Chapter Twenty #2
I nodded. “Good call.”
After a few moments of research, she said, “Okay. Preheat the oven to three seventy-five. And when we start measuring the ingredients, I’m going to make some adjustments there, too.”
I set the oven and came back to peek over her shoulder. She was still focused on her phone, but this time, the calculator app was open, and she was dealing with all sorts of fractions.
“Do you just know the recipe by heart at this point?” I asked. “The measurements and conversions for batches?”
“I mean, I was a baker for a long time. And even before that, I was helping my mom with the bakery.”
“Is this her recipe?” I asked.
“For the most part. A lot of my recipes were hers at one point, but over the years I made my own tweaks that made them mine. I’m sure Tegan’s done the same thing since she took over the bakery.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Not at all. I’m proud of her. The business has grown under her ownership. Sure, some of that is the town revitalization initiative, but she has an eye for trends.”
It reminded me of my job, and how Jonathan had a knack for connecting with a younger audience while I felt increasingly out of touch.
“Do you know how to brown butter?” Pam asked as she started to measure out the dry ingredients.
“Look at that. Something I can help with. It makes an amazing glaze for roasted brussels sprouts.”
“You’ll have to make them for me sometime.”
I pulled a stainless-steel saucepan out of the drawer and sat it on the stove. “I’ll owe you after this.”
Pam passed me a stick of unsalted butter, and I started to melt it down until it had that perfect golden color and nutty aroma. We let it cool slightly before mixing it with brown sugar, granulated sugar, eggs, and vanilla.
“Okay, so now we’re going to gently stir everything together,” Pam said, pointing to the bowl of dry ingredients she’d measured out. “It’s going to be a little on the dry side, but that’s how we want it.”
I picked up the spoon, doing what I could to blend everything together.
“Shit, this is hard.” It was like I was stirring Play-Doh.
“Here.” Pam put her hand over mine, softly directing me. “Like this.”
With our joined hands, she pressed the thick batter against the sides of the bowl, repeating a folding motion until everything was evenly incorporated.
“You said stir it,” I laughed.
“I mean, it comes as second nature to me, so it’s a little hard to describe it.”
“Mm-hmm. When do we add the chocolate chips?” I asked.
She grabbed the expensive bag of chocolate chips off the counter. “Now.” She held a heaping scoop out toward me. “Do you want to do it?”
“Of course I do.”
“Pour in a little at a time, gently mixing it in just like we did before.”
“I can do that.” I nudged her shoulder as I folded the chocolate into the dough. “Now that I know the technique.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes.
Before I could overmix the dough, she grabbed my hand again. “Okay,” she said. “That’s good.”
“What’s next?”
Pam tore off a piece of parchment paper and laid it out on the baking sheet. “We’re going to roll them into balls, put them on the baking sheet, then bake them for seven minutes.”
“Seven minutes?” I said as I followed her lead and rolled the dough into uniform balls. “That is oddly specific.”
“Normally I’d bake them for twelve minutes, but the internet said cookies bake faster at a higher altitude.” She bit her lip. “I hope they turn out okay.”
“They’re going to be great.” And even if they weren’t, I was going to tell her they were anyway.
I slid the tray into the oven and set a timer for seven minutes.
“So,” I said, staring across the island at her. “I’m assuming you have to manage a lot of logistics, being a baker.”
She nodded. “Everything has different prep times, cook times, and bake times.”
“And it’s all baked fresh?” I asked.
“There are some things, like cookies, where we prep the dough and keep it in the freezer. Things like cakes are made fresh.”
“And you learned all this from your mother?”
“Yep.”
“Is this what you wanted to do with your life?” I asked. I knew she loved baking, but sometimes there was more to it than that.
She was quiet for a moment, obviously thinking on the question. Maybe I was the first one who had ever asked it. “I think so. I saw how much care my mom put into her work. The joy it brought people. I wanted to carry on that legacy. That doesn’t sound silly, does it?”
I shook my head, marveling at her. That was a beautiful answer, straight from her heart. Hell, I didn’t feel that way about pot, but here I was, executive of a multimillion-dollar company because of it. It didn’t bring me nearly the happiness that it seemed like baking brought her.
“It’s not silly at all. Actually, I was just thinking how amazing that sounds.”
“It was nice because I could bring Reece and Tegan with me when they were babies. We had a pack-and-play set up in the kitchen, and I used to wear Tegan in a carrier while I stirred up icing. Because my mom was still working and we couldn’t afford day care, we didn’t have too many options.
Don’s mom helped out when she could, but she was still working, too. ”
“It sounds like you juggled a lot.”
“I did, but I’m glad I got to be there for the kids.”
“When Chai was growing up, Janelle and I both worked demanding jobs, so we sent her to day care. The lady we used was phenomenal, and she took great care of Chai, but there were a lot of moments I felt like I missed out on. Her first words. Her first steps. All of that happened while she was in someone else’s care.
Looking back, I wish I would have prioritized spending more time with her. I’ll never get those moments back.”
“You might remember all the moments you weren’t there, but what’s important to her is all the moments you were there. You’re a great father, Al.”
“Thank you.”
The timer went off and Pam and I jumped.
“The moment of truth,” I said as I slipped on a set of mitts.
I opened the oven and the scent of freshly baked cookies wafted out.
“How do they look?” Pam asked anxiously.
I pulled out the tray to reveal gooey, perfectly baked cookies.
“Yay!” Pam did a little golf clap.
“They look amazing.”
I set the tray on the counter and watched as she carefully sprinkled the top of each cookie with a few delicate flakes of sea salt. I loved seeing her in her element like this.
“You’re so cute.”
She turned to face me and smiled. “Why?”
“Because even with something as simple as chocolate chip cookies, you still put your whole heart into it.”
“I told you I like seeing the joy my baked goods bring people.” She came over to me and slid her hand up my chest. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed the tip of my nose. “And I enjoy it even more when it’s someone I really care about.”
“I’m a lucky man to fall into that category,” I murmured.
Once the cookies had cooled down, Pam plucked two off the tray.
“Here,” she said, and handed one to me.
I didn’t waste any time and took a big bite that was two-thirds of the cookie.
It was perfect. Crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside.
The sweetness of the chocolate chips and the caramel notes of the brown butter were amplified by the sea salt.
It was crazy what a difference those tiny salt flakes made.
“Holy shit,” I hummed. “Amazing.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked before taking a bite.
“You’ll have to give me the recipe.” I gave her a playful wink, then shoved the rest of the cookie into my mouth, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be the last one I ate today.
“I’m generally pretty strict about who I share my secrets with, but for you, I’ll think about it.”