THIRTY-FOUR
Reilly
Today is the day. The tables are wiped, the window displays are gleaming, and the smell of freshly baked goods and icing fills the air.
After a full day of trying to get Mum to make a decent coffee on the espresso machine, we decided she should focus her efforts on the till and front of house.
She wants to work here, and I’ll let her for a while, but now is the time for her to be slowing down.
I need to hire help once I’m more established.
She pulls me in for a tight squeeze. “You’ve done it, Reilly. Your dream has come true, and by that extension, mine has as well. I couldn’t be prouder of everything you have achieved and who you are as a person. I love you, darling daughter. Always.”
Tears crest my eyes. Happy tears. Wonderful, happy tears. “Let’s do this.”
I unlock the door, and before I’ve even had a chance to flip the open sign, Dorothy bursts through.
“I did it. I’m the first customer. What do I win?
” She floats in with Chip closely behind her.
I was adamant about having a dog-friendly place.
It’s a must around here: everyone has at least one fur baby at their heels at all times.
“Yes, Dorothy. You win. Congratulations.”
“No. Congratulations to you. It’s perfect.” She kisses my cheek and heads to the front counter, reeling off her order.
It takes a few hours but we soon have a steady stream of customers. Most people are after coffee, but I sell a few sweet treats along the way.
I even managed to secure an order for a bespoke birthday cake and arranged a meeting with a couple for their wedding. Everything is going perfectly.
The bell above the door dings as I’m boxing up a selection of four cakes for a mum of two. I sneak in an extra one in a bag separately for her, betting she won’t get a look in at what she’s ordered for her girls.
I hear Neive before I see her. She squeals with delight as she rushes behind the counter, engulfing me in a hug. “It’s amazing. I love it.”
MJ is standing back with a soft smile on her face. It took a few meetings to get comfortable, but we are slowly building a nice friendship. She apologised for her outburst; I forgave her easily.
I’ve kept regular contact with Neive, and although the lessons have taken a pause, with all my time being focused elsewhere, I will never abandon her.
As she and MJ gush over the decor and selection of cakes on offer, the air in the shop changes. My breath quickens, as the hair on the back of my neck tickles and butterflies erupt in my stomach. I know exactly where he is standing, but I can’t bring myself to move from my spot.
I stare directly over his shoulder, focusing on the clock next to the door, watching the seconds tick by.
“Hi, Reilly.” His deep baritone echoes through my soul, snaking its way through my body, forcing my head to turn towards it. I haven’t heard his voice in weeks. I remember why I had to avoid it. It weakens me.
I take a deep breath and force my face into a pleasant smile. “Elton.”
He winces before clearing his throat and stepping forward. I lean towards him automatically, about to take a step before I remember myself and take the smallest step back. His shoulder slump. “I won’t stay long. I wanted to say congratulations.”
He pops a slim rectangular box, which has been clutched in his hands, on the counter standing between us. A barrier I’m now thankful for. Without it I might find myself running back into his arms.
As amazing as this day has been, the hive of activity inside me would be calmed in an instant by his touch.
The box in front of me is a white slim cake box.
I have many stacked in the back. My hand starts to move forwards, desperate to see what’s inside.
I still and instead touch the counter only inches away from it.
A blush creeps up Elton’s neck. He’s unsure and he never does anything he’s not one hundred per cent sure of.
“It seems a bit silly now, but I made this for you.” He nudges the box over to me, then immediately shifts his hands into his pockets – the action causing his jacket to open, stretching his T-shirt across his body.
As I flip the lid, the door to the bakery opens, blowing a gust of wind through and the warm scent of him invades me. I close my eyes in a long blink, desperately trying to hold myself together.
He baked me dessert. Butterflies erupt.
“Anyway,” he says, clutching the back of his neck. “Congratulations again. I’m proud of you, Reilly. I hope these words convey everything I want to say.” He hands me an envelope. My fingers brush his as I take it. His hand jerks as if he was about to reach for me but then changed his mind.
He turns swiftly on his heel and leaves the shop, disappearing before the antique door bell has even stopped ringing.
“It’s a tarte au citron, third attempt,” Neive tells me, breaking me out of my daze. “He did it all himself. I supervised. And threw out the complete disasters of the first few tries,” she says as she licks icing off a neon orange cupcake.
I take in the contents of the box in front of me. This is amazing. The edges are crumbly and darker than they should be but not burned. The middle has bubbled, and the lines of chocolate ganache across the top are messy and wonky. It’s perfect.
I pop the lid back down and take it through to the back. No one says anything to me, and I appreciate it.
My heart is beating through my chest, and a warm glow creeps from my toes, bursting out across my body. He baked for me. No one ever bakes for me.
I open the box again to take another look, thumbing the white envelope he left in my hand. I carefully open it with a slight tremor as I pull the neatly folded paper out.
Dearest Reilly,
Congratulations on opening your bakery. You did it.
I knew you would. I am so immensely proud of you, as you should be of yourself.
Even more so after my attempt at baking.
It’s not as easy as you make it look.I hope you like the tart.
Neive said it would be an easy choice. It was not.
If it’s disgusting, throw it out! Then lie to me and say you loved it.
I’m asking for a chance to speak to you, Reilly.
To beg your forgiveness and to prove I will do anything to haveyou back with me.
Even make a fool of myself by gifting an amazing baker my crockshit tart.
I miss you.
Elton
Those tears that were cresting in my eyes earlier? They’re falling now. Tears of every emotion thumping through my consciousness at the moment. He wants me to give him another chance. I might want that, too.
I tidy my face and pop the tart in the staff fridge to take home with me later. Shaking off the storm of feelings inside me, I make my way back out front and focus on the rest of my day.