Chapter Seven
Seven
Mae kept her eyes on the worktop, on flour and butter and dough. Noises drifted in and out—bursts of laughter, Neil’s instructions, the occasional scrape of something being moved.
Mae put on headphones and turned up the music.
Now and then, though, a sound pierced through. A voice that didn’t belong to any of her regulars. Not these days anyway.
Don’t start, she told herself, pressing her thumb into the dough. She’s just a person doing her job. You’re a person doing yours. Different worlds now. You don’t know her anymore. The Callie outside now is not your Callie.
Still, she couldn’t find any ease. It was ridiculous. It had been years.
Mae moved an earphone off to check what stage they were at, hoping they might have already gone. She heard something clatter in the front—maybe a tray, maybe the till—and that Neil guy shouting, ‘Perfect! That’s the shot, everyone! Love it, love it, love it!’
Mae put the headphone back over her ear. Nearly over.
She turned back to the dough, trying to remember what she’d been making. The shape of the rolls had gone wrong; she’d overworked the lot. It didn’t matter. She’d start again.
After a moment, the door to the back room shifted. Mae froze. But no one came in. Mae allowed herself to believe she was going to get through this without coming eyeball to eyeball with Callie.
Mae had just started shaping the new batch of dough when another sound reached her, and she pulled the left headphone back off her ear once more. The sound of stuff equipment being shifted.
Hopefully, that was it. They were supposed to be wrapping up by now. She was picturing them driving off in their shiny van, leaving Mae to her peace.
But then came a ‘Careful! Careful!’ followed by a sharp crash. A clatter, glass hitting tile.
She pulled her headphones down to her neck. ‘Oh, for—’
Another shout, higher this time. Whatever was happening out front, it wasn’t just a dropped cup. She could feel the panic through the walls.
Mae ran to the door.