Chapter 11
Chapter 11
P oppy had exactly one chance to get things right, but she couldn’t let herself believe that or she might have some kind of breakdown. So she feigned enthusiasm and went to the town’s only diner, a small place eponymously named Huck’s after the owner, Huck. She took a seat at the counter and asked to speak with him.
He was a big, hairy guy, but unlike the ubiquitous image of cigarette smoking hash slingers, he was immaculately clean, as was his restaurant. Poppy liked that a lot. She wouldn’t be able to stomach working anywhere dirty, quite literally. Her stomach pitched and rolled with nausea, but she had learned how to mostly ignore it over the last several weeks and she did so now.
“What can I do for you, darlin’?” he asked in a strong Texas twang. He rested his massive forearms on the counter and offered her a smile that was fatherly and wholesome, further putting Poppy at ease.
“It might be a matter of what I can do for you, Mr. Huck. My name is…”
He put up a hand and interrupted her. “I know who you are, sweetie. You’re Poppy Dunbar, Bailey Ridge’s sister, Sully’s new girl.”
Poppy blinked at him. “Sully and I are just friends. The rest of it is correct, though. I’m here because…”
He interrupted again. “You’re here because you’re a good cook and you need a job. Darlin’, I’d love to help you out, truly, but I do all the cookin’, and I got enough waitresses. There just isn’t enough work or money to go around.” He looked regretful, heartbreakingly so. Poppy could read the pity for her in his eyes and tried hard to ignore it. She was not a charity case; she was a businesswoman with a business proposition. She sat up slightly, stiffening her shoulders.
“Have you ever heard of a pop up restaurant?” she said it fast, lest he interrupt her again.
He blinked at her. “No, can’t say as I have.”
“It’s like a restaurant within a restaurant. Usually they operate at differing hours, but they share the kitchen. Either the second restaurant pays the first one rent or sells items on commission.”
He squinted. “I cain’t hardly see what you’re gettin’ at, sugar. You want to open a restaurant here in the middle of the night? You might get a few truckers, but not much else.”
“I don’t want to open an entire restaurant. I’m a pastry chef. I propose opening a bakery within your restaurant, selling baked goods that would complement the menu you already have. I’ll keep to that portion of the counter down there where you have the pies.” She pointed. “I’ll use the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning and have it cleaned and ready for you by the time you open. Then I’ll sell my baked goods and get out of your hair. I’ll buy my own supplies and give you a percentage of my profits.”
He squinted, thinking. “That sounds real nice, but I have to be frank with you. This is a small town with a lot of regulars who are set in their ways. I don’t have a lot of faith they’ll be willin’ to take a chance on a newcomer, even if she has town connections.”
“That may be so, but it would seem you have nothing to lose by letting me try,” she said.
“Now that part is true. Go ahead and try, and I wish you well.” He gave her a big smile that warmed her lonely, secretly insecure heart. He stood upright to move away, but she hailed him back.
“There’s one more thing.”
Now he gave her an amused look. “Knowing your sister, I shoulda figured there might be.”
“Who does your pies?” she asked.
“A place in San Antonio,” he replied.
“They’re horrible. Let me do them instead. It can be the one thing you buy outright from me, and it will allow you to advertise that they’re made fresh daily in house.”
He tilted his head at her. “Can you actually make pies? People around here are picky about them.”
This time when she smiled she wasn’t faking her confidence. “Oh, I can make pies.”
“Well, then, it looks like we got ourselves a deal.” He held out his hand for her to shake.
She did so, standing to reach him better. “Excellent. Go cancel your pie orders for tomorrow. I’ll start tonight. And I’m going to need a key to the restaurant.”
“Anything else?” he asked, his tone wry.
“I’ll let you know.” Feeling ridiculously happy over the small gain, she waltzed out of the restaurant and removed her phone, wanting to text someone, anyone with the news. She paused, thumbs aloft over the phone. The development was fresh, and it felt vulnerable. Poppy’s gut reaction was to text George, and she stopped short. Somehow she hadn’t realized that he had become that person for her, the one she shared her inmost heart with. But she couldn’t text George. Not only was he not hers, but he was no longer speaking to her. She blinked back the tears and considered texting Sully. She might have, if not for the look on his face last night after her mental breakdown and subsequent nap. It had been too much for him, the revelation into her inner struggles. She shouldn’t have laid all that on him, but she was so desperate for some sort of reassurance that she wasn’t throwing her life away by giving up everything and moving here. The look on his face last night had been the opposite of reassuring.
However, she did need information, and he might be the only one who could provide it. So she texted him a generic question.
Can you give me the name of a good pecan guy?
He replied a second later. Pecan guys are notoriously bad husbands and fathers.
She laughed. Thank you for your continued belief in both my desperation and promiscuity.
He texted a few seconds later with the name and number of a local pecan farmer and, happy to concentrate on work for a while, Poppy made the call and arranged for a delivery.
While her situation was a bit direr than she’d like, it wasn’t as if she had no money in savings. Her parents had been clear on the need to save money, to prepare for the future and emergencies. Poppy didn’t own a car and she didn’t have health insurance, but she had seven thousand dollars in the bank. It would have to be enough to start her fledgling business, to buy the supplies she needed.
She already had the tools, things like pans, measuring cups, etc. Those were items she had been accumulating since culinary school. They and her clothes were the only items she owned, the only items she brought from New York. All she needed were ingredients, and that proved to be tricky. The local grocery store had some basics, but they didn’t carry the large quantities she would need, and they didn’t have the high quality she desired.
The pecan guy led her to a local dairy that would provide her with butter and cream. She went to the library and used the free internet to order vanilla and Belgian chocolate, planning to make do until they arrived in a few days. She already had a menu in her head, but today she wrote it down. She had researched what the locals ate, knowing instinctively that Parisian baked goods probably wouldn’t go over well in tiny, small town Texas. The pecan was king here, and Poppy planned to use it liberally, both with a pecan pie and pecan sticky rolls. Kolaches were something new, a local favorite she had never made before. She loved trying new things and experimenting. She had spent the last couple of days researching recipes, trying them out until she perfected her own twist. Along with the pies, sticky buns, and kolaches, she planned to make brioche jam-filled donuts and a coffee cake with pecan streusel. In time she might add more to her menu, such as brownies and cookies, but for now that would be enough.
Once she got to know people better, she also hoped to add some cake orders to her repertoire, both wedding and birthday. Those she could do in her own kitchen on her off hours, padding what would likely be a meager income. If she didn’t have to worry about health insurance, she would probably be okay. Rent was cheap here, and so was the cost of living, especially without the cost of car ownership, maintenance, or gasoline. But the need for health insurance loomed on her horizon like a thundercloud. Having a baby in a hospital was exorbitantly expensive. Without insurance, she might spend the rest of her life trying to pay for it. But how could she afford insurance on what she would soon be making? For a self-employed woman her age who needed maternity coverage, it would be over a thousand dollars a month, and it barely covered anything. She had no idea how much her new job would bring in, if anything. It might be an utter failure, but as it was all she had, she had to try.