Chapter 11 Violet
VIOLET
The next day, it’s back to work. I get up bright and early and creep through the house, trying not to wake up my house guests.
It’s kind of a relief to get back to the bakery and be able to lose myself in making dough and trying out the various little experiments I’ve been thinking about for the holiday season.
By the time the bakery opens at eight, I have trays of gougères and cookies with candied nuts. Danishes with jam and little shortbread treats, as well as the usual things that my customers have come to enjoy.
I’m hoping that if I can win people over with old favorites and new treats, I’ll be able to drum up more business. The holidays are the best time to do it, even if it does mean I’m working harder than ever. It’ll be worth it if it results in me getting more customers in the new year.
There’s a steady in and out at first, regulars coming in to get pastries on their way to work, stopping off at the coffee shop across the street and then coming in to complete their breakfasts with me.
I make idle small talk with most of them before they head back out into the gray, slushy morning.
There’s always something of a lull between ten and twelve, when everyone is already at work, and there aren’t as many people on the streets. Some of the people passing through Sweetwater Lake come in, but it’s a slow trickle, maybe one or two every twenty minutes or so.
Around lunch, things pick back up, and I smile when an older woman comes in, tapping her shoes on the mat to avoid tracking snowy melt all over the floor.
“Good afternoon,” I say, greeting her warmly. “Welcome to Blackbird Bakery.”
“Thank you,” she says brightly. “I’ve been meaning to stop by here since I got into town.”
“Oh, are you just passing through?” I ask her.
“My son and his family live in Cartersville, the town over,” she explains. “But it was cheaper to get a hotel here. His house is a little overfull these days, with the new baby and all.”
“Ah, I understand. Congratulations on your new grandchild. What can I get for you?”
She takes some time to peruse what I have on display, asking questions about ingredients, which I answer politely. I never mind getting into the details with a customer, if it seems like they’re actually going to buy something.
“Would you mind if I tried one of the little nut cookies?” she asks. “I’m not sure if you do samples.”
“Sure,” I tell her. “They’re a new offering, so I don’t mind giving out a taste.” I take one of the cookies and cut it into quarters, passing the woman a piece on waxed paper.
She takes it, biting into it and chewing thoughtfully. A smile spreads over her face as she swallows. “Oh, that’s delightful. Is that maple?”
I nod. “Maple sugar, yes, ma’am. It’s in the candied nuts.”
“Delicious. I’ll have a dozen of those, please. And then three of the red velvet cupcakes for my grandchildren. The ones with teeth, anyway.” She laughs, and I start boxing up her purchases.
“I hope you all enjoy everything.”
“I know we will. You know, I don’t understand why this place is so empty right now. Your baking is amazing, and you should be getting much more business.”
I laugh wryly. “Well, be sure you tell your friends and family about me,” I say. “We’re not too far from Cartersville.”
“I will do that,” she says. “And I’ll be back.”
She leaves with her boxes of treats, and I let out a pleased sigh. I might not always be overrun with customers, but at least the interactions I have with the ones I do get are always positive.
The rest of the day goes by quickly, and I handle a last minute rush, handing out the last of the nut cookies and gougères. As the last customers of the day leave, I feel lighter than I have in a while.
I lock up and go into the back, flipping through the notebook where I keep notes about each day.
I write down what sold well and what didn’t, what comments I got that I can learn from going forward.
And then I put a gold star next to the date with a smile.
It was a very good day. I might not be the most popular bakery out there, but I know it’s important to celebrate the small wins.
One day, I’m going to make this bakery everything I dreamed of, and I want to remember how I got there when it happens.
It’s just after four when I start closing up, and my thoughts turn back to the guys. I haven’t seen them all day, but they’ve been on my mind while I worked.
Yesterday felt like a learning experience with them, seeing them after so long, and figuring out what’s at the heart of the rift between them. Clearly selling their business did more for their wallets than it did for their relationship with each other, and I wonder how things got so bad.
The rest of the night was tense, with the three of them emerging from their respective corners to use the bathroom and get things out of the kitchen, and then retreating right back into their distance. They didn’t speak to each other, and barely spoke to me, other than to say goodnight.
I have no idea what they’ve been doing while I’ve been at the bakery, and it makes me a bit nervous to go back home and see them. The air there is probably going to be just as chilly and bitter as it was last night.
On top of that, they still put me off balance a bit. All of them are so handsome and intense. Not to mention hard to read. It’s weird navigating that in my own home, where I’m used to being completely comfortable.
At the same time, there’s a part of me that’s excited to see them again. They make me feel exhilarated in a strange way, and the nerves and anticipation have my stomach doing somersaults.
I start heading for my car, and my phone rings. I frown down at the screen when I see it’s my mom.
Her calling while I’m leaving work is what got me into this situation in the first place, and I’m so tempted to just ignore it and get on with my evening.
But then I sigh and answer it anyway.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, going for peacefully neutral.
“It’s me, actually.”
Isabelle. Wonderful.
“Hi, Isabelle. What’s up?”
“I’m in the middle of a crisis, and I need your help.”
I bite back the words that want to spill out of my mouth, that Isabelle wouldn’t know a crisis if it bit her in the ass because she’s never had to struggle for anything. Instead, I just take a breath. “What happened?”
“Andrew found a caterer on social media who does all these beautiful desserts, and we hired them for the wedding. And now they’ve bailed on us! Something about getting a better contract for that weekend. So now we don’t have anyone doing desserts, and we need to find someone else.”
“It’s last minute to get a replacement, isn’t it?” I ask.
“Obviously!” Isabelle says, going so shrill it makes me wince. “Which is why I’m freaking out. We’re going to test out a new place this afternoon to see if they’re good enough.”
“Okay? I’m confused why you’re calling me.”
“Because you’re my maid of honor, Vi. And because you know a little bit about baking, so will you please come with me? I’m desperate, but I don’t want to get taken advantage of by some baker using, I don’t know, shit ingredients.”
I sigh, rubbing my forehead as I get into the car.
I didn’t want to be Isabelle’s maid of honor in the first place.
I wanted to turn it down because I thought it would be really weird to stand there with her, watching her marry my ex-boyfriend.
But she’d gone on and on about how we’re twins and she wanted me to be there next to her while she takes this step, and it was easier to just give in than make it a whole big thing.
There’s also a part of me that’s hurt that it never even occurred to Isabelle to ask me to do the desserts for her wedding. I’m not sure I’d want to, considering everything, but it’s just more proof that no one in my family takes my business seriously.
“Violet?” Isabelle is saying. “I could really use your help, okay? I’m not going to beg, but I am asking.”
“Fine, okay,” I reply. “Text me the address of the place, and I’ll meet you there.”
“Thank you!” she says brightly. “You’re my hero, et cetera, et cetera. See you there in twenty.”
Isabelle hangs up, and I hold the phone in my hand, taking a deep breath before letting it out again. I could have said no, but I didn’t, so that means I have to do this.
I shake my head and then start a group chat with the guys, letting them know that I have to go do this thing and I won’t be back for a while. Then I put the car in drive and punch in the address into my GPS to get me there.
Cardinal Sweets is a cute little place one town over. It’s trendy, with lots of flowers for decor, and one of those pink booths with neon letters that spell out ‘You look great!’ for people to take selfies and pictures with and a hashtag for the bakery to be tagged with.
It’s a good idea, if you live in a place where trendy teens and young adults actually come by. Which I don’t.
I push into the bakery to see Isabelle and Andrew already there.
They have their heads bowed together at one of the tables toward the back, and they look good together, I can admit that.
Andrew with his classic good looks, and Isabelle, thin and pretty, everything I’m not. She tosses her hair over one shoulder and looks up as I walk over, pasting on a smile.
“Hi, Violet. Thanks so much for coming with us to do this.”
“Sure,” I say, moving to sit down. “It’s no problem.”
“Finally all that messing around with sugar and stuff comes in handy, right?” Andrew adds.
I grit my teeth and force a smile back.
“Hello,” the owner of the shop says, coming over with a warm smile for us. She’s a woman in her forties probably, wearing a shirt with the bakery’s name on it. She beams at Andrew and Isabelle and then spares me a glance.
“You two must be the happy couple.”
Isabelle nods. “Yes, thank you so much for seeing us on such short notice. Our desserts person completely flaked on us, and we’re in a pinch.”