Chapter 8 Tash #2
What do you want?
The urge to order one of everything was strong. I was still mentally composing my shopping list when my screen lit up with a reply.
Fifi replied first.
all of them!! (but the bacon and egg one looks really good)
Two seconds later, Mere chimed in.
Beef pasty, please. And something sweet if they have the cinnamon rolls?
It made me smile. Even when they were shaken up, the twins' priorities, meat for fuel, sugar for comfort, didn't waver.
I dragged my focus back to the counter, where Maeve was already watching with a kind smile.
"Rough day?" she asked, voice low and warm, like she already knew.
"You could say that." I tried to match her energy, but my exhaustion probably showed. "I'll take one of each of the meat pies, please. And do you have cinnamon rolls? Someone at home will mutiny if I say no."
"Of course! And you're in luck, I just pulled a pan from the oven. Do you want regular or dragon fire?" She waggled her eyebrows on the last two words, inviting me to share the joke.
I grinned. "Two dragon fires and one regular for me. The girls like it spicy."
She winked. "They passed the test, then. Around here, that's how we separate the locals from the tourists."
Boxing up the order, she leaned forward. "So how are you settling in?"
"We're fine. The house is adorable, and the girls haven't mutinied yet. I just wish my desk job was a little more local." I tucked an errant hair behind my ear, feeling suddenly silly for mentioning it.
Maeve nodded, adding a few more rolls to the box. Two dragon fires, one regular. "I remember you mentioned the hellbender project."
I blinked. Nobody in Knoxville ever seemed to care what I did.
"Yes! I mean, yeah." I found myself warming to her, fast. "We thought moving closer would mean less driving, but the main field stuff is still in the middle of nowhere.
Most of my days are spent elbow-deep in river sludge or hunched over a spreadsheet. Sometimes both at the same time."
She snorted, and for a moment, it felt like gossiping with an old friend.
"Well, you picked the right time to move here.
Did you know there's a meeting at Town Hall about the newest SkyArc permit next Monday?
The whole valley'll be there. I heard environmental folks might want to speak up.
It's a huge development they want to get started on. "
That caught my attention. "Do you know what time?"
"Seven sharp," she said, then added, "They do cookies and coffee, so people show up. Free food is like catnip around here."
I filed away the date, fighting off a little stab of hope. Maybe somebody in town cared about the water as much as I did. "I think I might try and speak. There's a lot of public data on SkyArc. They're not exactly gentle giants."
Maeve grinned, dusting her hands with flour. "Good! Someone needs to say it. The last engineer who tried just read from a pamphlet and put half the council to sleep."
I liked her more by the minute.
She slid my boxes across the counter, but before I grabbed them, something pinged in my brain. "Oh, random question, do you use any mint in your pastries? My girls are both allergic. It's weird, I know."
Maeve's whole face lit up. "Mint? Small world! I'm allergic, too. No way. This bakery is a mint-free zone. I can barely stand the smell myself, to be honest."
Relief poured through me. I hadn't even realized how tense I'd gotten. The first three months after Mere's ER scare, I'd checked every label twice, sometimes calling restaurants just to be sure. "You may have saved my sanity."
She smiled, and as she did, she started working a new batch of dough, pinching in little flecks of, was that orange peel? She moved fast, but every so often she'd add a mysterious powder or a drop from a tiny glass vial, almost like she was seasoning potions instead of pastries.
Her movements drew you in. There was something comforting in the way she worked, totally unhurried, like she had nowhere else to be. It made the whole shop feel safe, somehow.
We chatted as my spine finally relaxed. Maeve told me about her grandmother starting the bakery and how, for a few years, she'd tried to leave Laurel Gap, but the mountains always called her back.
It was easy to admit more than I intended.
I told her about moving for the fieldwork, but also needing to get the girls out of the city.
How Fifi had some "health struggles," though I didn't give specifics. That was her story to share, not mine.
Maeve just nodded, no questions, no awkward pity. "Sometimes, a slower place helps. Laurel Gap's seen plenty of folks start over. Some plants just need the right soil, you know?"
She scooped little pinches of seeds atop the meat pies, humming as she worked.
I watched her, curiosity getting the better of me. "Do you always add stuff at the very end? Those look special."
She chuckled. "Family secret. Some people say it makes the flavor 'bloom.' I think it's just a habit, honestly."
It looked a lot like magic, but I wasn't about to say it out loud and look like a lunatic. Everything from here had tasted great.
She reached below the counter and came up with a flyer printed on pastel blue. "Next Tuesday is our free cooking night. I teach everyone from first graders to retirees. If your girls want in, all you have to do is show up. No fees, no equipment needed. Just bring an appetite."
I took the paper. "Thanks. I think they'd love that."
She packed everything up and handed over the bag with both hands, smiling as if she was giving me a present instead of a lunch. The scent rising from the boxes was enough to drive anyone wild. Orange, cinnamon, and a hint of savory.
As I stepped toward the door, something strange happened. The warmth ticked up, wrapping around my shoulders like a weighted blanket just for a split second. My muscles relaxed, my heart stopped racing. My thoughts quieted.
Probably just the sugar. Or maybe it was the bakery smell. Or Maeve's undemanding chatting.
Whatever it was, I could still feel it when I stepped out onto the sidewalk with the boxes in my arms. A low, glowing comfort. I'd read that smells could do that to you. I needed to figure out which and spray it all around the house.