by Becky Monson
I mention this because that is the first word that entered my mind when I walked into the bakery this morning. The smell of baking bread is, well, amazeballs. Honestly, I still can’t believe that I’m the owner of a bakery. After six months of being a business owner, I still feel like I should pinch myself. This is my sanctuary, for sure. Although, lately my sanctuary has been bombarded with wedding stuff (I’m making cakes for both Brown and Anna), and now it will be attacked with Cupcake Battles practices.
It’s Friday, the end of the week for us. Since our clientele is mainly businesspeople, and they tend to stay clear of downtown on the weekends, it’s not worth it to stay open. It’s nice to have my weekends, especially when Jared is around. But this weekend I will be practicing with Patti for the competition, so I guess it doesn’t matter that Jared isn’t coming home, although I could use his moral support right now. His job sucks. He really needs a new one.
How do you tell your boyfriend, who’s pretty much the love of your life (although not admitted aloud), that you don’t like the company that he started, and you want him to find a new one? You don’t, that’s how.
Patti and Debbie are in the back, already getting everything started for the morning rush. I love it that I have people that work for me that I can count on to be here before I can drag my lazy butt out of bed. They are the best employees. I didn’t find them. They came with the bakery when I bought it, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. We have a great thing going, the three of us.
Patti doesn’t actually need to work. She’s an empty nester—all three kids are off starting their own families and her husband is retired. I suspect she works here to get away from home and have some time for herself, though she has never admitted that. Patti is a doer. She gets things done, doesn’t need direction, and she keeps me in line. She also lets me run the bakery how I want to and doesn’t step on my toes. Like I said, we have a good thing going.
Debbie, on the other hand, is more of a sugar-coater. Don’t get me wrong, she does her thing and does it well (her scones are a must-try), but she’s not quite as direct as Patti. Like Patti, Debbie is an empty nester, except for one son that seems to keep coming back home. She’s also a widow—which is where I think the sugarcoating comes from. She’s been through a lot and therefore empathy and sympathy come easily to her. She’s perfect for running the front of the bakery.
“Well, hello there, missy,” Patti says when she sees me walk into the back.
“Good morning, ladies.” I smile as brightly as I can at five in the morning. My brown hair is twisted in a damp bun on top of my head. I need to put my alarm clock across the room from me so I have to get out of bed to shut it off, although I’d probably still find a way to get back in bed. I’m not a morning person, and I still can’t figure out how to be one, even after six months of owning the bakery.
“How are you feeling about everything this morning?” Debbie asks as she mixes the dough for the scones. I can smell orange. My favorite kind of scone—orange cream.
“Better, I think. Jared was excited.” They both grin at me when they hear Jared’s name. Both Patti and Debbie are Team Jared and have been since even before we started dating, back when I tried to hate him for getting me fired from my job. They always wanted us to end up together. Their hopeless romanticism was super annoying during that time.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Speaking of Jared, settle a bet for us,” Debbie says.
“What bet?” I ask as I put my apron on.
“If you had to choose between an outdoor wedding and an indoor one, which would you pick?” Debbie raises her eyebrows in interest.
“Oh, geez, you two. Stop planning my freaking wedding, this is getting ridiculous.” Okay, so the hopeless romanticism never stopped, even after we started dating. Now they have moved on to our upcoming wedding, the one that has never even been discussed between Jared and me. They clearly have way too much time on their hands and I need to give them more work to do.
“Just answer the darn question!” Patti points the whisk at me that she’s using to mix icing for the cinnamon rolls.
“No way. I refuse to add more kindling to that fire.” I roll my eyes and start pulling out the tools to make croissants.
“Come on, just indulge us,” Debbie says, giving me sad little begging-puppy-eyes.
“Oh, fine.” I let out a sigh. “I guess if I had to choose, I’d say outside, depending on the weather of course.”
It really isn’t something “I had to choose” as much as something that I’ve planned out and thought about in ridiculous amounts of detail. I can’t help but think about it. Until Cupcake Battles came along yesterday, weddings had been in the forefront of my mind, especially with Brown and Anna getting married. I’ll never admit it, though.
“Told you,” Debbie bobbles her head at her, and Patti sighs loudly. She hates to be wrong.
“Anyway, would you two cut it out?” I say as I start measuring out pastry flour. “It’s not like it’s even been discussed. Plus there are no guarantees. I mean if it all works out.”
“Oh, please stop with yer ‘if it all works out’ trash,” Patti cuts me off, raising her voice as she tries to imitate me. “Honestly, if I had a dime for every time ya said that, I’d be richer than three feet up a bull’s rear end.”
Debbie and I look at each other. What the heck is rich about a bull’s butt? Is there a Rosetta Stone for Southern talk? If so, I need it.
“Well, there are no guarantees.” I shrug my shoulders at her. Sometimes my internal thoughts come out of my mouth as well.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at ya, and he ain’t going anywhere.” She shakes her head at my insecurities.
I do realize I should be more secure in my relationship with Jared after nine months of dating. But up until nine months ago, I thought I’d die a lonely spinster. Sometimes I get caught up in my doubts and still wonder if that’s where I’ll end up, just me and my cat, Charlie, with no one to be there when I die from choking on a double chocolate fudge cookie (if I’m going to die from food, it better be worth it).
The morning goes by quickly as we bake and get everything ready. At seven, I go unlock the doors. There are already people outside in the cool May morning air, waiting to come in for their morning coffee and pastry.
“Morning, George,” I say as a middle-aged, portly man with graying hair comes in. He’s one of our regular customers. Thank goodness for regulars. They are the bread and butter of this place.
George mumbles a “good morning” as he walks (more like clomps) in and makes a beeline for the counter. Debbie is there waiting for him.
“Well, good morning, George!” she says brightly and warmly.
“I’ll take my regular,” George grunts out. We’ve learned that George is not a morning person and pretty much a total grump in the afternoon, too. Debbie seems to make her greetings louder and brighter every time he comes in (which is most days), just because she knows he hates it.
I peer out the window as I switch on the open sign, and more and more people begin to file in through the doors. The sky is ominous with clouds; looks like more rain today. Unfortunately for Denver, that means there is a fifty-fifty chance it could turn into snow. After the crazy winter we had, spring has not been very springy.
I go back behind the counter and start helping Debbie. The morning rush is a busy one today, which is good and bad. Good because we are making money, and bad because we run out of scones rather quickly. It’s one of those things that just happens: make too many scones, it’s a slow day. Make too few, it’s a busy day. Murphy’s Law can stuff it.
After a couple of hours, things finally start to slow down. I leave Debbie to work in the front and go back to help Patti with the cookies for the lunch rush. Today we’ll also be plotting out what kinds of things we’ll be doing to prepare for Cupcake Battles while we get ready for lunch. We are going to have to do a lot of multi-tasking for the next eleven days.
“Someone’s here
to see you, Julia,” Debbie says as she comes into the back. I’m mixing snickerdoodle dough while Patti is writing down our plan of attack.
“Who is it?” I say as I wipe flour-covered hands on my apron.
“You’ll see,” she says, raising her eyebrows high on her face.
Could it be? No. Jared is in . . . someplace that starts with aC and wasn’t coming home this weekend. He just told me on the phone last night.
But as I come out to the front, there he is, looking tired and ragged in jeans and a T-shirt, and also looking totally hot.
After all this time, I’m still taken by the sight of him. His sandy blond hair, his striking blue eyes, his manly, strong body. I should be over all of the butterflies at this point, shouldn’t I? But I’m not.
In a totally out-of-character move, I run and jump into his arms, throwing caution to the wind and not caring about me and my extra ten pounds. I wrap my legs around his waist and I kiss him hard on the lips. He wraps his arms around me, holding me up and against him. Gosh, I love to kiss this man. I can’t get enough of him.
“What are you doing here? You just told me last night you weren’t coming home this weekend,” I say between kisses.
“I took an early morning flight from Charlotte. Thought I’d surprise you.” He kisses me again lightly on the lips.
Charlotte, right. I knew it started with aC. My legs are still wrapped around him, and I’m hugging him tightly, closing my eyes as I take in his scent, that amazing, manly scent.
“Ahem.” I hear a clear voice and I open my eyes, face-to-face with none other than Bobby, Jared’s mom, who I’m quite sure doesn’t appreciate watching the love fest that is going on with her son right now.
“Bobby!” I say, a little over-enthusiastically and jump off of Jared, stumbling just slightly as I try to catch my balance. Honestly, I cannot stop myself from doing the stupidest things around this woman. She has got to think I’m a complete moron at this point. I can now add this to the list of embarrassing things I’ve done in front of her, right under tripped and fell flat on my face. Yes, that happened.
“Jared, you didn’t tell me your mom was here.” I shoot him a look that says “thanks a lot.”
“Well, how could I when you attacked me like you did?” He smirks slightly at me.
“Oh, geez.” I laugh nervously. “I didn’t ‘attack’ you. Ha ha ha . . .” I trail off, shaking my head.
I’m such an idiot.
“Wonderful to see you, dear,” Bobby says in flighty yet matronly tones, smiling in a faintly patronizing way, as she often does around me. Her tailored raincoat is slightly splattered on the shoulders with drops of rain. She starts to shrug off her jacket, and Jared is quick to come to the rescue and help her take it off.
He’s amazing with his mom. I’ve heard that you’re supposed to watch how a man treats his mom to know how he will treat you, and if that is true, I will be doted on and treated like a queen forever . . . I mean, if it all works out.
“Great to see you, Bobby!” And there comes over-the-top-butt-kissy Julia. Why can’t I just be normal? “Can I get you anything?”
“Oh, I’d love a scone.”
Crap. Of course she would. “We’re all out of scones, I’m afraid. What about a lemon poppy seed muffin?” I point over to the display case, which is lacking at this point, to say the least. The morning rush wiped us out.
“Oh,” she says, disappointed. “A lemon poppy seed muffin it is, then.” She takes a seat at one the tables nearest her. Jared follows suit, sitting down across from her.
“Anything for you?” I ask Jared. I’m so excited to have him back.
“I’ll have the same.” He beams at me with a smoldering gaze. I so heart him, even with the off-putting unexpected appearance of his mom and the slightly compromising position we were in when I saw her. A smile from him and I feel instantly relaxed.
Too bad it doesn’t last long. Just one glance over at Bobby and I’m back to being flustered.
Bobby isn’t that scary of a person, honestly. In fact, she has a very kind look to her. She glides into rooms with her long, skinny limbs that always use fluid movements. She always seems light on her feet, like a dancer. Her clothing is unpretentious. She mostly wears a simple pair of jeans and a white-collared button up. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her in anything else. She seems very conservative in the way she dresses. I’ve yet to see her in the summertime and have often wondered if she will continue with the jeans and white button up, even in the heat. Something tells me she probably will.
She doesn’t wear a ton of jewelry, just a few rings. And she always wears a diamond solitaire necklace. All gifts from her late husband, I’m sure. She seems very loyal and sentimental like that. I don’t think she has been on a date since his passing, nor does she care to. Her hair is the same color as Jared’s—sandy blonde—and is cut short and well kept. She wears minimal makeup because she doesn’t really need it. At sixty-two, she’s actually quite striking.
I’m not sure what I was expecting when I first met Bobby. I guess someone a little stuffier, with fur coats, diamond-saturated fingers, and the like. I just figured Jared would refer to her as “Mummy” in her presence, and they would spend their time drinking tea with their pinkies extended, talking only of politics and other highbrow discussions. But they are nothing like that. The conversation is mostly lighthearted and fun, and Jared refers to her as Mom, or even just Bobby most of the time. My mom would have us imprisoned and possibly hung for referring to her as Katherine. She’s “Mom” to us, and that’s how she likes it. Bobby doesn’t mind when Jared calls her by her given name, and even seems to enjoy it.
“How was the morning rush?” Jared asks, weariness in his eyes. I still want to know what he didn’t feel like talking about on the phone last night. I doubt he would want me to bring it up in front of Bobby, so I’ll have to wait. He’s very protective of her and doesn’t want her to worry.
“I think the rush went pretty well.” I glance around at the bakery and see perused newspapers messily laying around on some of the tables, crumbs on the floor, and a display counter that is practically empty. I’d say this morning was a success.
“So Jared tells me you’re going to be on some sort of competition on television,” Bobby says, holding a cup of coffee between her palms.
“Yeah, yes. Cupcake Battles,” I say.
Bobby has clearly never heard of Cupcake Battles. The silence confirms that.
“It’s on The Dessert Channel,” I tell her.
Bobby has clearly never heard of The Dessert Channel.
“It’s five channels away from Fox News, Bobby,” Jared pipes in.
“Oh!” She sets her cup down and clasps her hands together, giving me a little cheer. “Well, isn’t that wonderful. What exactly will you be doing?”
“Well, I’ll be competing with three other bakeries to see who can make the most creative and flavorful cupcakes,” I sum it up, not wanting to go into detail. I doubt she wants to hear it anyway, since it’s not up her alley of television programs. Perhaps next time I’ll have to try to get on Fox News to get the attention of Bobby Moody.
I hear the jingle of the bells on the door and in walks Lia. We must be getting close to lunchtime. As if on cue, Debbie comes into the room and starts bustling around, straightening up before the rush.
“Hello, Julia,” Lia says in her sickly sweet voice as she approaches the table where we are sitting. She’s wearing a strange ensemble of clothing, a long chevron skirt with a mismatched striped shirt. She wears a strange headband that wraps around her forehead rather than up on top like the rest of the world wears it. I wonder if it’s some sort of witch thing.
“Hi, Lia,” I say and then give her a closed-mouth smile. She stands there as if waiting to be introduced to Jared and Bobby. Really?
“Uh, Jared and Bobby, this is Lia. She’s one of our favorite regulars.” Favorite is a slight exaggeration, but it felt weird to just say “regula
r.” “Lia, Jared and Bobby.” I motion over to Bobby and Jared.
“You and Jared must be dating,” Lia says matter-of-factly.
I blush. “Uh, yes, we are.” I glance over at Jared and he winks at me. “Lia is quite clairvoyant, actually.” I leave out the whole witch thing and pray she doesn’t bring that up.
“I figured that out because I see that you both have red auras,” she says, gesturing between me and Jared. “And red can mean a lot of things, but between two people it tends to have a sexual context.”
Bobby coughs uncomfortably.
Oh, my dear heaven. Please let me die right here. I’m totally ready to go, just take me now.
“Okay,” I say in a high-pitched crazy manner, “thank you so much for that, Lia. Can I get you a muffin? On the house!” I jump up from my chair and escort her over to the counter. I now wish she would have brought up the witch thing. Then maybe Bobby would be focusing on that rather than on my sexually-charged red aura. Oh, dear heavens . . .
After I get Lia sorted out, I grudgingly come back to the table. Finding a rock to climb under sounds more appealing.
“Sorry about that.” I take a seat at the table. Bobby looks composed, but I can tell Jared’s been laughing.
I do not see the humor in this. At all.
“Well, on that note, I should get Bobby home.” Jared stands. “But wait, Jules, didn’t you have some sort of marketing thing you wanted to show me?”
I’m pretty sure I go fifty shades of red. I can feel the fire in my face. And honestly, right after the whole Lia debacle?
Marketing is code.
“Uh, sure. I mean, yes,” I stammer, obviously not as good as he’s at acting calm and cool. Can you blame me? Lia the Witch just told my boyfriend’s mother that her son and I have red auras. Lusty red auras.
“It’s in my, er, office.” I get up from my chair, not making eye contact with Bobby.
“Be back in a second, Mom,” Jared says.
“It was great to see you, Julia,” Bobby says, a pleasant smile on her face.