Chapter 1
Ivy's POV.
“Cooking and baking is both physical and mental therapy.” Says a food write Mary Berry.
Running a bakery is not as easy as it sounds trust me I know what am talking about. The bakery was packed today because it's a weekend and believe me it's exhausting.
Working with only four employees, it's not easy for us during the weekends because of the crowd. My cousin, Marie suggested I hire more people to work for me to reduce workload but I refused it's not like I can't afford them I honestly don't think i need them.
We sold out today so right now i am driving down to Prings to get some items for the bakery and also get groceries. Prings is our town's mall. It's a large mall with a lot of stores and food courts, ball gown shops, Forever 21, Victoria Secret and so on. It's bigger than Walmart.
I pull up in the only parking space i see in the parking lot seeing as it's a Saturday and there's not much parking space because it's full. I remove my key and walk towards the large doors heading straight to The Prings did I forget to mention inside Prings that there's a main shop called Rites? It has everything except for clothes or jewelries. Rites is like a big supermarket.
Walking into Rites, I get the biggest shopping cart and walk to the baking supplies area where I picked up bags of flour, gallons of milk, icing sugar,regular sugar, baking butter, baking soda, baking powder,six bottles of different flavourings and six bottles of food colouring and threw them into the cart. The cart is filled up by the time I'm done. Now i'm done with the baking supplies i'm going to start with my grocery shopping.
Starting with the cereal department, i pick up a carton of cornflakes and fruit loops before going to other departments to gather the others.
Once I’m done, i head for the checkout line butI bump into someone and I quickly check my bag looking for my handbook before the person spoke up.
"Are you blind or something?" I continue to look for my book before I felt it in my bag then i bring out a typed piece of paper.
"I'M SORRY" the paper read.
The person who was a middle aged man stared at me as if I had suddenly grown two heads. I always get this look any time I bring out my paper. They stare at me like I have some sort of serious problem. I mean I can hear you, I'm just mute and I do perfectly well in my condition not like its a condition. I don't consider it a problem or anything. It's who I am.
I began walking pass him before he stopped me. I notice he has a guilty expression on. Using his hands to do certain things I don't understand but I think it's a failed attempt at sign language not like I understand it. I scribbled some words on my notebook before showing him " I CAN HEAR YOU. I’M NOT DEAF"
He shot me an apologetic look before saying " I'm sorry, i didn't mean to be rude. It’s been a really bad day for me"
He shot me an apologetic look before saying " I'm sorry, i didn't mean to be rude. It’s been a really bad day for me"
"IT'S OKAY" I scribbled giving him a soft smile before walking pass him and heading towards the cash register thankfully this one had only two people.
After about ten minutes it was finally my turn I placed all my items down which believe me is a whole lot. From the baking supplies to the house groceries to a few other things i picked up that i felt we needed at home.
"That would be three hundred and forty five dollars and fifty cents ma'am" the petite woman told me i simply nodded my head before giving her my card then placing all my packed items into the cart.
Walking towards my car, I notice a black Lamborghini park behind my car and I rushed to the car trying to stop him but he didn't even spare me a glance. Rude.
He came out of his car and I follow him trying to explain to him. I put my two palms together to form a please but he ignored me and continued walking until I touched him "What do u want?" He hissed.
Holding my notebook I was about writing something down before he spoke up again " How could a beautiful girl like you be begging in a place like this?"He snapped before walking away.
