by Nina Lane
Emotion tightened Polly’s throat. She couldn’t wrap her brain around the fact that not only did Wild Child have a line of customers, they were actually waiting for a pastry that had been a mistake. Or a happy accident, just as she’d once thought about her and Luke. Something that was meant to happen.
“I can’t believe it,” she finally said.
“You’d better.” Hannah steered her back into the kitchen. “We have a crowd to satisfy and less than an hour to finish getting ready. Tell me what to do.”
Emboldened by her sister’s take-charge attitude, Polly took a breath and snapped into action. She showed Hannah how to fill the pastries with the chocolate cream, then fried up more dough. They worked quickly, glazing the Declairs with ganache while the dough cooled. Hannah took over frying another batch while Polly mixed more chocolate custard.
As the clock inched toward their seven o’clock opening, they had three dozen Declairs ready with another six in progress. Polly pushed a lock of hair away from her forehead, nervous excitement rising inside her as they set the Declairs into baskets.
“We need to open in twenty minutes.” She looked out at the crowd again. “Oh my God, I think there are more people out there. We won’t have enough for everyone.”
“You keep making them.” Hannah moved past her with one of the baskets and set it on the counter. “I’ll sell. If we run out, we’ll give rain checks to the remaining people in line. In fact, we should run out to get people to come back and keep them talking.”
When Polly didn’t move, Hannah gave her a nudge. “Hurry. I’ll get the coffee made. What else needs to go out?”
Polly jolted into action again. Together she and Hannah set out the muffins, doughnuts, éclairs, and croissants. Hannah organized the tables and chairs while Polly made as many Declairs as she could and tried to control the butterflies still zinging around her stomach. By the time they were ready to open, she was shaking with anxiety.
“I’ll open,” Hannah said. “Get ready, Polliwog. This is your show.”
She went to unlock the doors.
Her show. Polly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. An image of their mother rose in her mind, the healthy, vibrant Jessie Lockhart with her warm brown eyes, ever-present ponytail, and her serene belief that people were essentially good at heart.
I love you, Mom.
A cacophony of excited voices filled the bakery suddenly. Polly opened her eyes and picked up another batch of Declairs, heading out to join her sister at the counter.
“Line up single file, please,” Hannah called, directing the crowd to the front counter. “Declairs are three-fifty a piece, limit of three per customer.”
Considering Polly had been selling them for two dollars with no limit, this was news to her. But Hannah seemed to know what she was doing, so Polly let her take over the counter.
“Made less than fifteen minutes ago and filled with rich chocolate cream,” Hannah announced to the college kids who eagerly hurried up to the counter. “We also have chocolate éclairs, glazed doughnuts, blueberry muffins . . . everything is fresh baked with the finest local ingredients. What else can I get for you?”
The boys loaded up on three Declairs each, plus doughnuts and muffins. Leaving her sister to handle the crowd, Polly returned to the kitchen to make more Declairs. Enthusiastic chatter and orgasmic moans of pleasure came from the customers who were happily eating their pastries.
She hurried out with another batch only to find that the previous three baskets were already empty. Energy and excitement rippled through Wild Child. Hannah rushed around behind the counter, pouring coffee, boxing up croissants, and selling Declairs faster than Polly could make them.
“What’s going on?”
Polly looked up as Ramona pushed her way past the crowd—amidst grumbles and shouts of “Get in line, lady!”
Ramona came around the front counter, looking from the customers to Polly in bafflement. “Where did all these people come from?”
“They heard about the Declair,” Polly replied, handing a paper-wrapped pastry to a little boy who was waiting with his mother. “Word somehow got out about it because now everyone wants one.”
“We could use some help here,” Hannah added.
“It was the Labradorite.” Ramona pulled on an apron. “Aura healing.”
Polly wasn’t about to argue that point, since there was no reason it couldn’t be the truth. She hurried back to the kitchen to keep production rolling.
The morning flew past, and by the time Clementine appeared to take over at noon, the Declairs were long gone and most of the other baked goods had been depleted as well. But customers continued to linger at the tables, drinking coffee, playing board games taken from the shelf in the corner, and leafing through the newspapers and magazines. Tom had arrived mid-morning for his usual chai tea, and he sat in the corner strumming his guitar.
Hannah put a sign in the window that proclaimed: Declairs sold out today! More tomorrow at 7:00 sharp. After Polly explained the situation to Clementine, her friend only smiled.
“I’m not surprised, with the news report and all,” Clementine said. “That kind of publicity is priceless.”
“What news report?”
“The one KCBN ran last night.” Clementine arranged a fresh batch of muffins in a basket. “Didn’t you see it?”
Polly shook her head, her excited rush dissipating a little at the mention of last night.
“I wasn’t home,” she said. “What was it?”
“Remember I told you that cameraman and reporter came in here when you were away for the weekend?” Clementine pulled up a video on her phone. “They were doing a segment on local bakeries and bought a few of the Declairs. Turns out the reporter loved them so much they dedicated the whole segment to Wild Child.”
She turned the phone to Polly. A pretty blond reporter stood in front of Wild Child’s window, holding a Declair and smiling.
“If you thought there were no new pastries in the world, you’d be wrong,” she announced. “Here at Wild Child Bakery on Hunter’s Avenue in Rainsville, we’ve discovered what will surely be the Next Big Thing in pastry creation. A hybrid éclair and doughnut, this incredible creation is a deliciously airy, fried pâte à choux filled with a chocolate cream so rich and smooth it’s almost sinful.”
She talked about the history of hybrid pastries before biting into the Declair with a moan of pleasure. She held it up to the camera and smiled.
“This is without question the best pastry I’ve ever had,” she said. “I do Declair.”
Polly looked at Clementine in astonishment. “When you said the news people stopped by, I didn’t realize you meant they were doing a story about us.”
“Neither did I,” Clementine replied. “The reporter said it was something to do with the new interest in reality baking programs. I should have gotten a hint when she bought a box of Declairs to bring back to her office, but I really had no idea what their angle would be.”
Polly was lucky to have gotten on the good side of the press. By all accounts, Luke hadn’t had the same experience when he and his family had had all that bad publicity over the paternity lawsuit.
The thought of Luke diluted some of her elation, but because he’d been instrumental in helping her, she took out her phone and sent him a link to the news segment along with the message: Wild Child is on the map. Just wanted to let you know. P.
She went into the kitchen, where Hannah was sitting at a stool with a bottle of water. Strands of hair had escaped her ponytail and stuck to her damp forehead, and her apron was covered with streaks of chocolate and powdered sugar.
“You look like a real baker now.” Polly hitched herself onto the stool beside her sister.
“I guess I feel like one too, if exhaustion and at least three burns from hot pans are part of the deal.”
“They are. And so is the feeling of making people happy with yummy pastries and chocolate cream.”
Hannah gave a short l
augh and lifted the water bottle to take a drink.
“I couldn’t have handled the rush this morning without you,” Polly continued. “Thanks for your help.”
“I’ve worked in enough bars and restaurants to know what I’m doing.” Hannah glanced at her. “And you did good, Polliwog. Mom would be proud of you.”
A rush of emotion filled Polly’s heart.
“I’m really glad you were here,” she said, hesitating for a minute before asking, “You’re still planning to leave?”
Hannah nodded, reaching up to tighten the band in her ponytail. “Whenever Dave gets here.”
Though it was the response she’d expected, Polly’s throat tightened at the idea of losing Hannah again, especially since she was already missing Luke. But he would eventually return—to his family, at least. She had no such confidence that her sister would return to her.
“Are you still going to Portland?” she asked.
“I don’t know where I’m going,” Hannah said. “I guess I’ll find out when I get there.”
Polly smiled faintly. “Sounds like love.”
“What does?”
“Sometimes you don’t know that’s where you’re headed. But you sure do know when you get there.”
THE INITIAL SURGE OF EXCITEMENT over the Declairs lasted for a week after the news report aired, but the flow of customers remained steady, with intermittent lulls throughout the day allowing them to restock and regroup before the next rush.
Polly and Hannah both woke at three so they could go downstairs and start prepping the Declairs, and then Polly either worked through the morning or until she had a class, after which Clementine took over.
Rather than close for renovations and risk losing momentum, Pendergrass and Peabody Designs sent in a crew to work overnight, and soon the interior was freshly painted with new shelves and tables stenciled with mandala designs, bright hammock chairs, an array of earthy plants, colorful lanterns, an antique birdcage, and framed art from local artists.
Julia Bennett strode in one morning and told Polly it was imperative that she didn’t succumb to “mass production” of the Declairs.
“Keep your batches small and stick to a limit of three per customer,” Julia said. “Not only will that maintain consistent quality, it will let people know that they have to come back if they want more. And when a person has to work a bit for that which they desire, they will value it even more.”
She gave Polly a pointed look, which made her wonder if the other woman was also talking about Luke. But she didn’t ask about him, not wanting to even think about him over in Switzerland, touring a building site and burying himself in work. He’d responded to her text with a short Congrats—I knew you could do it, but it was clear they were on separate paths now, with no chance of meeting in the middle. Polly wasn’t sure there even was a middle.
The Wild Child accounts began to show a significant profit, and because of the business structure Luke had helped her put in place, the bakery could maintain the momentum to the point that she could hire more employees. He was part of the reason Wild Child was able to handle the sudden influx of customers and production.
Polly set a fresh batch of doughnuts on the front counter, enjoying the conversation from the customers who were sitting at the tables, talking and eating. The strains of “Here Comes the Sun” drifted from the speakers.
After cleaning a few smudges from the glass counter, Polly looked up as a young man with a scraggly beard approached.
“Hey.” He pushed his overlong hair away from his face. “I’m looking for Hannah.”
Apprehension flickered through Polly. “Hold on, I’ll get her for you.”
She went to the kitchen, where Hannah was piping éclair dough onto a tray. “There’s someone here to see you. I think it’s your friend Dave.”
Hannah almost dropped the pastry bag before setting it down. She wiped her hands on her apron and followed Polly to the front.
“Hey.” Dave smiled at the sight of her. “You ready to hit the road again?”
“Yeah, sure.” Hannah glanced uneasily at Polly. “Um, can you give me some time to get my stuff together?”
“Sure, but I’d like to get going early tomorrow morning,” Dave said. “A friend said we could crash at his place when we go through Eureka.”
“I’ll be ready.” Hannah put a cranberry muffin into a bag and passed it across to him. “Come back here around six tomorrow morning, okay?”
Dave nodded, peering into the bag as he headed back out the door. Hannah pulled a few dollar bills out of her pocket and put them in the cash register.
“Still going to Oregon?” Polly tried to ignore the ache in her chest.
“I guess so.”
Hannah hesitated, as if she wanted to say something else, then went back into the kitchen. Polly looked at the customers clustered around the tables. She listened to the lyrics of the song and breathed in the scents of coffee and chocolate.
Find your happiness.
She had done exactly that. And she’d discovered that happiness didn’t have to be found in just one place. Yes, her happiness had always been right here, wrapped up in Wild Child and memories of her mother. But Polly had also found a bright, glowing happiness with Luke, even if it had been temporary. She’d found happiness in spending time with her sister after so many years of separation, in being with her friends, in watching movies and reading good books. She found happiness in baking, in learning about the culinary arts, in the idea of creating new innovative pastries.
And she’d found an intense happiness and excitement in the discovery that she’d been accepted to an Art of French Pastry course that would be a life-changing adventure.
She turned and went back to the kitchen. Hannah straightened from taking a tray of éclairs out of the oven.
“I’ll make the custard and leave it in the fridge,” she said. “Do you need me to finish these?”
“I need you to stay here,” Polly replied, her heart thumping against her ribs as she added, “Please.”
Hannah’s mouth tightened. She grabbed a rag and started wiping down the counter.
“You told me I couldn’t turn the chance down,” Polly continued. “And of course you were right.”
“You not turning it down doesn’t mean I want to stay.”
“Do you remember when we lived at Twelve Oaks? There was a grove of trees out past the apple orchard.”
Hannah shook her head, focused on putting the baked éclairs onto a cooling rack.
“It was this really nice, shaded area where we always played,” Polly said. “There were old logs and stumps to climb around on, and one summer you helped me turn the place into a French restaurant. You corralled the other kids into being customers and waiters, and I was the chef sending out escargots made of acorns and muddy-water soup. We spent the whole summer running the French restaurant before the boys took it over as a fort.”
Hannah pulled the parchment paper off the tray and tossed it into the trash.
“Clearly running a French café is something I’ve wanted to do since I was a kid.” Polly rested her hand on her sister’s arm. “I couldn’t have run the French restaurant without you. And I can’t go to Paris without you.”
“Yes, you can.” Hannah picked up the pastry bag again, her eyes downcast. “You’ve always been able to do everything without me. You and Mom.”
“Mom isn’t here.” Polly was unable to keep the desperate note from her voice. “I need you, Hannah. I need you to take care of Wild Child so I can go to Paris. The Declair sales have put us back on the map, and I want to take this pastry course so I can bring back everything I learn. I want to create specialty éclairs and perfect macaroons. I want to make chocolate truffles, pralines, and croquembouches, and can you even imagine what I’ll learn how to do with puff pastry? When I come home, I’ll have a whole repertoire of experience and ideas for Wild Child.”
Her heart was beating fast with excitement and the striking realiz
ation that this was what she was meant to do. The Art of French Pastry course hadn’t dropped into her lap out of sheer luck. She’d proven to the admissions committee that she had both the wherewithal and talent to be chosen as one of their students. She’d already measured up.
“I’m scared to go,” she admitted. “But seeing how brave you’ve been for ten years makes me think I can be that way too.”
Hannah looked almost startled. “You think I’m brave?”
“Of course. To travel the way you do, for as long as you have? That takes tremendous courage. I’ve always envied that about you.”
Hannah looked at her for a moment, disbelief shadowing her eyes. “It doesn’t take courage to get on a train and leave. It takes courage to stay and help your mother even though you know she might not get better. It takes courage to try and save a failing business. To believe the way that you do.”
Tears stung the backs of Polly’s eyes. “Then please do this for me, Hannah. I just need a chance.”
Hannah reached out and squeezed Polly’s arm.
“All right, Polliwog. It’s your turn to go.”
“WHERE’S THE FUCKING BUDGET REPORT?” Luke snapped.
And what the fuck was wrong with everyone? Why couldn’t they do their fucking work and get him the fucking paperwork on fucking time?
“Sir, you just asked Roger for it two hours ago,” Kate said, looking so implacably unmoved that Luke was all the more annoyed. “I’m certain he’s working on it.”
“What’s taking him so long?”
“He’s running the numbers as we speak.”
Luke shoved away from the desk, his fists clenching. Why did his executive assistant look so calm when there was a volcano roaring inside him, scorching his veins with lava and burning him to the core? Why were people acting as if nothing was wrong, as if the world hadn’t fallen off its axis? Why the fuck was the sun still rising every morning?
Everything should have damn well stopped the second Polly Lockhart walked out of his life. No. Flew out of his life, on the way to live her dream in Paris.
She’d been gone by the time he returned from Switzerland. He’d gone straight back to work. Because what else was there?