by Viragh, Brea
Essie’s Confections.
Considering the script, I turned the rectangle over to the back where the address and phone number stood out in bold. Miss T’s words beat at me, refusing to be ignored: You’ll be unstoppable. Were my bakery goals closer than I assumed? The potential connections from working with Essie could open new doors for me. Doors designed to take my craft to the next level.
I tapped the card against the laminate.
Yes! The fire began low, simmering until it became a blaze in my chest. I was powerful and geared up and on my way toward making my dream a bigger reality than selling cupcakes on the side to save the start-up money.
“This will help me work toward my own goal. I will try not to feel too jealous,” I told my reflection with obvious affection. “Papa thinks it’s is a good idea, and what would he tell me now? Papa knows best.”
The sundress slid over my head and settled into place. Heels went on amidst protests from my feet, and a layer of foundation, mascara, and lip gloss completed the package.
A stray thought of Duncan flitted across my mind as I voyaged to town, parallel parking in front of a squat two-story building a few feet away from the single stoplight. Flags hung from light poles and banners strung on nearby buildings bid one and all to attend the town’s annual flea market. Our little Virginia settlement, huddled among the picturesque Blue Ridge Mountains, was as good a place as any. Better than most, in my opinion.
Steps from the Country Corner Store and their booming business, the sweet shop was situated for success. There was a trio of men, wearing their flashiest flannel, sitting farther down the sidewalk near the hardware store. Benches provided them a decent view of the goings-on in town. All three nodded in my direction when I shut off the motor and stepped outside.
Bradford pears shaded the sidewalk in front of the shop, and Essie had added her own touch with large, round copper pots filled with petunias and sweet-potato vines. It was a quaint display, I acknowledged with reluctance when I turned my attention forward. It was easier to imagine how I would bump up additional curb appeal with a few small tables and outdoor seating. A welcome mat in vivid shades of red and orange would tie the picture together.
At once my imagination took off with the scene, running with it and planting fantasies of me sitting down with a strapping hulk of a man, enjoying an afternoon scone and cup of cool tea. The summer sun would glint off those golden strands to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders. A perfect masculine counterpart to my feminine qualities. He would volunteer a quip or two, and I would laugh until tears streamed down my face.
I swallowed and struggled to get back to reality. Ugh, why hadn’t I jumped on the building when it came up for lease? Then my store name would have been on the sign above the door, with a specially designed logo prepared by a professional. I’d already picked out a name, in fact: A Touch of Sweet.
But I hadn’t jumped, and now the structure, and the ideas, and the potential, had gone to someone else. I couldn’t blame Essie for following through on her goals when I hadn’t. My plans were merely shifted down the timeline toward the future...the very distant future.
“You stop. No more of that line of thinking,” I murmured aloud to chase the thoughts away. With a scowl, I rushed forward and entered the shop before I lost my nerve.
Bells tinkled the second I closed the door behind me. A tall, black-haired young woman manned the counter. This must be Essie, I guessed. She pierced me with lively eyes when I looked over, her wide spread of white teeth softening the gesture. She had a classic and elegant appearance, no doubt taking a page out of her aunt’s book.
“Hello and welcome.” The breathy voice accompanied the gaze, flicking me up and down. “How can I help you today?”
Help me? Christ, I would be lucky if I got out of the shop without breaking the bank. I forgot all about my desire to work, to learn. “The place smells wonderful. I’m drooling already,” I answered, shifting from foot to foot.
The girl gestured toward the back. “It’s the fruit tarts. I just put a batch in the oven and they’re about ready to come out. And there were fresh chocolate chip cookies this morning.”
She was a girl. The closer I got, the more I noticed how youth clung to her features. A distinct roundness yet to fill out. Her black hair was short and blunt, the edges tucking behind her ears before curving down toward her shoulders. She had a triangular face made rosy with the heat from the ovens. I’d recognize the flush anywhere.
“I admit, I came in here to chat but I might get carried away.” I stared up at the crown molding before letting my gaze wander back toward the glass display counters. “Your space looks amazing. I should have left my wallet in the car.”
“Well, I aim to please. Feel free to look around and let me know if you have any questions.” She reached a hand across the counter. “Essie Townsend.”
I grasped her hand in mine, the contact firm. “Leda Cox.”
At once her eyes widened, joyful, the emotion taking her natural beauty to a different level. “My aunt told me you would stop by! She brags about your skill with scissors at great length, and don’t even get me started with the cupcakes. I’ve sampled a half dozen at this point and I loved every taste I’ve tried.”
I slipped the sunglasses off my head and slid them into my purse for a distraction. “Miss T is a sweet woman. I enjoy our once-a-month appointments.”
Essie rolled her eyes. “Even I can’t stand her once a month. You must have some big brass balls hidden under your dress. Or the ability to smooth-talk, although I don’t see a damn thing wrong with either.”
I peered at the sweet-looking girl with a sailor’s mouth. “Well, yeah. Anyone who works with the public develops them at an early age, along with a thick skin.” I motioned toward my cheeks where the grin remained. “And an easy smile.”
It needed no prompting in this case. Essie was a kind soul, I saw, and I could imagine how the two of us could work together with ease. It felt right, I mused. The place, the time. My time.
“I like you, Leda. You have a sharp wit.” Essie gestured over her shoulder. “Although I have to tell you right off the bat, I’m not hiring right now.”
Each word hit me with the weight of a cement slab. Not. Hiring. Right. Now.
I looked back at her face and felt a small bomb detonate in my chest. When Essie continued to speak, my lungs clenched and started to shut down. It was too hard to breathe.
Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all...
“I’ve got a decent staff and duties are spread out equally enough. There’s a few people who come in three or four days a week to help with mixing and cleanup. Beyond that the positions are filled.”
“Who said I wanted a job?” I put in half-heartedly for lack of anything better. “I came by to see your setup.”
“Oh.” Essie cocked her head. “Okay. I thought my aunt said you were in the market for experience.”
Of course she would out me.
“I...well, yes, I am.” The jig was up. “Maybe we can work out an arrangement where I could come by and just talk to you about how you run your business.”
Essie considered my words for a moment. “Come on in the back and let me show you around a bit.”
I couldn’t for the life of me remember the last time I’d been in an industrial kitchen. Hell, probably never. I had the guts and guile to bake but none of the technical education.
This kitchen was laid out well, with a double set of stainless steel sinks in the back and long counters to either side. To the left, a locked door led to a large walk-in refrigerator. The space lacked any sort of closets but Essie made up for it with shelving, rows of white wire shelves loaded down with dry goods. A large commercial KitchenAid mixer sat against the far left wall, already wiped down, and a massive oven was on the right.
The efficient setup was simple and easy to maneuver. Tile in muted tones of taupe and beige gently slanted toward a center drain where, if need be, a hose could be
brought in from the back to scour this space and have each drop of water drain away. Oh yes, this would have been perfect for me. I mentally kicked myself for dropping a very important ball.
She swept an arm across the space. “I do all of the prep back here myself, and more often than not on weekends. It’s easier to get the dough ready and freeze it until I’m ready. There are a few items I make up on the day, like the fruit tarts, but I keep ahead of the demand.”
“Part of the reason why I work alone. Much easier than dealing with someone and paying them to be in the way.” I walked over to inspect the professional-grade mixer as tall as me and swooned. “I can’t believe you have this. I’ve lusted for one as long as I can remember.”
Once I’d discovered my love for cooking—out of necessity when Deborah left—I’d contented myself at the library, using their computers to research my passion and spending hours poring over equipment. The KitchenAid had been on my bucket list for years, although I could never justify the cost.
Essie chuckled and walked over to the stand. Her fingers caressed the chrome. “It only took me a few grand in loans. I’m still paying for my mixer every month like a good little girl.”
“It’s incredible how you’ve managed all of this. Especially for someone li—” I cleared my throat, hoping I didn’t just stick my foot in my mouth. “Someone your age.”
She didn’t take offense at my near insult. “You’re telling me. It took years of planning to get where I am, and my mother’s excellent credit did help.” She leaned against the stainless-steel counter, watching me peruse the rest of her setup. “I depended on her once I finished school. I may be young,” she threw my words back at me, “but I’m capable.”
The sink was spotless, kept scrubbed by a combination of elbow grease and baking soda. Her pantry items were neat and lined up in alphabetical order on the nearby unit. This was the Type-A personality her aunt mentioned earlier.
I pointed over my shoulder at the double-doors of the refrigerator. “May I?”
“Sure. Feel right at home. I don’t mind.”
Essie had an organized operation and no need for help. Which meant I would have to do some pleading to worm my way inside. Were there other bakeries within an hour radius of Heartwood? Yes, absolutely, and none of them were hiring either.
Dragging open the fridge, I beheld an array of butter and cheese, chocolate nibs and milk.
“Wow.” What I wouldn’t give to have her setup. Even in my wildest dreams I wasn’t sure I could be as organized as she was.
Essie watched as I closed the fridge doors and then ran a hand over her counters. “What other kinds of delicacies do you make, if you don’t mind my asking? I’ve tried the cupcakes when my aunt brought them home, but I’m curious to know if you’ve branched out.”
“I mostly stick to cupcakes although I’m familiar with a variety of other sweets. Classics and new. I have a garden out back and I enjoy experimenting with natural flavors.”
Her eyebrows raised, getting lost in the sweep of her bangs. “Any in particular you’ve found intriguing?”
“I can whip up a beetroot and chocolate Bundt cake that will make your head spin.”
“I’d like to think we can work out an arrangement, here,” Essie said from across the room. “I have to tell you, I get a good feeling about you, and you seem like a woman who knows her way around a kitchen. Having a good palate is gravy.”
I turned to face her. So young. “I feel the same way. This environment is...” Sighing, I spun in a slow circle and took it all in. “Perfect. I’m right at home.”
“You want the experience, and I’ll need to check my books but I may have some extra money to pay you to come in and work with my staff. They can’t mix a batch of dough without constant supervision, let alone make a soufflé.” She wrung her hands together. “I want to start branching out into more difficult dishes. I’m just not sure I have the funds to pay you what you’re worth. Just a guess, but I’d have to say I don’t.”
I scratched my head, heels clicking along the tile when I circled the room. “I don’t need money, not right away, because I make a comfortable living cutting hair.”
“I’m sure you do.” Even as she nodded, Essie’s eyes drifted from me, her face molding into an expression I’d always thought was reserved for job interviews: a mask of doubt and skepticism. “I wouldn’t feel right without giving you some kind of compensation.”
I hesitated for a moment, then decided to come clean with her. “I’ll be honest with you. I’m interested in opening a shop of my own. What I lack in technical expertise I make up for in creativity. But as your aunt reminded me, one needs more than an artistic streak to make a business work. I’d like to speak with you, pick your brain, to get a feel for how you run this place. What it takes on a daily basis to maintain inventory and balance the finances.”
“You wanted to come in and scope out the competition.”
Essie must think me a real bitch. At once I was reminded of my motivations, and shortcomings. “Not true. I’m probably still years away from making any major move in that direction.” Disappointment dripped from every syllable. Was I still so far from reaching my dream?
She turned back to the door at the tinkling chime of bells. “Look,” she said, “I have to get back out there. Take a seat at one of the tables and we’ll talk, okay?” She spared a glance over her shoulder. “Don’t leave.”
I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. Following her around to the front, I watched Essie greet her customer and did as she’d asked, drawing a chair from beneath a glass-topped table. She’d placed the tables around the room strategically, I noticed, but my mind found ways to improve.
She needed to draw people in with her window display instead of leaving it blank. Perhaps extend her connections with the community by incorporating pieces from local artists on the walls. Those were steps I’d considered for myself. The operation deserved a boost, more than ever if she wanted to expand the menu. Most people would not take a risk on a menu they don’t know if they don’t have a bond already in place. Who knew what she’d done, or what she planned for the future.
Would Essie be willing to take a chance on me? I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best. The dream of owning my own shop lay poised on the horizon, a back-lit beauty inches beyond my reach. I wanted the chance to get out from my back room and express myself. What would happen to my salon services when my fingers curled with arthritis and the pain became too much to handle? A woman needed a Plan B. And C and D, if she were smart.
I clicked my nails along the table and waited for the customer to complete his transaction. He sent a slight and acknowledging tip of his hat my way before walking through the door before leaving with a box of cookies.
Essie rubbed the back of her neck, the façade of controlled owner slipping a little as her exhaustion surfaced. It gave me a moment to see behind her barriers, to the real truth. She suppressed the rest of her emotions in the time it took for my heart to pump twice, and folded her frame into the opposite seat. Draped her arm across the back of the chair.
“I like being alone some days, and today is slow, thank God, but my feet already hurt anticipating the rush. I know it’s coming.”
“Wink, wink, right?” I teased.
She leveled her gaze in my direction. I’d thought her younger than her true age the moment she first smiled in my direction. Now the serious expression added weight to her face and took her beyond her years. “What do you need from me, Leda?”
My heart skipped a beat, and it felt as if she was holding a magnifying glass and peering closer. I didn’t have a clear answer for her. “I need...I need you to take a chance.”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable letting the competition know my secrets. I’m sorry.”
Just as swiftly, my heart plunged into my shoes as if the linoleum floor had suddenly dropped away. “Give me a chance to prove I don’t have an ulterior motive. I can be an asset to you, just as you can he
lp me.”
Her lips pursed and she considered me before nodding. “I understand your situation. But I have to ask, why here? Why now?”
Because my life was at a turning point. Because as much as I wanted to help August connect with his true love, I needed to connect with mine as well. And because I respected the hell out of Miss T and her niece.
All that and more I told her, before Essie pointed to the cappuccino maker on the counter. “How about I get us something good to sip on? We can sit here chatting like proper ladies, and no matter how we feel, work toward getting to know each other better.”
I couldn’t help but like her. “Sounds like the best proposition I’ve had all day.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I went straight home after speaking with Essie, though we’d remained at an impasse. Delicious coffee and treats aside, I’d made up my mind to convince her of my worth. Please, Essie, let me learn from you and I swear I’ll take your shop to the next level.
After too many minutes of chasing my tail and getting nowhere, I flipped the off switch, determined to keep my brain powered down for a while. It was better to take the time to process instead of jumping into a situation and regretting it. I’d been there before, and didn’t care to repeat the experience.
Whistling while changing into a pair of jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt, I went out to gather my gardening gear from the tiny shed propped against the house. The afternoon loomed ahead, although the sun refused to come out from behind the clouds. It was a perfect day to be outside without melting.
The columbine was done blooming, and wilting peony heads drooped toward the ground. Those needed pruning before I turned my attention toward the rows of overgrown vegetables.
I would end up working for Essie, I convinced myself, even if I had to get physical and shove my foot in the door. The age disparity aside, she seemed like a practical, no-nonsense woman who had somehow manipulated a purchase from me before our time came to an end. We would work well together, true, and if my intuition was correct, she wasn’t one to turn down a person in need of help. Not when my involvement could make all the difference.