“Hattie—” “Now. Go. Put on your big boy pants and face the big scary bakery owner.” She actually rolls her eyes at that. “I’m not scared of her, Hat—” I start. But she laughs, cutting me off as she puts her hand on the arm of the client, urging her into her booth. “You might not be scared of her in the traditional way, Ben, but that woman scares the shit out of you. Once you realize that, we’ll all be able to live with less of a headache.” And then she’s gone behind a closed door, and I can hear her turn down the loud music, almost like she’s telling me to man the fuck up and go. With a
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