by S A Clayton
“Val Miller, get your ass in this kitchen and help me.” I roll my eyes as I set the package of mystery items on the island. “Don’t look at me like that, girls’ night means food. Lots of food. And not the healthy kind, either,” she says, pointing the wine opener in the direction of the bag. “Now, make yourself useful and grab us the biggest wine glasses you can find.”
Now that, I can do. I head to the other side of the kitchen and open my wine cabinet. Yes, I have one, and no, it’s not sad. Once I set the glasses beside her, Mandy looks at me, smirking.
“You want the good news or the bad news first?” I look at her for a second and wonder if she knows that there is only one right answer to that question.
“Obviously, the good news,” I mutter as she finally uncorks the wine and pours a generous amount into each glass.
“Good news is, I finally got the preview of the review for Val’s Sweet Treats going in this weekend’s paper.” My whole body locks. I’ve been waiting for this for days, and since Mel has connections at the paper, I knew she would get the inside scoop. “You okay?” she asks, holding out the glass for me to take.
I nod my head, taking a large sip and feeling the warmth cascade over my skin. “Yeah, I’m good.” Val’s Sweet Treats is my baby. The one constant, besides Mandy, that brings a sense of calm to my otherwise mess of a life. Owning your own bakery is tough, but moving said business from downtown to a small suburb with no assurances that it will succeed is hard, stressful, and maddening.
“You know it’s good, right? I’ve already read it,” she says, winking in my direction. God, I love her. She’s like my security blanket in human form. She’s been my best friend since we were kids and has seen me at my best and at my very worst.
“This is going to work, I promise,” she whispers, taking my arm and leading me into the living room.
“So, what’s the bad news?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Oh, shit!” she says, running back into the kitchen and rummaging through the plastic bag of food. I follow and laugh when I see her taking out a carton of ice cream and putting it in the freezer. “I think I saved it,” she mutters to herself. When she sees me standing there silently laughing, she gives me the finger. “And here I was, sad they had no mint chocolate chip…but now I know you deserve to only get cookie dough.”
I shrug my shoulders, leaving her alone in the kitchen. When she makes her way back into the living room, she notices the letter on the table.
“You still have it?” She picks it up, reading it as she shakes her head. “I can’t believe you wasted three years on that douche.” I don’t say anything because it’s true. I wasted so much time on he-who-shall-not-be-named, a guy who never truly believed I could open a successful bakery.
“Yeah, well, not anymore.” I take another large sip of wine as Mandy scans the letter once more.
“I can’t believe he told you your baking wasn’t that impressive. That’s just mean.” I absently nod, remembering exactly the part she’s talking about. I’m sick of you spending so much time in that stupid kitchen, making up recipes that aren’t even that great.
“He was just jealous of your success,” she says, clinking her glass to mine in a toast. I laugh because using the term success to describe what my bakery was back then is laughable.
“Success? Mandy, I barely stayed afloat when I was downtown. He’s not wrong when he said that some of my recipes weren’t good enough. They weren’t.” Mandy goes to say something, but I stop her. “I know some of my stuff is good—great, even—but I was so stuck in the idea of constantly innovating that I forgot why I became popular in the first place. Simple recipes. Simple concept.”
“That’s why it’s gonna work this time. No more frills. Just you.” I hope she’s right. Because if this doesn’t work, I have no idea what I’m going to do.
TWO
Val’s Sweet Treats has officially opened and is now one of the most sought-after bakeries in town. From the amazing crescent rolls, to the muffins and cupcakes, Val’s is sure to satisfy any craving you may have…just watch that waistline!
As I finish reading the article, I can’t help the smile that comes over my face. I know Mandy told me it was good, but I refused to read it until publication. I might be a glutton for punishment, but it was worth the wait. I make a mental note to email the reporter and thank her. Maybe I can send her a box of cupcakes, too, because this article will definitely help foot traffic. I stop and wonder if sending something like that would be considered a bribe, but decide quickly that I’m willing to risk it because it’s a great article and I want to thank her.
I look at my watch and head into the kitchen to start making treats for the morning rush. It’s just after five in the morning, and my body can tell. After last night, and the copious amount of wine that was consumed, my head is throbbing, and I vow never to drink that much again. As I turn on the oven and head over to the bake racks, my phone goes off in my back pocket.
Mandy: Did you read it yet? I bet you did. TOLD YOU!
I smile at Mandy’s text, then wonder why she’s up this early. Mandy has hated mornings since we were kids. With a passion. The more sleep she gets, the better friend she becomes. I’m the exact opposite. I love waking up early and getting everything done before the sun comes up. I guess it’s a good thing I love what I do because most of my prep is done before most people leave their houses.
Me: Why are you up? Are you sick? It doesn’t take long before I get a response.
Mandy: Date night. Henry finally has a night off.
Henry is in Perth for work and has been for the last few months, so I know she tries to talk to him as much as possible—and I guess that means this early in the morning. I respond with a winky face emoji and grab the baking sheets, taking them to my prep station as I take a deep breath.
Let the baking begin.
Mandy: Make sure my breakfast is ready in ten minutes, I’m leaving now.
I roll my eyes at Mandy’s text. I don’t know why she even messages me, it’s the same every day, except Sundays when I’m closed. Yet she still sends me warning of her impending intrusion, and every time I make her the same thing: a croissant with salmon and cream cheese with a side of coffee…large.
Speaking of coffee, I head into the front of the bakery and make myself a cup, along with Mandy’s and then I wait, loving the feeling of warmth that washes over me. I’m leaning against the counter, sipping my drink as she knocks on the front door. I walk over, coffee in hand, and open it for her.
“Where’s my breakfast?” she asks, taking the coffee from my hand and sitting at one of the many tables against the wall.
“Well, hello to you, too…” I murmur, heading to the counter to start making her sandwich. “A little tired today?” I smile as she groans, secretly loving that her perfect relationship is causing her to be this grumpy. I was never the jealous type, but now, after everything that happened with Chris—aka he-who-shall-not-be-named—I can’t help but envy the strength of their relationship. How they can survive him living fifteen hours away and still be as blissfully in love as they were in the beginning.
“Don’t speak to me until after I’ve had sustenance.” I place the plate of food in front of her and head back into the kitchen to grab some baking sheets full of finished muffins. I bring them back out and fill the display case as fast as I can since I open in under an hour. When I first saw this place, I knew it was exactly what I needed. It’s small but has enough room for a display counter and cash register on your right and a row of square tables to your left. The walls are painted a dark eggplant color with yellow and grey accents around the room. I contemplated getting a sofa and comfy armchairs instead of wooden tables and chairs but was quickly deterred by the fact that cleaning said pieces of furniture would be a pain. So, I went with the easiest furniture possible…to save my sanity.
“So, what’s your plan for today?” Mandy asks, clearly ready to be an interactive part of soci
ety now.
“The same as every other day. Baking.” She rolls her eyes and goes back to eating the last of her croissant. “You know this place is my priority. I don’t have time for anything else right now.”
Mandy waves her hand dismissively as she takes a swig of her coffee. “You need a date.” She did not just say that. My mouth hangs open in response.
Nope. Not happening.
“No, I don’t,” I emphasize, hoping she gets the point and moves on.
“You need a man.” I sigh, leaving her to get more treats from the kitchen. “Do not tell me you don’t need one!” she screams as I lean forward on one of the prep tables. “I know what it’s like to not get any on the regular!” I dip my head, taking a deep breath before I grab one last tray of baked goods and head back out.
“Just because I don’t have a man in my life doesn’t mean I’m desperate for sex.” I’m getting close, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Please! It’s been eight months since douchebag McGee broke your heart, and I haven’t seen you with anyone since.” And there’s a reason for that.
“Maybe that should be your cue that I’m not ready…” Mandy is blissfully silent as she finishes her coffee, and I pray the inquisition is over. I go back to filling the display case, making sure everything is ready for when we open.
“Val.” Her tone turns serious, and then I turn and see why. She’s turned to face me, her eyes sad. “I know you thought Chris was the one.” I try to stop the sinking feeling I get every time I think of Chris, but it’s no use. I thought we were perfect for each other, so much so that after he left, I spent months thinking I could change for him, attempting to figure out a way to get him back. Then Mandy told me I was being an idiot. She was right.
“He was a douche who couldn’t handle a woman with a career. His ego couldn’t take it.” She takes another sip of her coffee.
“Thanks for reminding me. As if I didn’t already remember.”
Mandy sighs as she gets up from her seat and makes her way over to the counter. She leans her elbows on the white marble and takes my hands in hers.
“I know you’ll find someone who will love you and this shop. They’ll build you up instead of tearing down your dreams. I know it.”
God, I hope she’s right.
THREE
“Okay, everyone! Pack up your things and make a line at the door.” My eyes scan the room as the kids gather their belongings from their desks and make a beeline for the door. A laugh bubbles up inside me as they all rush to be the first one in line, shoving each other forward. Poor Mitchell gets squished against the door.
“You guys need to stop pushing, or no one is leaving until I say so!” My voice rises, and everyone stops. I don’t like to yell, it’s not the type of teacher I am, but when you’re trying to wrangle twenty-five seven-year-olds…sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do.
“That’s better—” I start but am interrupted by the end-of-the-day bell. “Wait!” I yell again as they all rush to open the door. “Remember your assignment for tonight. I need you to talk to your parents and ask them about your family history. We are starting our family tree project tomorrow, so come prepared!” I gesture for Mitchell to open the door, and it’s as if a dam breaks. All twenty-five kids rush into the hall, and I’m left blissfully alone.
I walk toward my desk and sigh, eyeing all the tests that need to be graded. It’s going to be a long night. I grab my red pen, sit at my desk, and start, knowing the faster I get this done, the sooner I can get home.
“Knock, Knock!” I look over at my open door and see Sarah standing there, a huge smile on her face, her grey hair in that unmistakable bun on the top of her head. Sarah has always been an amazing help to me, especially when I started here at Sir John Beck Elementary School three years ago. I was new, the parents didn’t trust me, and the kids were wary. Sarah, being the amazing woman she is, helped me gain their trust by telling me to bribe them with different rewards: candy, stickers, prizes, etc. Was I happy about it? Not really. Did it work? Absolutely.
“Sarah! What are you doing here so late?” I glance at my phone and see that it’s after six. Damn, I need to hurry the hell up so I can have a beer and watch some of the hockey game.
“Oh, you know, the life of a teacher never stops,” she says dismissively. I smile as she makes her way into the room and takes a seat at one of the kids’ desks. “I have an ulterior motive in stopping by, Noah.” I lean back in my chair and rest my hands behind my head.
“Oh, yeah?”
“I was wondering if you’d be interested in doing a little Valentine’s project with my class.” I look over at my calendar that sits on the wall and see that Valentine’s Day is in a week. I completely forgot.
I mutter a curse as I search my brain for an idea of what to do for the kids.
“I take it you forgot about the holiday of love?” I look over and see the smirk on her face and place my head in my hands. How could I forget about Valentine’s Day? I mean, I have a huge heart on my calendar to remind me. Now I have a week to figure this out, but Sarah beats me to it. “Like I suspected, I am here to save the day.”
“What’s your idea for saving the day?” She gives me a knowing look, and I chuckle.
“Well, for one, our classes are the same grade, and we’re down the hall from each other so proximity isn’t an issue.” My eyes meet hers, and I motion for her to get to the point. “I think our kids should write letters to each kid in the other class in the form of a Valentine, and then we can have an afternoon party.”
I think on it for a minute, and I like the idea…somewhat. “It’s a good idea, but I have a few issues.”
“Seriously? It’s just kids writing Valentine cards to each other…what’s the issue?”
“These kids are seven or eight-year-olds, right?” She nods, and I continue. “Well, that’s the age when kids start liking each other, and I’m worried that making them write Valentines to one another will give some of the kids the wrong idea.”
Sarah sits back and tilts her head. “You have a point. Do you have another idea?” she asks. Immediately, an idea forms.
“What if we make the kids write letters to some of the folks at the senior care center down the road? They can make the cards, and I can bring in some treats, and we can head over to deliver them.” Sarah gives me her megawatt smile and gets up out of the chair. She makes her way over to me and places a hand on the side of my cheek.
“How you haven’t been snatched up by a lucky woman is beyond me.” I shake my head as she pats my cheek like a loving grandmother. She doesn’t know what I went through before moving here. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” A sense of pride creeps into my chest as Sarah takes her leave and heads toward the door. “If you’re looking for ideas for where to get treats, there’s this great bakery that just opened downtown. Val’s Sweet Treats. Apparently, she has the best cookies in town.” I make sure to write down the name and watch Sarah head into the hall.
I guess I have a bakery to check out.
FOUR
Everyone always assumes that because I own my own bakery, I know how to cook every baked good known to man. Not true. They also presume that baking comes naturally since I do it every day, also not true. I hate making buttercream icing because it’s so ingredient-sensitive, and one mistake can ruin a whole batch. Making butter tarts is by far my least favorite since I hate eating them, so baking them is an unusual kind of torture. Croissants have always been my Everest. At one point, I thought I would have to bite the bullet and go to France to train with a French chef in order to get them right, but I eventually found a food blog that saved my life—and my wallet. But cookies? They are by far the easiest and most enjoyable to create.
“These always make my morning that much sweeter!” Mrs. Walters says as I hand her a bag full of her usual oatmeal raisin cookies, along with a half-dozen blueberry muffins for her friends at the seniors’ home.
“That’s my goa
l!” I say with a smile as she heads toward the front door.
“You have a great day, dear!” she says just as the door closes behind her. I look around and realize that, for the first time all morning, the shop is empty. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, relishing the silence. I don’t get these moments as often as I would like, but seeing the smiles on customers like Mrs. Walters makes it all worth it.
I take advantage of the lull to go and put another batch of muffins into the oven, but just as I pick up the baking sheet, I hear the bell above the front door, and the heavy footfalls that follow.
“Hello?” a male voice calls from the front. A shiver washes over me as the deep vibrato echoes through the empty room. I wonder for a second what a man with that voice must look like, and it only takes a second for me to find out. “Is anyone here?” he calls again as I round the corner and I stop dead. My gaze tracks him from head to toe and…my God, the man is gorgeous. He looks like a sexy college professor, and I’m into it—far too into it for comfort. His black-framed glasses highlight his gorgeous brown eyes that almost look black in the fluorescent light. His hair matches his eyes, curling slightly on the top of his head and falling gently over his forehead, touching the top of his glasses. His lips part as our eyes meet, and I can’t help but stare at his tongue as it darts out and swipes over them. I’ve never had this visceral a reaction to a man before, not this quickly anyway, and definitely never this intensely. His physique is strong and lean, his white, button-down shirt accentuating his arms in a way that makes me want to trace the muscles with the tips of my fingers.
“Wow…” he murmurs, his eyes doing the exact same thing to me as I was doing to him just moments ago, but instead of the revulsion I expected, heat creeps over my cheeks as I duck my head, averting my eyes.