Chapter Two
Augie
The one part I simultaneously loved and hated about my job was how early in the day it began.
I loved the quiet and being one of the few out and about in the city, but I also loved sleep.
I’d gotten used to the schedule over the years, but there were days I wondered how much I was missing out on.
I couldn’t exactly go out with friends when I had to be up at two in the morning.
Not that I had any. I’d been too busy working for too long.
I couldn’t be mad about it, though. All that hard work was finally starting to pay off.
I took the last trays of muffins out of the oven, set them to cool, and swept the kitchen floor for the third time. Flour was a pain like that. Nearly opening time, but I was ready.
Despite having employees, I always scheduled the first hour by myself.
At first, it was to save money, but we were starting to make enough I didn’t need to cut corners that close.
Being here with the customers, the regulars who loved what I did, was rewarding in a way I never expected.
The thing was, I knew myself enough to know that if I didn’t take the slow hour by myself, I’d end up in the back room doing paperwork and being a “responsible businessman” and miss out on my daily interactions.
I flipped the open sign over, unlocked the door, and in came one of my regulars, Marty. He lived across the street with his wife of forty-two years. He came in daily for either a loaf of sourdough or cinnamon rolls. Yesterday, he got cinnamon rolls, which had me already preparing his sourdough.
“How’d you know I wasn’t going to get adventurous today?”
“Because I know your wife loves her sourdough.”
He blushed a little and looked down. It was adorable that they could still be so in love.
It was for them I started making the tiny loaves that weren’t much more than a few rolls’ worth of dough.
Just enough to get them through two days, they had become quite popular.
But every time I made them, I thought of Marty and his wife.
I hadn’t seen her in a few months, her mobility not the best, but he always made sure she had the things that made her smile.
Maybe one day, I’d have someone like that in my life.
Sierra, my full-timer, came in to take over the front counter, followed shortly by Sal, my part-timer. I showed them my newest creation and retreated to the kitchen. It was time to bake the second round of bread for the day. I had a group of people who loved to get hot bread right at lunchtime.
This was not the life I imagined, growing up.
I was going to go to a French culinary school and specialty baking programs, be on television shows, win awards, and travel the world, in that order.
My dream didn’t stop there. I was also going to be on the cover of cooking magazines and one day be that famous baker who opened a shop and had lines wrapped around the building every morning.
Reality slapped that dream away. I didn’t have the money for school. No one told my younger self how impossibly expensive it was to follow the path I’d laid out.
But, as my grandpa used to tell me, “Success is for those who don’t quit.
” So, I didn’t. Instead of going to school, I went to find teachers of my own.
I moved from one city to the next, working in different bakeries with specialties I admired who were looking to get cheap help in exchange for teaching what they knew.
My first bakery featured artisan breads.
I loved it there. It was so much fun, and they loved having me.
But when they thought I was ready, Mama Sue kicked me out.
“If you don’t leave now, you’re never going to.
And one day, I want to come visit your world-renowned bakery.
” That day wouldn’t come. She kept in touch until she passed away a few years later, and I still sent postcards to her kids, letting her family see where I was.
My next bakery had won the national award for pastries.
The following one? Wedding cakes. And on and on I went.
There were a few places I only stayed a handful of months—one because they closed, another was bought out by a national chain, and a third where we weren’t a good fit.
But others, I stayed a year or more, and I built relationships that would last a lifetime.
Somehow that landed me here in the desert with my little bakery, living my dream, just in a different font.
My bearcat liked the desert. He liked the climate, which was shocking, since it wasn’t his natural habitat, a rainforest. But when we arrived, he didn’t want to leave. He called this place ours, and I learned a long time ago not to second-guess my beast.
After the lunch crowd settled, I sat in the office and ran the numbers.
I was doing well, paying my bills with ease, but my bank account wasn’t growing enough to get me to the next step of my business plan.
That was fine for now, but not for the long run.
I was working on dated equipment in an old building.
It had been the perfect location at the time, with my apartment upstairs making my commute one set of steps away, but I was ready for more.
“Hey,” Sierra said, knocking on the frame of the door. “You want to head out to Animals today?”
She’d been asking me ever since she discovered my bearcat. Mated to a tigress she met at the club, she thought that, without a doubt, I would find my mate there, too.
I loved that she wanted me to find the happiness she had, but I’d be too tired to deal with pesky alphas. The last time I was there, I felt like prey and couldn’t get out of there fast enough. It would be different with friends…probably. But today was not the day.
“Not this time, but maybe next Sunday.” We were closed on Mondays.
“I’m holding you to that,” she said.
A part of me really hoped she did.