by Farrah Paige
What was I doing with my life? The bakery was a success, but so what? I mean, I loved baking, but was that all there was to life? Without someone to share it with, what did success really mean? I guess I would be comfortable and respected. That was something.
But if I died without a kid, who would remember? I guess for a few months after the bakery closed, people would think, “Aw, did that bakery close? I liked that place.” Maybe a few customers would find out that I died and say that was a shame, but then they move on with their lives. There would be other bakeries and other people that they were closer to that died. I would just be a footnote. A nothing really.
Maybe I was depressed. Should I go see a therapist? I guess it would be the right time now that I have Emma in the shop. Maybe the therapist would have some suggestions on what I should do. Yeah, I’ll do that. When I get home tonight, I’ll flip around the Internet and find a local therapist.
At the very least, it’ll give me something to do outside of work.
“Morning boss,” greeted Emma cheerfully as I got out of my car. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “I’ve just been a little down the past few days and I’m not sure why.”
“Well, what would make you happy at work?” she asked.
“I guess baking something new could be fun,” I said.
“Why don’t you do that? You already have an established customer base,” she said. “If you do something new and cool, I’ll take a picture and put it on the Facebook page.”
“Okay,” I said, cheering up a bit. “Good idea.”
We got into the bakery and started getting ready for the rush. The hour flew by and I mean, it just flew. One minute, I’m walking in, mixing up some dough and the next we had a line out of the door and down the plaza. I actually got a call from the cellphone store saying that the line was blocking their entrance. As if I could run outside to do something about that.
John Bellows, one of my regulars, came in with three of his coworkers.
“Hey, Honey,” he greeted. “Who’s the new girl?”
“That’s Emma, my assistant,” I said.
“Wow,” he said. “I’m glad you could afford to hire help. You’ve been so swamped.”
“She only started a few days ago, so I don’t know that much about her, but she seems to be working out.” I said smiling. “You want your usual honey buns?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “My coworkers over there don’t believe how good they are. They wanted to stop at a gas station and buy something pastries in the mini-mart.”
“Eww,” I said. “Thank you for stopping another crime against the culinary arts.”
I got John and his boys the honey buns and coffee they wanted. John was always in early and was able to get a table. He seemed interested in Emma, but not me. That was fine. For a moment, when we first met, I thought maybe I could go out with him. But dating the customers would be weird, right? I mean, if things didn’t work out, I’d lose a customer. It was so impossible to meet people at work when you run your own business.
The honey buns were selling fast. I let Emma take over the front. It was early, so I still had plenty of baking to do. Plus, my surprise was going to take a little extra work. I was juggling several different ovens and the stove at once.
“Honey. Honey.” called Emma in a panic. “We’re out of honey buns. Do you have any more coming out?”
“Nope,” I said. “But I do have a surprise. Give me two seconds. Tell the customers I’m about to unveil something new.”
Emma went out and I could hear her announcing to the crowd that I was bringing out something new. After a quick arrangement on two different trays, I came out into the front with it.
“Okay, we are out of honey buns,” I said. “But say hello to fresh apple strudel. Who wants to try my very first batch? Same price as the buns.”
“Strudel,” said the first woman in line. “I could go for that. Let me have one.”
Emma sold her a strudel and she lifted the open box the moment Emma handed to her. Lots of customers wanted an open box because they would either take a bite before closing the lid or eat over the box if they couldn’t find a seat. The woman bit in and her eyes went wide.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “This is so good. You have to add this to the menu. I mean, you have to.”
Oh, boy. I think I just made more work for myself. The good news was, the strudel was gone in less than ten minutes. I mean, they bought it all. As usual, we were running out of everything. I threw in another batch of honey buns. I had some bread dough left over, so I made some braided bread with it. Again, it wasn’t on the menu, but something different. I would have to crunch the food costs if I actually wanted to sell some of this stuff on the regular.
“Honey, there’s someone on the phone named Steven Allen,” she relayed. “Says he has an important opportunity for you.”
As an independent business owner, I had been bombarded by calls from every salesman imaginable. You would not believe some of the awful pitches and scams they try to pull. I assumed this was another.
“Tell him not interested and hang up,” I instructed.
“Not interested,” repeated Emma.
Emma went back to waiting on customers, while I mixed up some Irish Soda bread. It wasn’t March, but I figured what the hell. I was having fun in the kitchen, while trying to keep the customers happy and myself. Emma had really come up with a good idea to cheer me up.
After I threw eight loaves of soda bread into the oven, my timer went off. Another batch of muffins was finished. I got them out, dumped them into a container and started to bring them out front. Emma was already coming back to get them. The front of the store was still mobbed.
“Oh my God,” I said. “Where are they all coming from?”
“This isn’t normal?” asked Emma.
“No,” I said. “Oh, right. The news piece. I should’ve made more dough last night.”
“Just go back there, I’ll keep things moving up here,” she insisted.
We were burning through product much faster than I could make it, but that was a good thing. I had come close before, but people were going nuts. It was the middle of the breakfast rush and people were buying the cakes I had, just to buy something. We had a bin of day old cookies and they just got wiped out.
Then I thought about something I could make that would be relatively fast. I made several loaves of biscotti. It was quick, and I could add vanilla abstract along with slivers of almonds. Then when they came out of the oven I quickly sliced them up and drizzled chocolate on them.
Again, as I got to the door of the kitchen, Emma had arrived desperate for some type of product.
“What have you got? Oh, good,” she said. “More biscotti. This should go over well.”
“We still have coffee left?” I asked.
“Nope, but I refilled the pot and it’s brewing,” she explained.
“Oh, my God,” I said amazed. “We ran out of coffee? I usually have to throw half of it out.”
“Just keep baking boss, we’re running out of everything,” she said.
“Any suggestions? Other than honey buns. They take too long,” I said.
There was an audible moan from the line of people waiting from behind the counter.
“Okay, I’ll make some more honey buns, but they’ll take a while,” I said. “Someone shout out something they like.”
“Scones,” said a customer, “with raspberries.”
“You got it,” I said.
I went into the back and lo and behold, we had some raspberry preserves I was saving for just such an occasion. Normally, I’d use actual raspberries, but the preserves would be a great substitute and it was a very high-quality jelly. After popping in a few dozen honey buns, I mixed up the sconces, rolled out the dough, chopped it into pieces, arranged it on a tray and boom. Into the oven.
In some sense, I felt like a rock star. I was taking requests from my fans. The bread finished,
then the sconces. I prepped the sconces and grabbed the bread. Almost immediately, there were takers. The honey buns took longer, so I made another batch of muffins. I had the raspberry preserves, so I used that to give the muffins some flavor. By the time I poured the molds and threw them in the oven, the honey buns were done.
Bringing out the tray, I was treated to applause by the line of customers. It still hadn’t died down. It was crazy. Later I learned that Emma had to deal with too much cash in the register. She threw some under the cash drawer. Eventually, that became too much, and the cash register wouldn’t close, so she took the extra money and threw it into the lock box I used for the extra change. Normally it was just full of rolls of change, but now it was also stuffed with 20’s, 50’s and 100’s.
“Excuse me, Honey Davidson?” said a man.
“Yes, I’m sorry, I’m very busy,” I explained.
“Real quick, I’m Steven Allen,” he explained. “I need to talk to you about an opportunity---"
Oh, my God. Did a telemarketer actually track me down to meet me in person? Who was this guy?
“Steven, we’re mobbed. I don’t have time,” I insisted.
“No, you don’t understand,” he said. “This is an important opportunity for you and the bakery. Just hear me out.”
“I can’t talk to you right now,” I snapped. “Come back when the bakery closes if you have to talk to me.”
“I will, I apologize,” he said. “But I swear, it will be worth your time.”
God, people are so annoying. Why does everyone have to make everything about themselves, huh? For once, I’d like to meet someone that actually puts other people above themselves. Someone that was considerate and caring. What a pest. I hope he forgets to come back later.
Another hour and it was all gone. Literally every food item in the bakery had been sold or was sitting in my oven cooking. At that point, I had to call it. I mean, would you stand in line at a bakery and wait 20 minutes for your muffin to cook? I don’t think so.
“Guys, I’m sorry. We sold out of everything,” I said. “You’re welcomed to wait but it’s going to be a while. We’ve just never been this busy before.”
“Why didn’t you make more?” demanded a customer.
“We got featured on the news last night,” explained Emma. “We got way more customers than normal, and we did make extra.”
“Thanks so much for your patronage,” I added. “Here’s some coupons good for a discount on honey buns. You can come back in a few hours or try us tomorrow.”
There was a bit of moaning and groaning from the line, but most people seemed to understand. The line had mostly died down. I just didn’t want anyone standing out there for an hour waiting for me to bake something unless they were prepared. This time, I made some biscotti with whatever I had left in the back. I made enough that it should fill our entire front case. While it cooked I had to think about tomorrow. I needed to kick my game up and make something and twice as much stuff ahead of time. It was the only way to absorb that much business short of expanding the bakery and adding more staff.
I got to work immediately. Emma and I started making dough. I was also thinking that making a huge batch of the glaze would save time, but how to store it? If I just put it in a sealed container and left it outside the fridge it should be fine. Plus, I’d be glazing hot buns coming out of the oven, so a big batch would go pretty quick.
Chapter 5
Ethan
“Why did you bring me here?” I demanded. “Steven, you make me come all the way out to Connecticut for what? To meet a contestant? This is what you do. Not what I do.”
“Relax, babe,” said Steven. “It’s all good. You got to visit that Polish deli you wanted to check out, right?”
“This is true,” I admitted. “Their perogies were out of this world.”
“I just need you to talk to this contestant, ya know. Butter her up a bit,” asked Steven. “Of course, if you don’t want to, I could call Clark…”
“Why would you call him?”
“Well, I didn’t want to say anything,” said Steven matter-of-factly. “But the studio is looking to the future. I might move up. We need someone to produce content who knows food.”
“What? They’re actually considering that hack over me?” I snapped. “Take me over there. I will convince this woman to come on the show.”
“There’s my little charmer” said Steven.
Sometimes I got the distinct impression Steven was manipulating me. It didn’t matter if he was or wasn’t this time. I couldn’t risk that idiot Clark getting ahead of me. If he made the calls on the food shows, he’d cut me out. The man despised me to be sure. I think it was his jealousy of my culinary prowess.
We arrived at the bakery, but it appeared to be closed.
“You fool,” I said. “We’ve arrived too late.”
“No-no, she’s still here,” he assured me. “She agreed to take a meeting after the place closed. C’mon.”
He got out of his car and I had no choice but to follow. Oh, if I had a dollar for every time I regretted getting into the car with Steven. It was always one favor asked and then two more. If this show wasn’t making me rich, I would leave it immediately. Or at the very least, insist that the studio got a new producer. But for that, I would need Clark to help me and I’m sure he would rather see me fired than to speak up.
We went to the door and knocked, but there was no answer. I tried the door and it was opened.
“Perhaps she is in the kitchen prepping for tomorrow,” I suggested.
Entering the place, it appeared to be empty of pastries. That’s either a good sign for sales or a sign that she’d been robbed. What sort of monster would steal pastries? Probably some kind of chef gone bad.
“Hello?” I called. “Is anyone here?”
Then this vision of a woman came out from the kitchen carrying a Chantilly Cake.
“Ah, madam?” I called.
Unfortunately, my outburst frightened her, and she dropped the cake.
“Oh, my God.” I said immediately. “I am so sorry, madam. That appeared to be a lot of work and no doubt a delicious Chantilly Cake. Please accept my most humble apologies and let me pay for the cake.”
“Wait a minute,” she said trying to remember where she had seen my face. “Are you Ethan Jones from Baker Battles?”
“You watch the show?” I smiled. “Yes, I am.”
“And we want to have you on the show.” said Steven, suddenly jumping into the conversation. “Hi, Steven Allen, we met earlier. Thanks for taking this meeting, babe.”
“Babe?”
“He calls everyone that,” I explained. “But seriously, you would be great on the show. It’s a real opportunity for you and great exposure for your business.”
“Take a look at those shelves,” she said, pointing to the empty trays. “I had one segment on the news. I can’t keep up with the business I have. What makes you think I need more?”
“C’mon. Everyone wants to be on TV,” laughed Steven, just as I was about to speak. “It’s the American dream. You’ll be famous.”
“Fame doesn’t really appeal to me,” she said. “Hold on a sec, let me dump this cake.”
While Honey went into the back to get rid of the cake I had ruined, I tried to talk some sense into Steven. Sometimes I didn’t know if he thought he was a Hollywood guy or if he just liked mocking what he perceived as Hollywood guys. It definitely was not the vibe of the room. And I certainly couldn’t make something happen between me and Honey if she never came on the show.
Then again, if she didn’t come onto the show, there wouldn’t be a conflict of interest. I could date her openly and it would be perfectly fine. No Twitter mob would howl for my blood and there’d be no risk of me breaking the behavior clause in my contract.
But no---not when she was so close. The show would be the easiest way to get her into my life. I just had to get Steven on board with a more soft sell.
“Wha
t the hell are you doing, man?” I whispered. “You’re coming on too strong. You’re pissing her off. You’re pissing me off.”
“Ethan, babe, c’mon. Everyone wants to be on TV,” he scoffed. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Didn’t you hear what she said? She’s just running a small bakery. More exposure isn’t what she needs right now,” I said. “Look at those trays. She must’ve made a killing today.”
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Calm down and follow my lead, okay?” I said. “And ease off. Don’t do the hard sell.”
“Okay-okay,” he laughed.
I wasn’t sure whether or not Steven was on board. He was like that. You’d talk to him and he’d say something, but you always got the impression that it was 50/50 whether or not he wasn’t lying right to your face. I hadn’t caught Steven in a lie directly. There was always some plausible deniability in the mix. But still, you got the vibe. He wasn’t all that trustworthy.
“I’m sorry,” said Honey coming back from the kitchen. “I should really get started on another cake. I don’t think I have time for this TV show.”
“But Honey, please,” I said. “This isn’t just about short-term sales. This is about creating a brand. Honey’s Buns could become a national brand name. That’s something you could retire on. I’ve seen it happen on our show.”
“I-I-I don’t even know what I’d do with millions of dollars,” she laughed, a little embarrassed.
She was so humble and genuine. God, just standing here and looking at her I wanted to take her in my arms. I wanted to kiss her and whisper in her ear that it would be all right. Something inside made me want to protect her, but with Steven here that wasn’t possible.
“Oh, it’s more than a million dollars sometimes,” tempted Steven, totally misreading the room. “Babe, image your face on packages all across the world. Honey’s Buns.”
She made a face. That did not appeal to her, but Steven continued to misread it. I guess he just assumed everyone was just a greedy and fame starved as him.
