11. No. 10 Learn to make croissants #2
It takes five days. On the second day, Joanie showed up with cans of paint, wearing paint splattered dungarees and a fabulous scarf in her hair.
When I asked what she was doing, she shooed me away, which left me bored out of my mind, so I caught a bus to the nearest large town and explored.
On day three, Nick Butcher, the baker, knocked on my front door and told me I was coming to help in the bakery for the day.
I was confused but ultimately went with him without complaint because he’s a nice guy, and I thought it might be fun.
There was cream sheeting over the windows of the café as we passed so I couldn’t see the Zeligs inside or what they were doing, which was slightly nerve wracking.
But I forgot all about that when Nick took me to the back of the bakery to the working kitchen and told me he was teaching me to make croissants.
“Really?” I said, wide eyed and amazed.
He laughed. “Yeah, a not so little birdie told me you wanted to learn, and as I knew you were off today, I thought you could help us make the morning’s batch.”
I’d jumped to hug him in gratitude, and he’d laughed some more, returning my hug in kind.
He’s older than me, maybe in his forties, and cute in a round-faced way.
I know his wife occasionally helps in the bakery but works hard raising their three kids and she’s a lovely woman who matches Joanie’s enthusiasm for a café in the village.
I spend the day in the bakery making croissants, which Nick tries to reassure me are as perfect as his, but I know full well he sold them at a reduced rate and put another batch in.
But I can cross it off my list and that has me beaming all day, which is why I ask to stay and help.
I meet more villagers when they come in for their baked goods and by the time I head home, I feel light as a cloud.
On day four, Eli is the one to knock, telling me he has some errands to run in town and wonders if I’d like to join him.
Again, I have nothing better today as I’ve been banned from my own café, so I go with him.
I like Eli, he’s so friendly, easy going and open, happy to keep to small talk or go into deeper subjects, and I already think of us as firm friends.
On the fifth day, Connor knocks on my door with the biggest grin and tells me it’s ready.
I follow him next door with nerves bubbling in my gut and anxiety creeping through my veins as I think how I will cover any disappointment if it’s not what I want.
As we get to the door, Connor places his hand over my eyes.
“No peeking,” he says.
“Haven’t I waited long enough?” I complain as he leads me forward, I hear the door open and assume someone opened it from inside.
We keep walking until I knock into what I can only assume is a table, bashing my hip and a chair catching my shin with a loud scrape across the hard floor.
“Ah shit, sorry,” Connor says.
“Jesus, Connor,” Augusts gruff voice comes from my left and then warm hands are on my hips, guiding me around the furniture obstacles.
My breath catches in my throat before I’m able to say it’s okay and without thought, my hands cover August’s, feeling the roughness of his knuckles and the sheer size of him.
It takes me a moment to realise we’ve stopped moving, but August is still there, touching me, and I’m still touching him right back.
The hands over my eyes are gone but I’m still in the dark because I’m in front of a black wall of cotton.
My eyes travel up until I’m looking at August, his hands grazing my waist before coming away completely as he straightens. “You okay?”
“Yep,” I squeak. “All good.” Which is true aside from the fact my heart seems to be trying to escape my chest, and my stomach has dropped low, leaving a heavy weight on my uterus.
He nods, stepping aside and my gasp is loud and sharp on my throat, accompanied by an involuntary sob as I slap my hands over my mouth.
The shelves aren’t on the wall where I had set up the temporary ones, instead they cover the entire back wall, flawlessly framing the door to the customer toilet and the back storage room.
They’re dark cherry wood and not a single edge is straight, instead left in their organic shape, like the shelves have been carved straight into the forest.
My books have already been set out, not in alphabetical order but in colour so they create a beautiful rainbow against the natural wood.
There’s a click and then the shelves light up, highlighting my books and bringing more details to my vision.
I step close and see that along the raw edges are sporadic designs that seem to have been scorched into the wood.
A dragon, a heart, an old-fashioned silhouette, a quill, a ghost. They’re all adorable, and so small, you’d have to be looking closely to find them.
And I want to find them all because I’m sure there’s more.
“We uh,” August says and clears his throat. “We read the backs of some of your books to get ideas of the kind of things to mark into the wood.” I blink and tears wet my cheeks. “There are one hundred designs, so you can spend some time finding them.”
I turn to face him and when he sees the state of my watery eyes he frowns.
“August—”
“Ah shit, you know if you don’t like them, I can sand them down and make something more—”
“No!” I step forward and put my hands on his chest just to stop whatever blasphemy he’s about to say. The thick muscles beneath my palms jump and I can’t help but flex my fingers over them. “These are better than anything I could have imagined, thank you. Thank you so—oh my God!”