ryan Nyberg not only finds himself back in his beachside hometown of Neptune Bay, bu...
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Today had been an all-around shit show.
It started off with Ryan calling to cancel our morning fishing plans—which, in the grand scheme of what he was dealing with in regard to Bowen, I understood. Sure, it'd been disappointing, but I'd also been worried and hoped they were able to deal with the lingering grief surrounding Liam and Thea's deaths.
Then, as I went to leave for work, I noticed one of the tires on my bike was flat, which caused a frantic search for the air pump I'd stored away. When I'd finally found it, fixed the tire, and pedaled as fast as I could, I ended up being over fifteen minutes late.
And while it hadn't bothered June much at all, it'd thrown my mind off center.
I ended up spacing in and out periodically, and of course, had knocked into June as she brought out the last batch of muffins before she left for the day, sending them all tumbling to the floor. Thankfully, no customers had been around to witness my embarrassment, and as I cleaned up the mess, June was nice enough to whip up another batch and get them in the oven before heading out.
As if that wasn't enough, about half an hour later, when two customers exited the store in a hurry as it started to rain, a bird managed to make its way inside. A fucking bird. I'd immediately yelped, coming out from behind the counter and trying to wave it back outside, but the bird decided to cause some chaos first. Knocking products off the shelves, flying in circles, and frazzling me to my wits end before finally soaring back through the door.
And of course, that meant I hadn't heard the oven timer go off and the muffins June had put in ended up overcooked and charred. Wafting a slightly burnt smell throughout the store.
By some dumb luck though, with the rain becoming heavier as the afternoon drew on—pelting against the windows and clearing out foot traffic along the beach—the store was slow. So nobody was around to witness my disastrous day. I spent the remainder of the day staring out the window, willing time to speed up. And in the back of my mind, I knew I could close up early if I wanted to. After all, I was the owner, but something in me fought against doing that until around ten to six, when I headed back into the kitchen to start cleaning up.
I was ready to be done with today and just wanted to get back home. To change into some sweats, maybe order a pizza, and collapse onto my sofa to indulge in a good show and a lazy night.
Though when I heard the front door open, I froze. Being in the back, there was no telling who it was, and their footsteps stopped almost immediately. With the way today had gone, my first thought was that it was that Romano guy, back again to try and push his agenda of buying the store. And that was someone I wasn't ready to deal with at the moment. He was equally infuriating and terrifying, what with the corporate vibes he'd given off, piled on top of his ego and the gall he had to think he just throw money at me—at my family—and we would just hand over the store for him to completely tear down and ruin the waterfront by resurrecting a condo in its place.
