Baking Up Love Page 5
What it meant to me was more than dollar signs though.
It meant the business - largely thanks to Claire - was doing well. It meant growth. It meant my “past dues” became “paid in full” and as anybody who had gotten a sternly worded letter about missed payments can tell you, the relief is unparalleled when you can finally say that you have the money.
The first few hours in the early morning were typically reserved for prepping the pastries and dough, getting them into the oven and proofing so I could open up the shop.
In a few hours, I’d need to hold up the line and go into the back to deal with another batch. It was a complicated dance and despite that I’d told Claire I would whip something up on my lunch break, I’d long since given that up in favor of constantly working.
There wasn’t much choice.
Even then I couldn’t keep up with the demand. Between the growing online orders and the number of people who came here in person to have the pastries and sweets I didn’t trust shipping, I was working twelve-hour days and still coming up short on some days.
Since the bakery had only closed twice, both of them after Claire had come back to Sunrise Valley, I was effectively working at least eighty hours a week. I did my best not to let it show, but I was exhausted.
My phone pinged, telling me it was eight o’clock. Time to open up.
I cleaned up all the flour that had gotten on me and washed my hands of sticky dough from the croissants. I’d seen a post earlier in the week about two-tone croissants and wanted to try my hand at them.
I figured with the influx of customers I could afford to try something new. It was one of my favorite things about baking. There was so much creativity I could put into my creations. And taking the time to do it right really showed.
There weren’t any shortcuts with baking. Just like working out, you couldn’t cheat. Put in the time and the effort and you will be rewarded.
What went wrong was usually pretty obvious. I didn’t need to read complicated new tax laws to see how I could maximize my deductions. Didn’t need to hire lawyers to find loopholes in the laws people like them helped make.
It was clean and simple. Just the way I liked it.
The cold weather had frosted the windows as I came in from the back. We were barely into October and the temperature in the valley was closer to the mid-fifties in the early morning and at night. Daytime barely peaked in the seventies.
I loved it.
As soon as I opened the door, Sam burst in nearly knocking me on my ass. I managed to keep my footing long enough to get out of her way. She rounded on me, wagging an accusatory finger my way.
When our eyes met, her sky-blues to my dark browns, she colored and suddenly lost the will to speak.
I waited a moment before brushing past her and back behind the wooden counter to flick the light switch on. Golden light washed the wooden countertop and the tables with a warm glow. The glass display of pastries gleamed.
“What do you want, Sam?” I bent forward and leaned over the counter, watching her small lithe frame pace back and forth. Tired and seeing she wouldn’t be rushed, I propped my head up with my elbows atop the counter to wait her out.
Sam had filled a role I once thought was permanently lost.
She had come to Sunrise Valley a year or two after I graduated. With some boyfriend or other that I never got to meet and then when that ended she stayed.
We became fast friends. Sam helped me get through a lot of personal shit that I’m not sure I would’ve been able to without her. In turn, I helped her with a place to stay and returned the favor by helping her with her guy troubles.
Something she had a lot of.
There was a brief period of time when I entertained the idea of seeing if there was something more to our friendship. But I never quite made it that far. She was always hopping from one guy to the next but sooner or later she’d wind up crashing at my place again.
And then before I knew it, I realized that there wasn’t anything more. She was like the sister I never had.
We kept in touch whenever she’d leave. Sam would make her way back in a month or two. Though the last time had been nearly a year before she came back and started working at the only hotel in town.
Sam bounced in place, psyching herself up for something. She wore her blonde hair up in a braid of some sort that kept it oddly professional. The sort of thing I’d seen a few bakers wear when they wanted their hair out of the way, but also wanted it to look stylish.
“Sam.”
The girl jumped at her name and turned to scowl at me. “Keep your fucking pants on, asshole.”
I rolled my eyes and held my tongue. Sam had a way with words. She took them, dragged them into a back alley and beat them with a sack of bricks until only the coarsest most obscene ones were left standing.
It often felt that way when she was talking too.
Eventually, she wandered over towards the antique register that I had a strange affection for. It still had the original bell and mechanical buttons. I had long since thought to change it for something a bit more modern, but it was part of the charm of the place now and I couldn’t stand to part with it.
“Listen, I’m sorry for snapping at you,” she said. Was she wearing makeup? I rarely looked at other girls, it just wasn’t in my DNA. And particularly after Claire walked back into my life I had no reason. But I looked now and realized that Sam was dressed…well, a lot like Claire usually did.
Very professional.
I lifted a hand and shooed the apology away. “Part of your charm, Sam.”
That earned me an impish glare.
“The reason I came over was…shit! Why can’t I get this out? Okay, here it is Thomas. I know the bakery’s been going gangbusters lately and you’re probably fine on your own. I know how hard you work and have worked ever since you opened the place. I always wanted to ask before but I knew how things were going and thought maybe you didn’t-“
She was spiraling. It was almost cute to watch her get tongue-tied and flustered. I had a good idea where this was going and since she’d managed nearly three full sentences without an obscenity I figured she was really putting in an effort.
I decided to put her out of her misery. “You looking for a job?”
Sam slapped her palms on top of the counter and nearly collapsed but just barely managed to catch herself. “Yes.”
I stood up and pretended to examine my fingernails. “Got any references?”
The look on her face was priceless. “What?”
“How about a resume? What past work experience do you have?”
Her tan skin turned ghostly white and it was all I could do not to crack a smile and ruin the façade. “I-I just…”
“I’m screwing with you.” I extended my hand to her. She was visibly stunned by the whiplash of it. “When can you start?”
A moment later her small hand gripped mine. She gave one hell of a firm handshake, I’ll give her that. Not that I’d expect anything less from her.
“Immediately!” Without breaking eye contact she pulled out her phone and tapped the screen awake. Her fingers flew across it, dialing - I assumed - her now ex-boss. Though he didn’t know it yet. “Hey, asshole. I quit. Take your eight dollars an hour and shove it.”
The voice on the other end yelled something back, whatever it was I didn’t catch it and she ended the call a second later.
“God that felt so good.” She seemed to realize something and then gave me a wary look. “You can do better than eight an hour, right?”
With the way things were going, I could stand to pay her twenty easily. Especially if that let me fill even a portion of the orders that I had to keep pushing back.
She’d pay for herself in the first week and then some.
“We’ll start you at fifteen, see how you like it and if you want further responsibilities we’ll go from there.” I pulled up the stool I usually sat on when business was slow. “How’s that sound?”
I cringed. “You know I’d cook for you.” It broke my heart that she was eating that stuff and so often too.
Her shoulders hiked up nearly to her ears and she looked away. “I know, but you’ve been busy with Claire and her dad’s death and all. I know you two were close, how are you by the way?”
I waved off her concern. “Smooth deflection. We’re talking about you.”
“I’ve never been the type for handouts, you know that.”
“Unfortunately.”
Sam came around the counter, looking at everything in the warm glow. “So this is what it looks like from this side.” She shot me a look. “What, no shotgun for the pumpkin spice basic bitches? You do know it’s October, don’t you? They’re rousing from their slumber as we speak, slipping on their Lululemon yoga pants, uggs, and north face jackets. And if we don’t get their order right they are, like, just so done.”
Her disturbingly accurate imitation sent a shiver down my spine but reminded me of what the shop was missing. Coffee. If I could get Sam to fill in on a full-time basis, I could have the time to source, roast, and brew coffee in time for the fall rush.
It was the only time Sunrise Valley got any sort of tourism. The leaves were a riot of color. The apple orchards had massive sales on cider and juice. People came from all over to see the untouched forest trails painted red, gold, and orange.
“Are you sure you want this?” I asked her cautiously.
“After my last few jobs, yeah I’m sure. I still have an asshole for a boss, but at least I get all the pastries I want?”
I motioned to the case. “End of the day, take whatever you like. I had to stop donating because I never have anything left so don’t be surprised if some days there’s nothing for you.”
“Sweet.” She paused and looked at me. “What’s to stop me from taking your treats and selling them secondhand?”
“Part common sense, part trust.”
“You do know some people are buying your stuff and ferreting them back to the cities and charging double what they paid, right?”
The look on my face must have told her I didn’t.
“Wow. You really are too pure for this world, you know that Thomas? Yeah, I saw a few postings of it. Heard some of the guests at the hotel talk about it too. Apparently, there are some people who can’t make it out here and you don’t offer any of the good shit online.” She shrugged.
“Not much I can do about it.” Though I did remind myself to talk with Claire about it. It wasn’t so much that I cared people were making a profit off my work, but that any market like that existed in the first place showed a weakness in the business.
“So what do I do here? Show me the ropes boss!” Sam grabbed onto my arm and practically jumped up and down.
Today was going to be interesting.
7
Claire
My face was still burning when I locked the door behind me. I can’t believe he saw me. Wait, why am I embarrassed? Watching your man go to work was practically an American staple.
All good housewives with clean white aprons on waved at their man when he went to work and watched with dewy eyes as he disappeared down the road.
Okay, first of all, I’m not sure that time period ever actually existed outside of movies. And second, did I just think of myself as a housewife?
I wasn’t sure which was more disturbing, that I had the thought at all, or that it wasn’t as unappealing as I had thought it would be.
Sometimes it was hard not to fantasize about white picket fences, raking leaves in the yard with Thomas and then jumping in them together like a pair of kids. The house. The two and a half kids. A white wedding in the middle of the park while all the trees around us caught fire with the colors of autumn.
It warmed me in a way I couldn’t really pin down. I’d never been one to daydream about marriage. I wasn’t like some of my friends who would idly sketch their name with different last names, to see how it looked, how it sounded.
Then again, that was likely why I graduated top of my class. The nerdy girl with her sights firmly on the prize. I owned up to the stereotype. It helped me to keep focused on what mattered.
Though I did wonder how many of those relationships that seemed to burn so brightly were still around. Would my own still be here in a month? A year? Would I come to regret opening myself up to Thomas?
I hoped not.
Enough of that. We’ve got work to do.
In true business fashion, I compartmentalized the growing unease and worry away from the businesswoman I had to be today. With all the new custom at A Game of Scones, we were paid up on everything that was past due or coming up soon.
Just the other day Thomas suggested we use the money to pay ahead, and I had to explain to him that’s not the way things worked. He was a good guy, so sweet and caring. But sometimes he had the oddest ideas about how to do things.
I had to explain that as a business, you didn’t pay ahead. What you did was reinvest that money in the business itself, lower your tax burden, hire new staff, or expand. And if you have anything left over then you put it away if there’s nothing else to get.
The primary goal is to make sure the business grows, and A Game of Scones was ripe for an explosive growth spurt.
He didn’t take too well to the idea of hiring another person.
He was very particular about how things were made. It was why he originally got into baking to begin with so I understood on that count. But he could at least hire an apprentice and somebody to man the register and take orders.
I worried he was spreading himself too thin. I knew from experience the kind of strain that puts on you and I didn’t want anything like that for him. I hoped when the time came that he could see reason. There was more than enough in the budget for one, even two cashiers.
My desire for it wasn’t entirely altruistic. I’d get to see him more, and that was definitely something I needed more of. I could see how deeply he slept.
When I first came back to Sunrise Valley, the first few nights together I was amazed at how lightly he slept. The least little noise and he was awake, those gorgeous dark eyes like two shots of espresso staring at me. It made me a little wet just thinking about it.
He’d always been like that. As far back as I could remember. I never did fully understand why until much later and then I wished I hadn’t.
It was after I left for college. I was taking an introductory psychology course and in it they said that victims of childhood abuse - and abuse in general - often display signs of what’s called hypervigilance.
The following lectures broke down more than a few people in the room and several left crying. I very nearly broke myself and cried myself to sleep that first night. I tried to call Thomas that night, but either his number changed or he had blocked me because it didn’t go through.
So much of what the professor said had made sense.
It made me see Thomas in an entirely different light. The way he always assessed every room, looking for the exits, counting the people. His light sleeping, the way he seemed to know where I was without seemingly paying attention.
They were all signs of abuse. The victim learns - usually from an early age - to be aware of their surroundings. To listen and know when threats are coming and be able to do something about it.
The fact that I could stomp around in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and come back to bed with him sound asleep meant he must truly be exhausted.
That wasn’t what I wanted when I became his business partner. I wanted him to have more time for the things he loved. Instead, I screwed it up and made things worse. Granted, the business was doing great but if he didn’t get some help soon I would have to step in.
And that was something I wasn’t eager to do.
The bakery was Thomas’ and even though we were forced into this partnership by Dad, I didn’t want to take it from him
. If he came to me asking for advice I’d give it to him. I could present him with plans and ideas for expansion but in the end, I wanted the final say to be his.
The very last thing I wanted was him to resent me for coming in and taking his business away from him.
I spent all day talking, emailing, and texting suppliers, courier services, commercial kitchen appliance manufacturers, and general contractors. If I was right, we’d need to do some renovations sooner than later if everything turned out as I thought it might.
Which meant I also needed to find an architect, because the changes I had in mind were drastic. I wanted to preserve as much of the old brickwork building as possible. It was part of the small town hokey charm after all.
Gut out the shop, expand it into an eatery with a glass partition so the guests eating could watch the bakers - at that point, Thomas would have to hire more staff just to handle the volume - making all the different goodies.
There’d be a staircase to the upper level. That meant we’d need to completely renovate the apartment upstairs. We’d get a house somewhere, or maybe convert some space into a loft.
I was flexible. And there was plenty of space in Sunrise Valley.
Upstairs would have a coffee bar, maybe a piano or some kind of live music playing. Free Wi-Fi was a given. Gotta have something for all those aspiring novelists and playwrights. Then there’d be a balcony with a glass railing looking down on Main Street below.
I don’t know when the idea for it all came to me but it was something I couldn’t quite shake. Every day I wrote a little bit more down about what came to my head and before I knew it there was a full-blown plan for renovating the shop.
It wouldn’t be cheap but if things continued at the rate they were going now. I gave it a year, eighteen months at the outside, before we had enough saved up to do it with a reasonable loan.
But that was a plan I wasn’t ready to share just yet.
Despite that, I made sure to get in touch with the right people. It was part of being a consultant, which reminded me. Now that the funeral was over, they’d be expecting me to come back to work. I could squeeze out another week or two but I was already pushing it.