“Sylvie,” I asked, “what colors do you think we should use if we repaint Grandma and Grandpa’s bakery?”
Aunt Sophie was there to translate for us.
Sylvie rested her mouth on her fist with a “hmm.” Then her eyes lit up. “Rouge,” she said, pronouncing her “r” the way the French do. “Rose,” she added thoughtfully. And then, with a smile, she suggested one more color, as if it were the finishing touch on a cake. “Et bleu clair!”
Aunt Sophie smiled. “That would be red, pink, and light blue.”
“Ooh…I like those colors!” said Maddy. She tried to repeat the colors in French, and pretty soon we were all saying them together.
“Rouge, rose, et bleu clair!” we practiced in unison for Sylvie.
In return, she tried them in English for us. She could say “red, pink, and light blue” pretty well in English, but her accent was still wonderfully French.
By the time we hung up with Sylvie, I was flying high. It felt great to brainstorm with my friends some creative ways to help First Street Family Bakery stay open!
Armed with the images Sylvie had sent of French pâtisseries, and encouraged by Ella’s and Maddy’s enthusiasm, Mom and I invited Grandma and Grandpa over to our house for a family bonfire that night.
In the backyard fire pit, the flames flickered red and yellow, shooting tiny sparks skyward. We sat in a circle of lawn chairs around the fire, roasting marshmallows for s’mores over the low blue flames.
“Whatcha cooking up now, Grace, besides that marshmallow?” Grandpa asked. “I can tell that your wheels are turning.”
I was barely able to contain my enthusiasm. “Sylvie and my friends and I have some ideas on how to rescue the bakery!”
“Oh?” Grandpa said, fixing his gaze on the marshmallow on the end of his stick. He was turning the stick over and over and didn’t look up.
I pressed ahead. “We think that if you could give it a new look, make it stand out in a whole new way, you might not have to sell it.”
Grandma sighed. “At this point, Grace,” she said, “we don’t have extra money for major remodeling. We’ll leave that to the building’s next owners.”
“But our plan shouldn’t cost a lot,” I said, sitting up straight in my chair. “We just need some paint, which my friends and I want to help pay for. We also need tables and chairs, and there are plenty of those at Maddy’s parents’ antique shop. They said they’d give you a great deal.” I was talking fast, my excitement building. “And maybe window boxes,” I added. “Those are Mom’s specialty. I’ve got pictures of my ideas inside,” I said, standing up. “Come on! I’ll show you!”
Grandpa grunted a little, which I took as a good sign. “Well, let me finish my s’more, at least,” he said, pressing the gooey marshmallow between two graham crackers.
I tried not to tap my toe impatiently while I waited for Grandpa to eat. When he finally finished, we all went inside. I spread out Sylvie’s images on our dining room table. The photos showed the cheerful interiors and bright exteriors of a bunch of bakeries in Paris.
Grandma tapped an image of La Pâtisserie. “Why, that’s Sophie and Bernard’s bakery, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Sylvie took these photos,” I said. Then I explained that we’d video-chatted to discuss how to help the bakery. “If we give it a new look, maybe we’ll bring in more customers. Besides,” I added, “you’d help La Petite Pâtisserie by staying open, too.”
“I don’t know,” Grandpa said, with a wag of his head. “All this pink and red—well, it’s just not me.”
I’d been expecting that. “I know, Grandpa,” I said quickly. “But what you love is baking, and if this plan works to bring in more customers, then you could keep doing what you love.”
Josh joined in. “Yeah, Grandpa, you’d be back in the kitchen and you wouldn’t have to even look at the remodeled part while you’re baking.”
I shot Josh a grateful look.
“I’m too old for these changes,” Grandpa said, more firmly this time. “Thanks for trying, Grace, really. But we’ve made up our minds.”
Grandma studied the photos. She didn’t say a word, but the corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly.
A train whistled in the distance.
“Grandpa,” I said, the whistle reminding me of all of his talks about history and change. “Remember what you said about the railroad? You talked about the American Industrial Revolution. You said that when trains came along, they stopped using barges on the canals because the trains were so much faster.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Grandpa said warily.
“Well, doesn’t that show that change can be good?”
Grandpa looked at Grandma, and then he met my eyes. “You sure are full of big ideas, Grace.”
Grandma put her hand over Grandpa’s. “I see no harm in trying. Do you?” she asked. “Grace and her friends have put a lot of thought into this.”
Grandpa hesitated, and then raised his hands in the air as if surrendering. “What can I say?” he said. “I guess if nothing else, giving the bakery a fresh look might help it sell faster.”
Those words again. That was not what I wanted to hear! But at least we had Grandma and Grandpa’s go-ahead to try out our plan, and all I could do now was hope that it worked.
When you have a good idea, there’s no sense in putting off acting on it. Right after Grandma and Grandpa went home, I sent out a group e-mail:
You’re invited!!!
Who? You and your family!
Where? First Street Family Bakery
When? 8:00 a.m.–5:00 p.m., this Saturday and Sunday
Why? To give it a face-lift!
Why #2? To keep it in business!
What? We’ll brainstorm and paint!
The message went off to Maddy’s parents, Ella’s parents, Grandma and Grandpa, Mom and Dad, and Josh. Grandma and Grandpa had agreed to close the bakery for the weekend. Two days didn’t give us very much time. I hoped we could get everything done!
Mom, to my surprise, seemed just as excited about our plan as I was. She went online for the latest weather updates every day that week.
“Unseasonably warm for the next few days,” she reported on Wednesday, “with possible snow showers early next week. Guess we’d better ‘seize the day’!”
We cornered Dad into helping us build wooden flower boxes for the storefront.
“Isn’t it too late for flowers?” Dad asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, but we can fill them with pine cones and cedar boughs,” I answered.
“And if we plant hyacinth and tulip bulbs now,” Mom said, “they’ll come up next spring.”
I smiled at Mom’s words. She must have thought it was possible that Grandma and Grandpa could still be in business next spring.
Before the week was over, Mom drove my friends and me to the local hardware store. We studied a zillion color samples, trying to find some that matched the color scheme we had chosen. We finally settled on “Cherry Red” for the exterior, “Powder Blue” for the interior, and “Pink Icing” for the trim throughout.
The store clerk mixed up several gallons of paint and locked them one at a time in a cabinet to shake them up. As the paint cans vibrated, I hugged Ella and Maddy. “I’m excited. We picked great colors!”
“Oui, oui,” Maddy chimed in.
At the dinner table Friday night, I looked at Mom, Dad, and Josh. “Thanks, guys,” I said.
“For what?” Josh replied.
“For supporting my wild ideas,” I said with a grin.
Dad put his arm around my shoulder. “They are wildly creative ideas,” he said. “But then, we’re a wildly creative family, yes?”
“Yes!” I said. “I’ve been thinking about that. Dad, honestly, if you ever wanted to start a business making birdhouses…Or Mom, if you ever wanted to sell more of your garden ornaments…”
Mom cracked up and made a time-out sign with her hands. “Let’s just focus on one small busines
s at a time, okay?”
I agreed, but I could tell that I’d made my parents feel good. We were a creative family—from my baker grandparents to my brother, who could make up melodies on the piano. I knew that together, we could make a difference at the bakery. We could help First Street Family Bakery and LPP!
By eight o’clock on Saturday morning, a big crew had shown up at the bakery.
Mr. P. brought a ladder and drop cloths to protect the floors. Mrs. Petronia wore a paint-splattered shirt over leggings and high-top sneakers. “We left the boys at home with a babysitter,” she explained with a smile. “Somehow, we didn’t think they’d be very helpful with this project.”
Maddy arrived with her parents, whom I’d never seen wearing anything other than dressy work clothes. But today, they both wore old jeans and shirts, and Mrs. Eaton’s hair was covered with a red bandanna.
Grandpa didn’t seem to know quite what to do with himself or with all of these people in his bakery. Grandma had set out pastries, milk, and coffee for everyone. They busied themselves cleaning countertops and watching us, but they reminded me of two ants whose anthill had just been invaded.
Before we got started, Ella, Maddy, and I explained our plan to create an inviting feeling at First Street Family Bakery with bright colors and a few small tables and chairs, inside and out.
“Of course,” I said, “it won’t work for people to sit outside in the winter. But for three seasons out of the year, they could!”
Mrs. Eaton beamed. “We have a good assortment of furniture in our warehouse,” she said. “Some pieces sit there for years and never make it to our antique shop. I told the girls that we may have exactly the tables and chairs they’re looking for.”
Grandpa cleared his throat and said, “I’m afraid we can’t afford to spend a lot of money.” The Eatons’ antique store is known for being super expensive.
Mr. Eaton leveled his serious gaze at Grandpa. “I have loved this bakery for as long as I can remember,” he said. “I want to donate some furniture to the cause.”
Grandpa, who must have been holding his breath, seemed to exhale with relief. “That’s quite a generous offer,” he said.
“Yes, that’s very kind, Mr. Eaton,” Grandma agreed.
Then Mrs. Petronia added, “We have a few vintage tablecloths. They’re sitting in a cupboard, not being used. I think they might be just what you need.”
I nodded excitedly. We hadn’t even lifted a paintbrush yet, and already I was convinced that we could make this work.
Josh and his friends set up ladders outside and started cleaning the exterior of the bakery storefront. He had promised his friends a lunch of sloppy joes, potato chips, and lots of freshly baked desserts. They must have been hungry, because by late morning, some of them were already putting on the first coats of new paint.
It was no surprise that Maddy had a great eye for color. “Pink Icing there,” she said, pointing to the window trim, “but not there. We want the colors to pop!”
A warm breeze blew dried leaves along the sidewalk as I stood outside with Dad, admiring our progress.
“Incredible,” Dad said. “The paint really freshens it up. You guys are good!”
Josh craned his neck from the top of his ladder and looked down. “Wait until we paint the frame around the windows. Maddy was thinking of using two colors.”
“I like how she thinks,” Dad said.
I gave Maddy a thumbs-up. She was doing exactly what she loved, and she was good at it, too.
While one crew worked outside, the rest of us worked inside to transform the front of the shop. We covered the counters and display cases with plastic tarps, washed down the walls and trim, and started painting. Before long, the dull and faded walls and woodwork looked brighter and fresher.
As I waited for Mom to pour more blue paint into my pan, I looked around at the Cherry Red shelves and the Powder Blue walls. Behind the service counter, Mrs. Petronia was trimming the mirror with Pink Icing, and Mr. P. was adding the same color to the trim around the doors and windows. It looked as if a whole new business was starting up here!
I knew my own business also needed tending to—orders were piling up. But my friends and I had decided that this weekend, we needed to focus on the town’s oldest and finest bakery. We took just enough time to reply to our customers’ orders online. We told them that we were taking the weekend off but would get back to them very soon.
And then, I remembered something. “Mr. P.!” I asked suddenly. “Did you get that job you were hoping to hear about a week or two ago?”
Everybody stopped working and waited for his answer.
He drew a deep breath and slowly shook his head. “It just wasn’t meant to be,” he said. “It looks like you girls are stuck with me just a little bit longer.”
“Good!” I exclaimed. “I mean, not good that you didn’t get the job.”
“But good for us,” Maddy said, pausing from sweeping.
Ella glanced over from the back wall, where she was spackling over nail holes. She didn’t say anything.
“That means I have time to tend chickens and get more fresh eggs to you girls,” Mr. P. said with a laugh. “And I have to admit, I have way more fun helping with your baking than working in an office.”
I nodded and gave him a warm smile. I was sad for him that the job hadn’t worked out, but so glad for us that we could keep him for a while longer!
Then I pulled out my phone to snap a few photos of the new and improved bakery.
I knew that Sylvie would love to see how—with her design suggestions and everyone’s efforts—we were transforming the old bakery into something really special.
Click! Click! Click!
By the end of the day on Sunday, the smell of paint was still in my nostrils. But we’d done it. The entry door, the walls—inside and out—and every bit of trim around windows and along the ceiling and floor were freshly painted. And Mr. and Mrs. Eaton had brought in some cute little bistro tables and chairs, too, from their warehouse.
The finishing touch? Little glass vases. I used some of the money from my LPP profits to buy them. There were always vases of flowers on the tables in all the photos Sylvie had sent. It was the perfect detail to make First Street Family Bakery look like an authentic French pâtisserie. Grandma promised to add fresh flowers to the vases in the morning.
“Now all we have to do is let the paint dry,” Mr. Eaton said as we cleaned up in the back kitchen.
Before we left, my friends and I made new signs for our bakery cart. Then we rolled it outside and set it beside the front door of the bakery, using one of Josh’s bike locks to secure the cart to a bike rack. The signs proclaimed:
“A FRESH NEW LOOK!”
“COME CHECK US OUT!”
“TIME FOR TREATS!”
It was almost seven o’clock when all three of our families, plus Grandma and Grandpa, were crowded around tables pushed together at Da Vinci’s, my favorite Italian restaurant.
When our dinners arrived, I showered my plate of spaghetti and meatballs with Parmesan cheese. The last time I’d had this meal, when Mom and Dad had been trying to convince me to “accept what was,” I was feeling hopeless. Tonight, as I looked around at our big table, I was amazed at all we’d accomplished together. I was definitely feeling hopeful now.
Grandpa pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, holding his glass of water. He was going to make a toast. I’d seen him do this once before—at Aunt Sophie and Uncle Bernard’s wedding reception.
He cleared his throat. “We want to thank everyone for your help in giving First Street Family Bakery a brand-new look—and maybe a brand-new start. It all looks a little girly to me—”
Everyone laughed. Grandpa winked at me, and then smiled at Ella and Maddy.
“—but my granddaughter and her friends tell me that these changes are going to bring in more customers. I sure hope you girls are right,” Grandpa said as he raised his glass. “Cheers!”
“Cheers!” everyone repeated, lifting and clinking their glasses.
I joined in, lifting my glass of milk and clinking it with Ella’s and Maddy’s glasses and then with Grandma’s and Grandpa’s glasses. I was happy at that moment. Whatever happened next, we had all done our best to keep our businesses going.
could barely sit still at my desk on Monday, wondering how customers would view the renovated bakery, now that it was open again.
As I left Mr. Bauer’s classroom for the day, he followed me into the hallway. “Hey, Grace,” he said as other students poured past, “your baking business must really be taking off!”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. With all the work we’d put into First Street Family Bakery over the last week, my friends and I were way behind on checking our orders for La Petite Pâtisserie. We were going to have some serious catching up to do this week.
I must have given Mr. Bauer a confused look, because he added, “Someone said you girls took over the old First Street Family Bakery space.”
Huh? “Well, um, we’ve been using the kitchen there…” I started to explain, but then another teacher stopped beside us and started asking Mr. Bauer about the school-wide testing we’d have next week.
While Mom drove us to the bakery, I tried to fill in Ella and Maddy on what had just happened. “What if Grandma and Grandpa hear those rumors?” I asked Mom. “What if they think we’re trying to take over their bakery?”
Mom laughed. “I heard those rumors, too,” she said. “People jump to conclusions sometimes before they know the facts. Don’t worry about it, Grace. Your grandparents know it isn’t true.”
I hoped she was right. But when she dropped us off in front of the bakery, my worry melted away. The storefront, with its new paint and trim, sparkled.
For just a moment, my friends and I stood outside. “I love the way it looks,” Ella said, her hands pressed to her lips.
“It’s awesome,” Maddy agreed.
I nodded. Everything about the bakery, right down to the window boxes filled with pine boughs, said, “Something new is happening here! Come check us out.”
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