Chapter Nine
Mindy
I only catch a few hours of sleep before dawn nudges its way across my window, but somehow, it’s enough.
I wake up the way I always do, like the morning has been waiting for me, and not the other way around.
My bones hum with purpose, the soft thrill of another baking day warming me better than coffee ever could.
When I walk downstairs to unlock the shop, I freeze.
There’s a crowd. A real, honest-to-goodness crowd huddles on the sidewalk, bundled in coats and scarves, their breath fogging up the glass as they peer inside like it’s Black Friday and I’m giving away flat-screen TVs and not slinging sweets for a living.
Holy Crumpets!
The second I twist the lock, the door swings open with the enthusiasm of a theme park ride. They spill in, smiling so wide it’s contagious.
“Good morning!” I beam, trying not to look as startled as I feel. “Welcome to Mindy’s Sweets. What can I get for you today?”
A girl practically sprints to the display case, eyes huge with wonderment.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you’re open. I’ve been waiting for these all morning.
Yesterday, some kid was handing out the best cinnamon rolls I have ever tasted.
I swear I dreamed of them all night. My dreams were filled with frosting and cinnamon deliciousness all because of you! Please tell me you have more.”
There’s no hiding my smile. Cinnamon roll pastry slinging was definitely Gremlin’s doing.
“Yes, ma’am. I have a few dozen cinnamon rolls ready for your consumption.”
She does a literal happy dance, her blonde curls bouncing against her back. She’s probably no older than thirty, but her enthusiasm is off the charts, making me adore her immediately.
“I need six! No… make it a dozen. No wait! You better make it three before I embarrass myself and grab more than I can handle.” She scans the case.
“Oh, those sugar cookies look delicious too. I’ll take three of those, and maybe…
no, no. You gotta stop this, Tracy, pace yourself, control that sweet tooth before it gives you a cavity.
Ah, screw it! Throw in a snickerdoodle too. I’m a sucker for cinnamon.”
I box everything up with the biggest grin. “So that’s three cinnamon rolls, three sugar cookies, and one snickerdoodle. Your total is thirty-five dollars.”
This is the part where people usually hesitate, balking at my prices like they’re heavily inflated. But not Tracy. Tracy pays with glee, leaving me a generous tip, while she practically skips out the door with her pastries like she won the lottery or something.
And it stays like that. Allllll fudging day.
I have a constant stream of customers. Lines form.
There’s laughter filling the room every time another person wanders in.
People are actually excited about my food.
They’re loving my family’s recipes, handed down through generations of St. Johns, all with pastry loving hearts as big as mine.
They never got to live out their dream, but here’s mine.
Alive!
Breathing.
Building with every passing second.
By noon, I’m exhausted but still floating on clouds that feel impossibly tall.
That’s when Amber walks in with a little boy holding her hand, with chocolate smeared across his face like war paint.
“Hey, Mindy. This is my son, Giovanni. I hope you don’t mind me bringing him by.”
“Of course not!” I hug her, more than grateful for their company.
I could use an extra pair of hands to make more goodies.
“Did you sleep well?” I prod, my real question for her freezing on my tongue.
Especially since she whispered something to me earlier, I haven’t been able to un-hear: “He likes you, Mindy. Don’t let that prickly exterior fool you. ”
Rich likes me!
Gosh, my heart hasn’t stopped doing little cartwheels since she ratted him out. There’s just something about him that I can’t quite shake.
Amber pats the counter. “Where do you want me? I can run the register while you bake. That way I can keep an eye on Gio until my mom picks him up.”
“That would be amazing. I’m completely out of cinnamon rolls again.”
“I tried one yesterday.” She presses a hand over her heart dramatically. “Girl. I practically ascended. Gremlin wasn’t kidding when he said they’re the best damn cinnamon rolls he’s ever had. You really got something there.”
I laugh. “Maybe I should put up a sign that says Best cinnamon rolls in Fernley.”
“Woman, you gotta think bigger. If you’re going to make a sign, at least make it seem real.
It’s gotta say: Best cinnamon rolls in the world.
I promise you, people would buy shirts. Better yet, make some that say C.
R. F. L.” She smacks her chest like she’s making a gang sign. “Cinnamon Rolls for Life.”
I beam. My grandma’s recipes are really touching people, and I know she’d be so proud of me right now for keeping our family’s legacy alive.
I start another batch, rolling the dough across the floured counter like it’s breathed into my memory.
Sometimes, I get lost in baking, my mind wandering through all the what ifs I can possibly dream.
Like envisioning what it would be like to have a franchise that spreads across the country, where Mindy’s Sweets are on every corner, and my baking empire is spreading through the world like a hungry wildfire.
It’s something I’ve always thought of, but now that it’s within my grasp, I’m closer than I’ve ever been.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t break free of it until I feel a soft tug on my dress.
Giovanni.
“Hi. You’re pretty,” he declares, face still covered in chocolate.
My heart melts. “That might be the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”
He grins, revealing more chocolate on his teeth. “Your chocolate chip cookies are ooey and gooey. I had three already.”
Amber snorts. “We’re working on moderation.”
“Well,” I say, dropping to his level. “After I finish these cinnamon rolls, I’m going to make more cookies. Want to help me?”
His little gasp is adorably theatrical. “Mommy, can I help the pretty lady make some cookies?”
Amber’s laughter fills the room. “Yes, baby. And her name is Mindy.”
He nods aggressively. “Right. Mindy. I’ll remember that.”
He climbs onto a stool, leaning forward to watch me swirl cinnamon across the dough.
“What are those gonna be?”
“Cinnamon rolls.”
“Oh. I had one of those yesterday, but it made my tummy hurt.”
Frowning, I turn to Amber, who only smiles as she raises a brow. “Now tell her why your tummy hurt, Gio. The whole truth.”
He shrugs innocently. “I may have had some cookies and pie before it.”
Laughing, I finish rolling up the cinnamon rolls and carefully cut them out so they’re the perfect size. “That’ll do it.”
He grins. “I’m not eating too many today. I promise,” he assures me, trying to hide the fact that he’s hoarding another cookie between his cheeks like a chipmunk.
Amber just shakes her head.
“Well, that’s good because I need my helpers healthy.”
“I’m very healthy,” he says proudly. “I wash my hands regularly. It keeps the germs away.” He pauses before looking at his mother. “Mommy says you should sing your ABCs while washing your hands. Do you know the ABC song?”
I nod. “I do.”
He grins. “Before we make the cookies, we need to sing our ABCs.”
“Okay, we’ll do that.”
We spent a whole thirty seconds singing the ABC song while washing our hands. I totally botch the song, my voice an atrocious mix of off-key happiness that messes little Giovanni up a few times. He glares up at me as Amber watches with a soft smile, one hand drifting to her belly.
“Don’t worry, Miss Mindy, you’ll do better next time. I’ll make sure to teach you the song right.”
“You’ve got a pretty smart kid here,” I tell her as he takes his place in front of the bowl.
She nods. “He really is. He’s too smart for his own good sometimes.” She rubs her bump. “I hope this one is just as sharp.”
“Do you know what you’re having yet?”
“No, we want to be surprised. Well… Eddie wants to be surprised.” Her voice grows softer.
“He didn’t get to be there when Giovanni was little.
I didn’t really give him a chance. So, I want him to have all the firsts with this one.
” There’s a story there she isn’t sharing, but that’s okay.
We’re still getting to know each other. Maybe one day she’ll open up to me more.
“I just hope it doesn’t backfire,” she adds, her voice riddled with worry.
“Backfire how?”
She glances at Gio, who’s vigorously stirring the batter like he’s part machine, then waves me closer.
“By getting close to this baby,” she whispers, “and in turn pushing Giovanni away.”
My chest tightens.
“Amber…”
“I know. Mom guilt, right?” She shakes her head. “It’s stupid. Gio’s excited to have a little brother or sister, and Eddie’s excited to just be around for this one. I’m just…” she pauses too long. “It’s hard not to worry.”
Before I can respond, Giovanni looks up at us, flour streaked across his cheek like a little soldier.
“Mindy,” he says in all seriousness. “I think these cookies need more chocolate chips.” He snatches a few out of the dough and quickly eats them. “We are missing a lot. I don’t know why.”
Amber smiles, her eyes a little glossy.
“See, Amber? You got nothing to worry about. There’s no way that anyone could ever forget that kid. He’s pretty special.”
“I know,” she cries before wiping unwanted tears away. “Stupid hormones.”
She can blame the hormones all she wants, but I can see the pressure of motherhood weighing on her.
“How much longer do you have?”
“Any time now. But my due date is late December early January. I had Giovanni a month early, so I’m always ready for my water to break.”
As if on cue, the oven dings, making both of us jump. We giggle as warm sweetness fills the air, lifting the heaviness from the moment.
“Does that mean the cookies are ready?” Gio asks.