“Hey boss, can you come up here?” Andy called from the top of the stairs shortly before it was time to open. “I have drink samples for everyone.”
We had a tradition at Torte to taste any specials before they went up on our chalkboard menu. Before we opened the bakeshop’s doors to our customers we would gather around the coffee bar or in the basement kitchen and dive into a delectable spread of garlic herbed butter rolls, beef stew, pistachio shortbread, and Andy’s coffee drink of the day.
Marty brushed his hands on his already floured apron. “Can’t pass up an offer for a morning cup of joe.”
I chuckled and followed him upstairs with tasting plates of my French toast bake. The entire team was huddled at the pastry case. Andy balanced a tasting tray of milkshakes. “I’m calling this the brain freeze. It’s a double shot of espresso hand blended with Sterling’s coffee concrete. Topped off with whipped cream, a drizzle of dark chocolate, and chocolate espresso bean shavings.” Andy winked at me as he passed around the drinks.
“That’s a coincidence,” Sterling said in jest. “I went with an ice cream theme today as well.” He proceeded to open the cold case next the pastry counter after shooting me an impish look with his bright blue eyes. “These are Bethany’s molasses cookies sandwiched with a lemon cream concrete.” He handed out the ice cream sandwiches.
“Am I missing something?” Marty asked, biting into the soft ice cream sandwich. “Is it already summer? You guys are in an ice cream state of mind.”
“Tell them, boss,” Andy encouraged, offering me one of his blended creations.
“These two are outnumbering me.” I tried to wink as I took a sip of the frothy milkshake. Winking has never been my forte. I usually ended up scrunching one side of my face in a weird half smile. “The three of us went to look at a space yesterday that has the potential to be a summer walk-up for coffee and concretes.” I went on to tell my team about the meeting. When I finished, everyone jumped on the ice cream bandwagon.
“We should totally do it, Jules,” Bethany said, twisting her bouncy curls around her index finger. As usual she wore a punny T-shirt. Today’s read, GOOD THINGS COME TO THOSE WHO BAKE.
A truer statement could not be found in my opinion. I passed around samples of the wood-fired French toast.
“Think of the social content we could create,” she continued. “Have you seen some of the amazingly inventive ice cream sundaes that some of the fancy shops in New York are doing?” She paused to pull out her phone to show us pictures of overflowing milkshakes with scoops of ice cream piled on top along with whole slices of cake, sprinkles, mounds of whipped cream, chocolate straws, and bright red cherries.
“Those aren’t just crazy shakes and sundaes,” Steph noted, taking Bethany’s phone for a closer look. She tucked her violet hair that had been recently cut in an angular bob behind one ear. “They defy architecture.”
“And gravity,” Marty added, peering over Steph’s shoulder. He took a bite of my breakfast casserole. “This is out of the world, by the way. That slight char on the top is perfection and the Mascarpone melts in your mouth.”
Everyone agreed.
“It’s like a French toast party in my mouth.” Bethany returned her attention to the crazy shakes and looked at me with eager eyes. “Wouldn’t they be so fun to make? I mean, obviously with our own Torte spin. But, they would definitely draw in a young crowd.”
I took a sip of Andy’s blended coffee. It was creamy and perfectly balanced with a subtle sweetness from the coffee ice cream and rich notes of espresso. “This is delish.”
Sequoia, one of our newest hires, ran a slender finger sporting a mood ring around the rim of her molasses lemon ice cream sandwich. “I’ll leave the wild sundaes to you,” she said to Bethany. “I’m in agreement about an ice cream sandwich line. I’d love to do an oatmeal cookie with a matcha concrete. Or, what about a chocolate black-bean banana cookie with an avocado ice cream?”
The addition of Sequoia to the team had given us a very alternative Ashland slant, which I appreciated.
“Brilliant.” Sterling gave her a nod of approval.
“My mother used to make churro ice cream when I was a kid,” Rosa offered. She was the most soft-spoken member of the team. I relied on her calming aura in the kitchen and enjoyed that she was closer to my age then the rest of the team. It was nice to have her and Marty lend some of their wisdom and life experience to our young staff.
“Oh, yay! Churro ice cream sandwiched between real churros. Count me in!” Andy shot Rosa an air high five.
“I love your enthusiasm, but there are a ton of things to consider,” I said, resting my coffee shake on the counter. “For starters, the stress on all of you. We would have to have at least two staff plus a couple of floaters managing the new space.”
“Sure, but you could hire a few high school or SOU students looking for summer work,” Sterling suggested.
“True. That’s certainly a possibility, and something I’ve been sketching out in terms of budgeting. You and Andy would likely be gone from Torte for the bulk of the busy season though. We’d have to hire replacements for you.”
“Well the deal’s off,” Andy announced. “We can’t be replaced, can we, Sterling?”
Everyone chuckled.
Marty raised his index finger. “I have a suggestion. If we are primarily selling ice cream and cold coffees at the walk-up shop, what would the hours be? Would it make sense to open that space at noon through late evening?” He paused to dab a drip of the coffee shake from his round cheeks. His good-natured grin and white beard always made me think of Santa when he smiled. “Maybe Sterling and Andy can start their mornings here, and you hire a few SOU and Ashland High students to take up the slack.”
They raised valid points. “Good thoughts, everyone. I’ll talk it over with Mom. If you have other suggestions in the meantime, please feel free to share them.”
For the rest of the day, thoughts of waffle cones and Neapolitan banana splits kept popping into my head. The more I considered the idea, the more I wanted to call Addie and say yes. By the time Mom showed up after lunch, I had nearly convinced myself.
“What do you think?” I asked her as we reviewed the paperwork Addie had sent over. We shared a pot of French press and a plate of pistachio shortbread.
“Honey, it sounds like a perfect fit.” Mom leafed through the rough menu I’d put together. “It would give Andy and Sterling some autonomy and I don’t think it would compete with Torte. From what you’re saying, the spaces would complement each other. What about cost?”
Addie had sent over a breakdown of the lease terms. It was shockingly affordable. Considering the state of the garden, she couldn’t charge the exorbitant rent that some property owners tried to get away with charging on the plaza.
“This looks very reasonable,” Mom said, placing her reading glasses on the tip of her nose. “Although it makes sense, since there’s no physical building and upkeep has to be minimal. What do you think? Are you leaning one way?”
“I think I want to do it. The risk seems low. We could give it a shot for this summer, and if it’s too much extra work, we simply wouldn’t renew the lease for next year.”
“I agree. What does Carlos say?”
I was quiet for a moment. Only a moment, but Mom knew me too well.
“You don’t want to do this because of him?” Concern flooded her walnut eyes.
“No. It’s not that. I mean, not exactly. I guess it feels like starting this project might take away from working on our relationship.”
“Do you think that’s true?” Mom’s voice was gentle. “If part of Carlos being here is experiencing what it’s really like to live here, it seems like you owe him a chance to see the real you—the Ashland you.”
“True.”
“Honey, this is between the two of you, but I’ll leave you with this.” She paused to break off a bite of pistachio shortbread. “Since you’ve returned home, you’ve had a new spark. A
joy that radiates out from you in every direction. You’re filled with light and it’s contagious. People want a part of your inner light that shines so bright, and in return for sharing that, the universe continues to show you new opportunities. Thus far, you’ve embraced each new thing that’s crossed your path—the basement expansion, Uva, expanding Torte’s catering line, special events. If this is something that fills your heart, you should follow that. Carlos is a grown-up, he can handle you taking up more space in the world. From what I’ve observed, I’d say that you stepping into your power is one of the many reasons he loves you.”
Her words stuck with me long after our conversation. I had never considered my return to Ashland as stepping into my power. She was right. Ashland had grounded me. After cocooning myself in, I had emerged with renewed confidence in my abilities as a pastry chef and as a person. Carlos wasn’t a threat to that. At least not unless I made him one. If I continued to shut him out, that might change.
Chapter Three
The next afternoon, I caved to the pressure (both internal and external) and signed the lease with Addie. It didn’t take her long to draft a contract. We had agreed on a six-month trial. Our lease would start immediately and take us through September. If we were happy with sales and our ability to staff two locations, we could renew in October.
“Congratulations,” Addie said, handing me the keys and my copy of the lease. “You can get started as soon as you’re ready.”
“That will likely be now,” I replied.
Our goal was to open Torte Two, or whatever the new ice cream shop was to be called, by the premiere of The Count of Monte Cristo at the Elizabethan in late May. It would be perfect timing to coincide with the return of outdoor shows at OSF. The festival boasts one of the longest-running seasons on the West Coast. Productions begin each March in the indoor theaters on campus and continue through the end of October every year. Outdoor performances at the Lizzie (as the Elizabethan is affectionately known to locals) commence in May when late spring evenings turn warm.
There was plenty of work to do to prepare our new pop-up ice cream shop for a bustling summer. For starters we needed to land on a name, design a logo, and create an outdoor dining experience complementary to Torte. I was glad that Addie had gotten the paperwork together quickly. We had no time to waste. The project list of everything that needed to be done seemed to be growing by the minute. We needed to rip down the ivy, sand and stain the coffee counter, clean and paint the bistro tables, repair the cabinets, weed the planters and pots, and give the grass a long overdue mow.
After signing the paperwork, I headed straight for the hardware store and called the team to come meet me at the new space.
A half hour later I found myself standing in the ailing garden holding an assortment of rakes and shovels. “Who’s ready for this?” I asked Carlos, Sterling, Mom, and Andy who had joined me to survey the space and begin sketching out formal plans.
“To new adventures,” Carlos exclaimed, uncorking a bottle of champagne and passing around glasses. Fortunately, he had thought to bring along a bottle of sparkling cider for Andy and Sterling.
“In two weeks I’ll be able to join you in an official toast,” Andy noted eyeing the champagne bottle. “I can’t believe I’m finally going to be of age.”
Mom raised her glass. “To your almost birthday.”
“You’re hardly the partying type,” Sterling said to Andy as he sipped his cider. Sterling had struggled with addiction in the past and I appreciated how open and honest he was about some of his early challenges. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Nah, I know. I don’t care about that,” Andy replied. “It’s such a pain not to be able to pour customers a glass of wine or help serve drinks at our Sunday Suppers, though. I’m looking forward to that and maybe not being known as the kid anymore.”
“Don’t get any ideas about that. You’ll always be kids in my eyes.” Mom ruffled his hair. Then she turned to Sterling to make it clear she was including him in the “kids” category.
“I do not understand these American customs. It is much easier in Spain,” Carlos offered. “We do not make such a big deal about a sip of wine or champagne. It is part of our culture. I remember when Ramiro was six or seven we would give him a half glass of wine at Christmas or parties. I think this is a better way to introduce alcohol, si?”
“Absolutely, I couldn’t agree more.” Mom’s brown eyes twinkled with delight. She and Carlos shared a mutual respect for one another. I was happy that their relationship was evolving too. When Carlos and I had gotten married on a spontaneous weekend escape in Marseilles, there hadn’t been time to invite her. It was one of my biggest regrets. Not that it wasn’t a dream-like experience to tie the knot at such a romantic port of call, but in hindsight having Mom stand by my side while I professed my love might have been worth waiting a bit.
“So should I pour you a glass for a toast?” Carlos asked Andy.
Andy shook his head and held his palm over his glass to block Carlos. “No way. Mrs. The Professor is married to a detective. I’m not about to start breaking the law now, especially when I’m so close to becoming a full-fledged adult.”
We all laughed. The Professor was Ashland’s resident detective and Shakespeare aficionado. He could recite a quote from the bard for nearly any occasion. My parents and Doug, aka the Professor, had been friends since I was a young girl. I had recently learned that he had secretly loved Mom for many years. It wasn’t until she had healed from losing my dad that he declared his admiration and proposed. Their wedding last summer had been nothing short of magical.
Mom raised her glass. The afternoon light danced off the trellis built into the fence with its sweet-smelling honeysuckle vines. Cherry trees lining the sidewalk were just beginning to bud. The grass was still dewy, and the umbrellas and bistro tables damp. In a few weeks, as the sun continued its rotation, the dew would give way to an abundance of spring blooms and warming skies.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been here. I had forgotten what a pretty space this is. And the view.” Mom pointed toward the railroad tracks. The golden hills in the distance were flecked with the first flush of color.
“Mrs. The Professor, you’re right. Ashland is a Bob Ross painting in real life.” Andy gave her a lopsided grin.
“The view was one of the many reasons I couldn’t resist Addie’s offer.” I matched his smile.
“To views and ice cream.” Mom raised her glass.
I followed suit. Once everyone had enjoyed a celebratory sip, Andy clapped twice. “Enough chatting—we have some serious plans to firm up.” With that, he pulled out a spiral notebook he had rolled and stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans and motioned for Sterling to come closer to him. “We’ve been plotting names, flavors, pricing, and everything in between. Isn’t that right, Sterling?”
Sterling leaned over Andy’s shoulder. “The kid is correct.”
Andy punched him. “No way, that is not sticking. You can call me a lot of things, but not kid. And you’re only a few years older than me anyway.”
“We tease because we love.” Sterling patted him on the back. “But Andy’s come up with some great stuff. I’ve been focused on pricing and I think the preliminary numbers we originally came up with are going to yield an even higher profit margin. I’ve found a new dairy supplier, Dean. He owns an organic farm in Talent out by the hemp fields and he’s going to offer us fifteen percent less than the other vendors we spoke with.”
“What about his product? I don’t want to sacrifice quality,” I interrupted.
Mom shot me a nod of approval. I could tell she agreed. I was committed to giving Andy and Sterling more responsibilities and autonomy, but they both had a lot to learn. When I had attended pastry school in New York, I spent my first summer interning at a French pastry shop and the chef had told me repeatedly that the only—absolutely only—way to perfect my baking prowess was through trial and error. That was the philoso
phy I tried to pass on to my staff. If one of Andy’s latte creations bombed, so be it, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to hand over the reins when it came to quality control.
“Told you she’d say that,” Andy snickered.
Sterling protested. “Give us a little credit, Jules. You’ve taught us well. We have a meeting set up with Dean later. He’s going to drop by some samples. The farm is certified organic and the cows are completely free range. I haven’t seen it, but Dean has the gold seal on his milk and said we could visit anytime.”
“Very good. They have done their research.” Carlos topped off my champagne. His dark eyes lingered on mine for a moment. I’d never been able to resist his seductive smile. Although lately I’d noticed a subtle shift in him. His usual playfulness was lacking ever so slightly. I doubted that anyone else had picked up on the change but it had me wondering if he was holding something back.
“Plus, we made samples for you. We want to do a blind tasting.” Andy pointed to a cooler resting on a nearby table.
“Now?” Mom asked.
“It’s up to you. We can go over our ideas now and do the tasting last, or vice versa. Whatever you say, Mrs. The Professor.” Andy had affectionately called Mom “Mrs. C.” for years until she and Doug married. Now his term of endearment for her was “Mrs. The Professor.”
“I’d love to hear your thoughts about the space and setup.” Mom said, turning to me. “What about you?”
“You read my mind.” I motioned to the stack of garden tools. “We need to figure out what to demo and what to keep. The little free library has to stay.” One of the most unique things about the funky garden was its many nooks and crannies. A little free library in the shape of an A-frame had been built into the corner of the fence. Lush bamboo planted in wooden garden boxes on the opposite side of the garden served as a green barrier between the walk-up shop and the Grange next door. Three trellised gates allowed for multiple points of access. If we could breathe new life into the existing structures, the space could be incredible.
Chilled to the Cone Page 3
