by Anne Hagan
Christmas Cakes and Kisses
Anne Hagan
To EA, just for being there...
PUBLISHED BY:
Jug Run Press, USA
Copyright © 2017
https://annehaganauthor.com/
All rights reserved: No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed or given away in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without prior written consent of the author or the publisher except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages for review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are actual places used in an entirely fictitious manner and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
About the Author
Check Anne Out on her blog, on Facebook or on Twitter:
Join Anne’s email List
Also Written by the Author
An excerpt from the short story: | Loving Blue in Red States: Birmingham Alabama
An excerpt from | MARY’S ANGEL | by EA Kafkalas
ABOUT EA KAFKALAS
CHECK OUT EA’S WEBSITE, FACEBOOK, OR TWITTER
Chapter 1
Saturday Evening, November 7th
Zanesville Technical College and Culinary Institute
“Good evening.”
“Good evening, Chef,” the twenty-four students standing at workstations called back to Chef Tomas Fourneir, in near unison.
“We’ve been working pastry for the last month. You’ve all done well.” He glanced around the room, his eyes lingering on a few students.
Hannah couldn’t hold his gaze. She looked away, toward the older woman she shared a workstation with, Sandra Teeter. Sandy scooted her right foot toward Hannah’s left and gave it an encouraging tap.
Hannah blushed and looked away from Sandy too, back toward Chef Tomas. He’d moved on and he was smiling at Sandy.
“Who is ready for cake?” he asked in a more excited tone than his usual more measured one. Hannah smiled and nodded. Sandy did too. It’s what they were both really in culinary school for and they’d talked about it often.
The chef rubbed his hands together. “In class, we’re going to go through all of the usual exercises and modules.” He emphasized, ‘in class’. “This year, unlike in previous years, we have a special project right out of the gate, as well. A very special project.”
Hannah and Sandy glanced at each other, Sandy with one eyebrow cocked. “Bring it on,” Sandy mouthed to her table mate.
The younger, strawberry blond, couldn’t help but chuckle at the 40 plus year old woman who’d spent all of her adult life toiling in commercial kitchens, baking up a storm and getting none of the credit. Her enthusiasm was contagious.
Sandy was the only person in the class who knew about her bakery. She’d said she made it her business to know all of the competition in Zanesville and the surrounding area when she showed up at the shop one day, unannounced and not a bit surprised to find Hannah at the helm. Hannah didn’t even think the chef knew about her store. Every time she thought about telling him she shuddered from the pressure to perform that she was sure would follow.
“First, I’m going to pair you with another student,” Chef Fourneir said. “The project will be a team effort, therefore we will proceed through cakes as pairs.”
The two women glanced at each other.
“I’m picking,” he continued as a low rumble rose in the room. The class grew quiet again when he stepped toward the front workstation to his left. “Mr. Clay,” he addressed the student facing him on the right, “please step aside.”
Fourneir waited while Randy Clay picked up his knife kit and his class binder and moved before turning toward the workstations to his right. He looked past the two front tables and focused on the table where Hannah and Sandy stood. “Ms. Teeter,” he called to Sandy, “please take Mr. Clay’s place here.” He placed a hand on the now vacant workstation.
Hannah grimaced but she didn’t dare look at Sandy. Instead she imagined having Randy as her baking partner. He was good with pastry and a hard worker. She swallowed, drew in a breath and then, as she let it out, half smiled at the man, as he waited in the aisle, watching Sandy gather her belongings.
The chef didn’t place Randy at Sandy’s former workstation. Instead, he zigzagged among the twenty-four students and their stations, moving people here and there until there was only one student left standing in an aisle, sans partner, Morgan Barber.
Hannah swallowed again, harder this time as Fourneir directed Morgan toward her. She didn’t know anything about Morgan. They hadn’t talked other than to say ‘hello’ or ‘excuse me’ in passing. Morgan didn’t really talk to anyone, always going off by herself when they would get a break in class.
When the pairings were finished, people started chattering. Some were obviously happy with their new partners while others, it seemed, were not. She wasn’t sure what she felt but, from what little she’d observed, she didn’t think baking and pastry were strong suits for the woman now standing next to her.
Fourneir motioned for quiet. “Some of you have grown quite comfortable with the people you formerly shared stations with. That’s great. Teamwork is important. However, I remind you, in a commercial kitchen, you will always be working with all sorts of people at all different skill levels. You must learn that they’re going to be part of the team and that you have to become a part of the team wherever you go.”
“I’ve separated the stronger bakers and moved them around because of our special project. Each year, there is a TWIG sponsored charity fundraiser for Genesis Hospital. Local companies contribute decorated Christmas trees for a public display. People donate money to walk through the display and see the trees and then, before Christmas, they’re auctioned off. It’s been a successful fundraiser for many years. But, as with all things, they’ve reached a ceiling on what they can raise with just the donations and the tree auction.”
“This year, the TWIG group has decided they’d like to try something a little different. The also want to do sweets and specifically cakes.”
“For auction Chef?” a student called from the workstation behind Hannah and Morgan.
“Yes, for auction. What they hope will be a very competitive auction. Now, I know cookies are the most popular Christmas dessert but, in many parts of the world, Christmas cakes play a very large role in family gatherings as Christmas is the celebration of a birth, after all.” He paused to let that sink in.
Hannah smiled, memories of her Amish upbringing and Old Christmases spent in church, still very much in her mind.
“Twelve corporate donors have each commissioned a cake,” the Chef was saying as he scanned a paper he held in front of him. “They will be auctioned off at a very special auction at the private dinner party to honor the Twig volunteers and their families and the corporate sponsors after the tree auction which i
s open to the public. The cakes will be on display for the public at the display of trees, behind a glass wall. The public can vote on a fan favorite.”
He looked up at the students. “Each team here will be assigned to one of the corporate donors by random draw. You, as a team, will meet with the donor, outside of class, to get his or her vision for the cake. The overall theme for the festival this year is ‘Family, friends and fun at Christmastime’, but the donors are free to deviate from that with their trees and, presumably with their cakes. Even so, that theme gives everyone a lot of latitude to be creative and being creative is highly encouraged here. Don’t play it safe. I suggest you put your heads together and come up with a few themed ideas before you meet with your sponsor...among other things.”
He pursed his lips and nodded his head but didn’t elaborate. Hannah suspected she would have to quiz Morgan about what she could and couldn’t do and how much time she had to devote to the project, especially if their sponsor wanted something really detailed.
Chef Fourneir changed course. “Has anyone here ever been to see the tree display in the past?”
Hannah looked around and saw a few hands go up, including Sandy’s.
“Ms. Teeter,” Fourneir called out, “tell the class about it.”
Sandy chuckled. “Seems like it might be pretty cutthroat to me. There’s a fan favorite for the trees too and they give awards for them besides that for best use of the theme and such. Plus, I’ve seen big write-ups in the paper about it.”
“Exactly,” Fourneir said as he smacked a hand down on the closest workstation. “It’s competitive. Expect the cakes to be treated much the same, all in the name of charity, of course. The volunteers, the corporate donors, their invited guests and some local dignitaries will be on hand for the cake bidding. The TWIG committee expects the cakes, if they’re good, to be as heavily contested as the trees and to go for big money, folks.”
No pressure, Hannah thought.
“I’m told by the TWIG committee that some of these sponsors commission the decorating of their trees out to designers but some do it all hush-hush, in house. Given that, I expect that some teams will find their corporate sponsor gives them free reign, others will find their sponsor is very particular and still others will find the sponsor wants to be hands on and help. Be prepared.”
Hannah blew out a heavy breath.
“I have a packet for each sponsor. I’ll hand them out at the break. Right now, we need to get to work on the science and the art of cakes if we’re going to have a good showing. Please open your syllabus to...” He was off and running.
“BARNWELL INCORPORATED?” Hannah said to Morgan as she skimmed over the sheet of paper she pulled out of the packet. “Ever heard of them?”
Morgan half shrugged and leaned back against the hallway wall, opposite their classroom. “I’ve heard the name. I’m not sure what they do.”
“There’s an address here on Fairview Road, a name, Garrett West, and phone number. I suppose we ought to call him soon...Monday, maybe, if this is his number at work.”
“I have to work Monday,” Morgan said. “Three to Eleven shift at...at the bistro over on 5th.”
“Bistro Cher? You cook there?” Hannah’s eyes grew wide. Maybe she’d misjudged Morgan.
“No. I uh, I wait tables. Sometimes they let me...” She trailed off and shrugged. “Sometimes they let me do some prep work.”
“I work Monday during the day...the morning, anyway,” Hannah volunteered. “I can probably call him in the afternoon and set something up for Tuesday or Wednesday, I suppose.”
“We have class Tuesday and I work again Wednesday.”
Hannah was already growing frustrated with the conversation. “We’re supposed to get together before we even meet with him and come up with some ideas.”
“Yeah, okay.” Morgan shrugged again, both shoulders this time, and stared off through the windows that gave onlookers a view into their classroom on the other side of the hall. After a few seconds she said, “Let’s try to meet with him Tuesday, before class, if he’ll hang around at work that late.”
Hannah nodded. “That sounds all right; if he’ll do it, I mean. I have to come into town for class anyway.”
“Where do you live?” Morgan asked.
“Morelville, in the southeast part of the county.”
At Morgan’s blank stare, she said, “Down by Blue Rock.”
“The forest?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I...I don’t really know. Why?”
Morgan rattled off, all in a rush, “How about we get together at your house tomorrow and talk about this cake? Give me your address. What time?”
“Um, 1:00? I guess...”
Chapter 2
Later Saturday Evening
Morelville, Ohio
It was quiet when Hannah walked into the house. Not even Boo, her house mate Dana’s little Boston terrier, was around to greet her and give her the sniff test to see if she’d come home from school with any treats.
“Where is everyone?” she called out.
Dana’s muffled “In here,” came from the master bedroom.
As she headed toward it, the slacking dog bounded out of the bedroom, toward her. “Not doing your dog job very well, I see,” she told the hopping ball of energy and then gave her a quick pat.
In the bathroom, off of the bedroom, she found Dana pulling her son Jef out of the tub.
“Look, Mommy is here,” Dana told the toddler.
The boy smiled at Hannah and splashed around in response.
“Almost bedtime,” Hannah warned him. “Time to get out.”
“One minute,” he begged.
“Just while it drains,” Dana told him. She started to drain the water while Hannah gathered a towel, a diaper and the boy’s pajamas. As she dried and dressed her son, Dana quizzed her about class.
“How was the first night of cakes?”
Hannah gave a half nod in Dana’s direction. “Good.”
“Just good?”
“It was different. Not what I expected.”
“Why’s that?”
Hannah told Dana about the TWIG project and about the chef assigning them each a partner.
“You don’t get to work with Sandy?” She knew Hannah had really taken a liking to the older, no-nonsense, African American woman.
“No.” Hannah shook her head. “Someone else. Her name is Morgan Barber.”
“Sounds sophisticated.”
“Mmm,” she shook her head, “I don’t think so. She’s actually pretty quiet...keeps to herself most of the time.”
“Older or younger than you?”
Hannah shrugged as she concentrated for a few seconds on pulling Jef’s pajama bottoms on. That done, she said, “My age, I guess or maybe a couple of years older. I don’t know anything about her other than that she doesn’t hang around with the younger...people in class. She doesn’t hang around with anybody during breaks. She hardly even talks unless Chef is talking to her or he calls on her.”
“Does she seem to know what she’s doing?”
“I guess. I don’t really know.” She blew out a breath as she picked Jef up and then set him on his feet on the floor. “I’m going to find out soon though. I, uh, hope it’s all right. We’ve gotten some basic specs for guidance. We have to take those and we have to have a meeting right away to plan out our presentation to the client. I uh, asked Morgan to come down here tomorrow around 11:00 but we can, uh, go over to the bakery if we’re going to be in the way here.”
That last bit came out, in what sounded to Dana, as a little bit reluctantly. She knew Hannah hadn’t even told the Chef that led her program that the bakery she ‘worked at’ was actually hers. Dana didn’t know if it was the fear of being held to a higher standard than the other students or if she was just shy about her accomplishments. She suspected it was a little of both.
“Hannah, sweetie, it’s fine; fine a
nytime. I’m just surprised you didn’t want to do it at school on Tuesday.”
“Well, we want to try and meet with our contact on Tuesday, before class. Besides, Chef already told us, we need to work together outside of class; our time in class will be full until it comes time to actually do the baking for this project. And, Morgan didn’t even tell me where she lives. She seemed pretty eager to meet wherever I wanted to.” The most interested I’ve ever seen her in anything that I can think of, Hannah thought.
Chapter 3
Sunday Afternoon
Morelville, Ohio
Dana had Boo on a leash and Jef in the stroller, ready for a Sunday morning spin around the block while the weather was still dry and holding at a decent temperature. They were held up in the driveway though because Jef threw a little bit of a hissy fit when he spied Dana’s wife Mel loading her niece Beth’s dirt bike into the back of her pickup truck. Dana tried to push him on past Mel’s truck but he wasn’t having it. He was fascinated by anything with wheels and the bike was of interest to him whenever it was out, moving or not.
While they were watching Mel and Beth strap it down, a car slowed out on the State Route and then turned ever so slowly into the driveway. The young woman driving swerved to Dana’s side when she saw the truck being loaded but she stopped well short of Jef, Dana and the dog. As she got out of the car, Beth jumped down from the bed of the truck and hustled over to meet her.
“Hi, I’m Beth,” she gushed. “You must be Morgan. Hannah said you were coming. She’s inside. You can go right on in, if you like.”
Dana chuckled at Beth jumping in and taking charge, as usual, but Morgan seemed confused.
“Are you her sister?” Morgan asked.
“Me? No. Well, sort of. More like her cousin. I live next door. These are my aunts. They live here and she lives with them.”
Morgan looked from Dana to Mel and back again. Her eyes grew wide.
Beth didn’t catch it. “And that’s Jef,” she said, pointing at the stroller.
Hannah stepped out onto the porch.
