The Little Bakery of Hopes and Dreams

by Kellie Hailes

  ‘We’ll have to bring her in for lunch one day.’ Josie fingered the stem of the glass of wine Brendon had set in front of her. ‘Bring Mia as well. Do you have a kids’ menu?’

  ‘I can make one if it means seeing this one come in a bit more.’ Brendon nodded in Callan’s direction, then passed him the beer. ‘There’s not much here for kids to play with, but you’re more than welcome to bring some toys or colouring-in books. Wouldn’t want her getting bored and dragging you all home too soon.’

  Callan took a long sip of his beer and used the time to get his thoughts in order. Brendon had a thing for Margo? And Margo potentially felt the same? And why was tonight feeling like a giant ambush? From one quick drink at the pub, to lunch with Mia, Margo and Josie? It was like the universe wasn’t trying to inch him out of hiding so much as drag him, kicking and screaming.

  Except he wasn’t kicking or screaming. If anything, for the first time in a good while, his shoulders had loosened. He didn’t feel like he was holding his breath waiting for something to go wrong. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was almost relaxed.

  ‘Can we take that silence as a yes?’ Josie nudged him with her elbow, her eyes shining with what looked like delight, but was probably just a combination of a few sips of wine and the pub’s golden-toned lighting.

  Callan set his pint glass down. ‘I think you can.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Josie clapped her hands with enthusiasm, then swung around on her seat so she was facing the crowd. ‘So, now that we’re here, what do we do?’

  Drink the beer and go home. Sooner rather than later. The words were on the tip of Callan’s tongue, but he swallowed them. Maybe staying a little longer wouldn’t be a bad thing. He eyed the currently unused dart board. Could he still play after all this time? Or would it be an exercise in embarrassment? The old pub champion falling flat on his face as darts landed anywhere but on the board?

  ‘The dart board’s free …’ Josie turned to him, her eyebrows raised in challenge. ‘Feel like a game?’

  ‘Do you know how to play?’ Callan picked up his pint and got off the stool, his body making the decision before his brain could make its mind up.

  Josie grabbed her wine and followed suit. ‘Nope. Never played. You’ll have to teach me.’ She weaved her way through the crowded tables and chairs, then glanced over her shoulder, a cheeky smile on her face. ‘Though, really, how hard could it be?’

  Callan pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. What had he gotten himself into?

  He set his glass down on a table and made his way to the board, more pockmarked than not after years of use. He plucked the darts down from their stands. The weight of them in his hands familiar yet foreign after not playing for so long.

  He turned to see Josie warming up at the line, stretching her arms above her head, while jogging boxer-style on the spot.

  ‘What?’ She shot him a quizzical look, her brows drawing together, as she hooked one arm under the other and pulled it across her body. ‘I want to be limber. Don’t want to seize up.’

  ‘We’re playing a friendly game of darts, not running a marathon.’ Callan offered up the darts. ‘Which colour? Red or green?’

  Josie’s lips slackened into a mock-pout. ‘What? No rainbow ones?’

  ‘If you win, I’ll buy you a set for Christmas.’

  ‘You’re on. Green, please.’

  Callan passed the darts over, then turned to face the board. A competitive surge he’d all but forgotten raced through him, simultaneously centring and energising.

  ‘You know the rules of 501?’

  ‘First to get to 501 wins?’ Josie flashed him the thumbs-up.

  ‘Er. No. The opposite. First to get to zero wins, and the last dart must land in the middle on the bullseye, or on a double.’

  ‘A double?’ Josie ceased bouncing on the spot and focused her attention on the board. ‘What’s the double?’

  The competitive edge fell away as he realised playing against Josie would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Too easy, and far too cruel.

  ‘The double is the outside ring, but I’m thinking we should start with an easier game, like Around the Clock.’ He turned to face the dartboard. ‘It’s really simple. When it’s your turn you get three goes to hit the board. You start at one then, once you’ve hit it, you move onto the next number, then the next. The first to hit twenty–five and the bullseye wins.’

  ‘I can do that. Easy.’

  Callan smiled at the determination in Josie’s voice, which was matched by a set jaw and a narrowed gaze.

  ‘Right then, in that case, ladies first.’ He stepped out of the way, leaving the line free for Josie.

  Squaring her shoulders, she lifted a dart up, pulled her arm back like she was about to throw a baseball, and flung the dart at the board. Her triumphant grin disappeared as it went wide and hit the wood panelling a good half a metre away.

  ‘Nice start.’ Callan forced a serious look to his face to hide the smile that threatened. He didn’t want Josie to think he was laughing at her. He’d seen enough enthusiastic beginners give up too quickly because people had taken the mickey out of them for not getting the hang of throwing a dart quickly. ‘Might I suggest a quick lesson in how to throw a dart?’

  ‘You mean there’s another way to throw it? One that doesn’t involve chucking it at the board with all your might?’ Josie grinned.

  ‘Something like that.’ Callan released the smile he’d held back as he positioned himself behind Josie, then paused as he realised he was going to have to touch her. Again. For the second time that day.

  Apart from the initial hugs of condolence, he’d not been in close contact of any kind with another woman since Abigail had passed away. Even being careful when passing over change or cakes at the shop to ensure fingertips didn’t brush. Logically he knew it was stupid to be so overly zealous, yet part of him felt that closeness of any kind with another woman was a betrayal of Abigail, of the love they shared.

  Callan sucked in a reassuring breath. This was not a big deal. He was just showing a colleague how to throw a dart. The only part of them that needed to touch was their fingers as he showed her correct positioning. Finger touching in the name of sport was not a betrayal. It was just being helpful.

  ‘Right. So …’ Callan forced himself to move closer to Josie. He caught her warm, inviting, sweet vanilla scent, and resolved to hold his breath as much as possible during the lesson. ‘First things first, you don’t want to be so tense. Keep things firm, but relaxed.’

  ‘Firm and relaxed.’ Josie bounced up and down, shaking out her arms and hands, then stilled. Her attention fixed on the board. ‘Pass me a dart. I’m ready.’

  He offered the dart to her and she took it. Her fingers pressed so tightly around the barrel as she held it up, her hand was vibrating.

  ‘Hold it as you would a pen.’ With tentative hands, he reached up and reorganised Josie’s grip, trying to ignore how soft her skin was. How it emanated warmth. How the smallest touch sent a tingling sensation through his own fingers. An unexpected, gentle kind of chemistry.

  He shook his head at himself. He was being daft. There was no chemistry, just a strange mix of nerves, beer and concentration.

  Josie followed his directions, the joints in her fingers blooming white.

  ‘Still too tight. Relax.’ He squeezed her fingers in an awkward massage until the colour returned to her joints. ‘Good. Now that you’ve got your hand positioning sorted, you want to think about your stance. Right foot forward, and put your weight mostly on your front foot, but not too much.’

  ‘Like this?’ Josie lined herself up and practised aiming the dart at the board.

  ‘Great, except if you lean any more forward, you’re going to find yourself unbalancing and kissing the oak floor.’

  Josie’s nose shrivelled as she eyed the floor. ‘I don’t think there’d be enough hot showers or antibacterial creams to make that okay.’

  A laugh e
rupted from Callan, taking them both by surprise.

  ‘No, I think you’re right on that.’ He touched Josie’s forearm and ushered her out of the way. ‘Look, it’s easy once you get the hang of it. Keep both feet on the floor with your right foot forward. Hold the dart like I showed you. Lean in a little, but not so much that you and the floor become intimate. Aim, keeping it relaxed but firm. Then, release.’ The dart flew from his fingers, sailed through the air, and hit the bullseye.

  ‘Wow.’ Josie’s shoulders slumped. ‘I’m not playing with you. You’re too good.’

  ‘I just got lucky.’ Callan strolled to the board and plucked the dart from it. ‘Probably muscle memory. Besides, we’re not being serious. It’s just for fun. The way I see it, if we stop playing then the only thing to do is finish off our drinks and head home to an annoyed Margo. You’re meant to be keeping me out as late as possible, right?’ Callan raised an eyebrow, amusement bubbling up as Josie suddenly became fascinated with the floor.

  ‘I figured that would be the case, and I’m not angry about it. In case you were wondering.’ Callan picked up the darts and held them out to Josie.

  She took the darts then met his gaze. Her eyes filled with a mix of remorse and defiance. ‘Were we that obvious?’

  Callan placed his hands upon Josie’s shoulders and lined her up in front of the board. ‘Ridiculously obvious. That and Margo’s been trying to get me out of the house for months now.’

  Josie brought the dart up, one eye closing as she zeroed in on her target. ‘It’s only because she cares. It’s not good for a person to hide away for too long.’

  Embarrassment gripped Callan’s heart as he realised he was still touching Josie. He released her shoulders and took a step back.

  Josie brought the dart back, ready to throw. ‘At least, I don’t imagine it would be.’

  Callan’s ears pricked up at the change in Josie’s tone. For one moment she’d sounded like she knew about loss, about grieving. Then she’d shrugged it off, like it was pure speculation rather than experience. But that didn’t explain why her knuckles had bloomed white with tension, something he suspected had nothing to do with beginner’s nerves.

  ‘Josie, breathe.’ The words were slow, low and did their job. ‘Keep it firm but relaxed, remember? Then when you’re ready, throw.’

  Her shoulders hitched up and sank down as her arm pulled back, then pushed forward, releasing the dart in one fluid movement.

  He followed its trajectory. Solid. Strong. It flew towards the board. Landed. And held.

  ‘I did it!’

  Josie’s squeal of delight caught the attention of the crowd, who turned to watch her fist-pumping the air while she jumped up and down, repeating ‘I did it’ over and over again.

  Before Callan knew what was happening Josie had grabbed his hands and swept him into her on-the-spot leaping exuberance.

  ‘You did great.’ He gave her hands a squeeze, then made to extract himself, only to find a tangle of arms around his neck, and a soft body pressed against his.

  ‘I did great because of you. That was so fun. What a rush.’

  Josie’s words were hot against his neck and tickled his skin. The combination stirred something deep down that he’d long forgotten. Wanting. Need. Desire.

  Feelings he shouldn’t be feeling and had no intention of experiencing again.

  He took hold of Josie’s forearms and gently put space between them. Then as quickly as he’d taken hold of her, he dropped his hands and folded his arms across his chest. A barrier to further excitable advances.

  Josie’s mouth formed an ‘o’ as her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink.

  ‘That was inappropriate of me. I’m so sorry.’ The words tumbled from her mouth as she picked up her jacket that was draped over a stool, grabbed her hat from its pocket and shoved it on top of her head. ‘I had no place hugging you like that. I was excited. That’s all. It meant nothing. I promise. And, well, we should probably go, before my actions start the village rumour mill going.’

  Callan went to take her hand before she ran for the front door, but he stopped himself. Touching her was a very bad idea. Not only would it make Josie more uncomfortable, he feared it could reignite the confusing emotions that had flooded through him.

  ‘Josie, take your hat off and look at the board.’ He twisted around to the bemused audience. ‘And you lot get back to whatever you were doing. There’s nothing to see here.’

  When he returned his attention to Josie, he saw her mouth had relaxed. The colour in her face was no longer so vibrant.

  ‘The dart fell out.’ She shook her head and face-palmed herself. ‘All that hubbub for nothing.’

  ‘Not for nothing. You hit the board. That’s a big deal. Especially on your second go. Maybe give it a little more oomph next time.’ Callan plucked the hat from Josie’s head and put it back on the stool. ‘We’ve a game to finish. Well, technically, begin. Which means one of us has to get things started.’

  ***

  Josie sipped her water and thanked herself for remembering to switch out the wine after the third glass. Baking and serving and being perky for a whole day after a night on the drink? Never a fun time. Satisfaction warmed her heart as she took in the table of people who’d joined her and Callan after their game of darts. If you could call it a game. A trouncing would’ve been a better description. It had become increasingly clear that darts was not her thing. She’d managed to get to two on the ‘clock’, whereas Callan had sped around the board. Nailing every number like a pro. Nearly every number. She had the distinct feeling his couple of misses had been purposeful. A small kindness she was grateful for.

  She’d been saved going again by an acquaintance of Callan’s stepping up and challenging him to a proper game. He’d been nice enough to turn him down, saying he didn’t want to abandon Josie, but she’d quickly told him she was fine and that she’d be happy enough at the bar talking to Brendon.

  Before long a group of men had surrounded the dart board, with Callan winning each of the games with ease. Friendships were renewed, more beer was served, and next thing she knew she’d been pulled down to a table filled with locals, a glass of ruby liquid in front of her, and conversation flying across the table ranging from family news to sports to the weather, and everything in between.

  ‘Will you be entering the Christmas Cake-off competition, then?’ Lauren, the wife of Will, one of Callan’s friends, propped her chin in her hand and drummed her fingers on her cheek. ‘It’s a big deal, you know. Fiercely competitive. We had twenty entries last year. Probably will have more this year now that—’

  Lauren halted mid-sentence, her happy demeanour morphing into that of a woman who looked like she might be sick at any moment.

  The table fell silent, and Josie got the feeling some line had been crossed.

  She turned her attention to Callan. His gaze was fixed on the foamy head of his beer, his shoulders bunched around his ears.

  Click. Callan’s wife, Abigail, had been the local baker. There was every chance she would have been the reigning champ. But now she was gone, leaving space for someone new to take the crown.

  Josie shot Lauren a sympathetic smile. She seemed like a good person, and Josie didn’t believe the conversation came from a place of malice. There was no reason why her faux pas should put a stop to what had been a fun evening so far.

  ‘A cake baking competition, you say? I guess I could take a shot. What kind of cakes are they looking for? Are there rules? Am I allowed to enter as an outsider?’

  The tension surrounding the table eased, though didn’t wholly disappear.

  ‘If you live around these parts you can enter.’ Callan looked up from his beer, his shoulders inched down. ‘The kind of cake you make is up to you, but it has to be Christmas-themed.’

  ‘Of course it does.’ Josie rolled her eyes at Callan.

  The corners of his lips lifted in a small smile and a twinkle appeared in his eye.

  ‘Sorry.
Those are the rules.’ He shrugged in a ‘what can you do?’ manner.

  An idea bubbled up in Josie’s mind. A way to completely erase the strain that still hovered around the table. ‘Has anyone ever done a roast turkey cake before?’

  ‘A cake made with turkey? Sounds revolting.’ Will blew out his cheeks like he was about to vomit.

  ‘Not an actual meat cake.’ Josie grinned, glad to see the conversation topic had the desired effect. ‘But a cake that’s made to look like another thing. You know, kind of like how on those cooking shows on television they’ll have a challenge where you bake something that looks nothing like baking. So a hamburger cake. Or a burrito cake.’

  Will continued to fake-sick up, while Lauren laughed, and the rest of the table looked confused.

  ‘You could try it, I guess. Maybe add some cake roast potatoes around the edge, and chocolate icing as gravy.’ Lauren grimaced as she shook her head. ‘Can’t see the judges going for it, though. They’re pretty traditional.’

  ‘Some traditions were made to be broken.’ Josie raised her brows.

  Lauren shook her head in return. ‘Not this one.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Josie sighed. ‘Not this one. I’ll just have to get my thinking cap on and figure out something amazing to bake. Speaking of …’ She covered her mouth as a yawn escaped. ‘I have a job to do and I’d hate to be late tomorrow. The boss would be all sorts of grumpy.’

  Callan tutted, then scraped his chair back and stood. ‘Wouldn’t want a grumpy boss. I heard he’s a tyrant.’ He turned his attention to the group sitting around the table. ‘It was good to catch up. Thanks.’

  ‘Don’t leave it so long next time.’ Will raised his pint. ‘In fact, I expect to see you here next week. If not before. We need our best player back. We’ve been on a losing streak since you’ve been away.’

  Callan wrapped his scarf around his neck, then reached out and shook Will’s hand. ‘You’re on.’

  Josie tamped down the excitement that rushed through her at seeing Callan commit to playing darts once more. If he saw how happy she was about him coming out of his self-imposed shell, he could well scuttle back in there again. Holding her joy in wasn’t an option, so she settled for the next best thing and pulled her mobile from her pocket.