“So?” asked Alex.
“So, the festival will probably have bright and warm lights that will wash away the color and make your stand look plain pale yellow,” said Quentin.
“Pale yellow’s cute,” said Katrina.
“It’s going to look like the wood is aged or poor quality or dirty — not spring yellow,” said Quentin.
“Prove it,” said Alex.
Quentin looked up something on his phone and pulled up a pic. It was of a yellowish looking booth at a nighttime festival.
“This is what your booth is going to look like,” said Quentin. “It’s not a cute look.”
“Dark colors are just going to blend into the night,” said Alex.
“Dark is classic! Luxurious!” said Quentin.
“Okay — so do something in the middle,” said Katrina.
“What?” asked Alex.
“Something in the middle?” asked Quentin.
“Do like, brights, or neon, or a jewel tone, or something — but don’t do all dark colors or all light colors,” said Katrina, rubbing her temples. “Is this what it’s like to be Patricia?”
“What do you mean?” asked Alex.
“She’s constantly mediating stuff between both crews,” said Katrina, putting her head on the table. “Ugh. They’re just booths.”
Katrina sat back up and grabbed three binders. There was the cake binder supplied by Patricia, who had multiple copies of the book to lend out to clients. There was the Grizzlyfir portfolio book, and the one belonging to Hemlock Crew. She flipped through them and found a nice looking, big shed, and a romantic looking gazebo. She flipped through the cake book. She found the exact cake she was looking for.
“I feel like a frikkin’ wedding planner,” said Katrina with a sigh. “Cakes, gazebos…well, not the sheds part, but all this other stuff. Okay. Here’s what’s up. I like this gazebo design, and I like this shed design. I think the colors should match the ones on this cake, the ‘Firefly Summer’ cake. There are shades of navy, dark green, lime green, and yellow. There’s some dark shades and some light shades. You can come up with something using your own lumber and crew and all that, and we’ll judge which one’s better later. Okay?”
“That…actually makes a lot of sense,” admitted Quentin, looking over the colors of the cake and the design that Katrina had picked out. “I like the color scheme — very Van Gogh, Starry Night.”
“Yeah — what he said,” said Alex.
“You know Van Gogh?” asked Quentin.
“Yeah, and I know Starry Night,” said Alex. “It’s on like, one in five homes as a frikkin’ poster. That’s not some high-level reference. Come back to me with some Derrida, and we’ll talk. In the meantime, I’m going to try to resist pulling a Van Gogh, because this conversation makes me want to cut an ear off.”
“Derrida?” asked Quentin. “I’m surprised.”
“Anyone can take a basic class in postmodern philosophy,” said Alex with a scoff. “Now — are we building some frikkin’ booths or what?”
Katrina was seething and did not answer.
“What?” asked Quentin.
“You two…manage…to fight…about frikkin’ everything,” hissed Katrina. “Van Gogh? We’re fighting about Van Gogh at a frikkin’ booth planning meeting?”
“Katrina — “ started Alex.
“You’re not even in this fight!” argued Quentin.
“But I have to listen to it!” said Katrina. “I have to sit here and listen to you two bicker about literally everything, and when I’m not here you two bicker.”
“You don’t know that,” said Quentin.
“I do because I could hear it through the door for about a solid minute before I decided to come in, instead of just telling Patricia to put someone else on this job!” Katrina said in a rush.
“Maybe you should do that,” said Alex. “If this makes you so unhappy, just leave.”
A pang went through Katrina’s heart. It had been an empty threat, and Alex was calling her bluff.
“Go,” said Alex, motioning to the door.
“Alex — “ started Quentin.
“No,” said Alex. “Nobody’s keeping you here, or around us, Katrina. So, if you really want to leave, just leave.”
Alex ran his hands through his hair and leaned back, closed his eyes, and took in a breath. He continued more softly. “Look. I don’t want you to leave. Neither does Quentin. But he’s right — your feelings obviously matter, and are different than ours, so if you need to leave this room, or leave this project, or leave us, you should do that, and look out for yourself.”
“I don’t want any of that,” admitted Katrina. “I just…I want you two to get along.”
“You know we don’t, like, hate each other, right?” asked Quentin.
“It doesn’t seem that way,” said Katrina.
“Well…look, I’ll name a few things I like about Alex,” said Quentin. “He’s not as smelly as most of the lumberjacks at Grizzlyfir.”
“Thanks,” said Alex sarcastically. “Quentin has a really nice car.”
“Is that a compliment?” asked Quentin. “That’s more of a statement.”
“It’s a very nice car, and I think you picked a nice make and model and color,” admitted Alex. “And…obviously, you have very good taste in women.”
“As do you,” said Quentin, raising a brow. “And — you’re just as good as me at pissing her off.”
“Just as good?” asked Alex. “I dare say I’m better.”
Katrina couldn’t help but smile. “Okay. I get it. But, look — I need to see that you two can really, really get along. How about we take a break, and you two take the week to build the structures, and we judge them when you two are both ready? We’ll all get some space, and time to do some actual work. Plus, I still need to come up with a menu for the festival and see who can work it with us. Got it?”
“Got it,” said Alex. “Quentin — I’ll need your number to coordinate.”
Quentin reached into his pocket, opened his wallet, and passed Alex a business card. Katrina smiled to herself. Maybe, there was hope for those two — and for her — after all.
Chapter Eight
Katrina went on her Monday morning dairy run. She saw no other cars on the road. She listened to her playlist, the one she’d listened to for as long as she could remember doing the dairy run, but something was different. Something had changed.
The roads were quiet — a little too quiet. Seeing the streets that quiet would’ve made Katrina happy before. She liked having an uninterrupted ride up to the dairy and back from the dairy. After the incident with the curds in her way, where she’d gotten her first impressions of Alex and Quentin, she thought that she would’ve appreciated the peace and quiet. Ever since the dairy schedules had been re-arranged, so that there wouldn’t be any future pile-ups, she’d enjoyed her ‘me time,’ but for some reason…she felt lonely.
When Katrina got to the dairy, her truck got loaded up in record time. She didn’t have time to watch the dawn turn to morning. She looked around. There weren’t any other people getting dairy — well, other than regular customers. There weren’t any other trucks like hers getting loaded up with all sorts of things — including a few five-pound barrels of cottage cheese.
Katrina rode back to the bakery and was surprised to find Quentin there, talking to Patricia. The pair of them were sitting at one of the tables near the service entrance, on the deck that wrapped around most of the bakery and held various tables and chairs.
“Hey,” said Katrina, getting out of the truck. “I nearly ran your furry butt over. What’s up?”
“Do I need a reason to visit you?” asked Quentin.
“Won’t Alex get jealous?” asked Katrina.
“No,” said Quentin.
“How do you know?” asked Katrina.
“Because we’ve been texting, to coordinate shizz,” said Quentin. “He’s still busy making his shed, so I thought I’d buy him a
few hours.”
Patricia, who had been sitting and watching the scene, shouted, “He’s here to teach you a new recipe!”
“A new recipe?” asked Katrina, looking over Quentin with a smirk. “Alright, Mr. Romance — sure, you’re just here to see me.”
“Well, after what happened with the cottage cheese…I thought it only fair to show you what I was using all that cottage cheese for,” said Quentin.
“I was assuming you made some ambrosia salad type thing, with mandarin oranges, apples, grapes, marshmallows, and mushrooms,” said Katrina.
“You…you know mushrooms don’t go in ambrosia salad, right?” asked Quentin, raising a brow.
“That explains why mine never takes first at county,” said Katrina.
Quentin, Katrina, and the other bakers unloaded the dairy and put it in the walk-in dairy fridge. Quentin grabbed one of the barrels of cottage cheese and brought it over to a counter, where various ingredients were already prepared.
“Mise en place,” said Katrina, remembering what Quentin had called it.
“Exactly,” said Quentin. “What we’re going to be making today is a pastry my grandma taught me to make — kolacky.”
“Kolacky? Kolacky,” said Katrina, saying the word over and over, chewing it and making it feel right in her mouth. “Kolacky. Kolacky. Got it.”
“It’s like a cannolo, but different,” said Quentin. “What we’re going to do is make this.” Quentin tapped on a printed-out picture of something that did look a lot like cannoli, but flatter and squatter, with fruit jam coming out the sides of one set, and savory fillings coming out the sides of another set.
“I see,” said Katrina. “And where’s the cottage cheese?”
“We’re going to blend that into the dough to give it that light, cheesy taste,” explained Quentin.
“And it’s going to taste good with the fruit and the savory stuff because it’s mild,” said Katrina. “Like cheesecake and…well, cheese.”
“Exactly,” said Quentin. “I knew you’d get it.”
“It sounds delicious,” said Katrina. “What fillings are we using?”
“I was thinking some marionberry jam, some local marionberry honey, some ham and cheddar, and some turkey with bacon and herbes de Provence,” said Quentin.
“And why did Patricia ask you to teach me to make these?” asked Katrina, raising an eyebrow.
“Well…I made a batch for Terrence, and he wouldn’t tell me who they were for. But, when I got the call from Patricia a few days ago, asking me to teach you to make them, I figured out why Terrence wanted them,” said Quentin, raising a brow.
“Ooh, drama,” said Katrina, waggling her brows back. “Alright. Let’s get to it.”
Katrina and Quentin mixed up the dough for the kolacky squares. Then, Quentin took the bowl to the fridge and brought out another container, which had more dough in it.
“You have to chill the dough before you use it,” explained Quentin. “I brought this down here from Hemlock.”
“Just like a chef on a cooking show,” commented Katrina.
“We’re going to roll half the dough out using a baking mat covered in flour,” said Quentin.
“I can handle that,” said Katrina. She went to the supply closet and grabbed two of the bakery’s large baking mats. They were made of silicone but didn’t slip off of the counter. She put flour on the baking mats. Quentin divided and rolled the dough out into a big flat blob. He cut the sides off of the blob, making it into a square, and then, cut the blob into squares that were about the size of Katrina’s palm.
“These are going to be the squares for our savory pastries,” said Quentin. “All you do is add the filling and layer the side flaps, like…this.”
“Like tucking in a baby,” said Katrina.
“Or a cub,” said Quentin, giving her a nudge and a wink. Katrina blushed. The thought of babies — or cubs — and Quentin made her feel warm inside. Quentin could be sassy — but he was also sensitive, and would make a great papa bear.
Katrina and Quentin made the ham and cheddar and the herb turkey pastries. They stuck them on cookie sheets, and while those were in the oven, they worked on the next set of pastries.
“For the sweet kolacky, I have a little trick I learned from another chef,” said Quentin. “We’re going to use powdered sugar, instead of flour, when we roll out the dough.”
“What kind of powdered sugar?” asked Katrina.
“Just normal powdered sugar,” said Quentin with a frown. “What other kind is there?”
“Well, because we get our powdered sugar in bulk, we have huge bins of the stuff, and we flavor it with various flowers and spices,” explained Katrina. “We have lavender, rose, vanilla…”
“And you have the standard spices, right?” asked Quentin.
“Yeah — from cinnamon to saffron,” said Katrina. “Please don’t use the saffron instead of flour. I think Patricia would have your hide for a coat.”
“What we’re gonna do is mix a spice into the powdered sugar, so that way, there’ll be some complexity to the sweetness,” explained Quentin. “Do you like cardamom?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Katrina. “It’s okay.”
“Ever had cardamom and rose?” asked Quentin.
“I can’t say I have,” admitted Katrina. “Let me guess — you want the cardamom powder, and the rose powdered sugar?”
“Look at you, little miss mind reader,” teased Quentin. “That’s exactly what I want.”
Katrina brought the ingredient out. Quentin portioned out some rose infused powdered sugar and added some cardamom to the powdered sugar. Then, he used that to coat the baking mat. He stirred a bit of the rose powdered sugar into the sweet pastry filling. They made their rose and cardamom delights and put those in the oven just as the savories were ready to be taken out of the oven.
“What do you think?” Quentin asked Katrina, once the pastries had cooled down and she had tried her first kolacky.
“I think these are amazing, and you need to bring me a batch of these every time you see me,” said Katrina.
Katrina and Quentin put aside a plate of savory kolacky for Patricia, and when the sweet ones came out, Katrina had just one, as she and Quentin still had to go and see Alex at Grizzlyfir…which is why she was confused when Quentin parked in the Hemlock Lodge parking lot, instead of the one near Camp Grizzlyfir.
“I thought we were going to see Alex’s booth,” said Katrina.
“We are,” said Quentin. “Come on.”
Quentin led Katrina up the cobblestone pathway that led to what looked like a plain stone wall, covered in ivy. He reached into the vines and fiddled around. Finding the latch, he opened the door.
“Come on,” said Quentin.
Quentin walked through the ivy. It was thick.
Katrina went to follow after Quentin, but before she could get through the ivy, something grabbed her and pulled her through!
Katrina shrieked, but she was shut up by a kiss on the cheek — from none other than Alex, who had grabbed her by the waist.
“Alex!” hissed Katrina. “I nearly castrated you with a kick to the crotch! What the heck!”
“I smelled you coming from a mile away and just couldn’t help myself,” said Alex, winking, before leading Katrina by the hand. Alex led Katrina to a picnic table with two benches. On the table, there was something hidden by a cloth.
“Wait…I thought we were seeing your version of the structure,” said Katrina.
“Well, so, about that…” started Alex.
“You’re not the only one that wants to see proof that Alex and I can get along,” explained Quentin. “After the disaster on the Grizzlyfir lawn…”
“You mean my burping?” joked Katrina.
“Ha-ha,” said Quentin sarcastically. “After we messed up that simple project, well…we got a second chance, with training wheels.”
“That’s why all we were allowed to make…were these,” said Alex. He pulled
away a red and white buffalo check cloth and revealed a set of models on a single white foam block.
“Please tell me the real version’s going to be bigger,” joked Katrina.
“Of course — and here are the models of us for scale,” said Alex. “Look.” Alex opened the tiny door to the booth and inside, there was a little pom-pom representing Katrina. Well, it had her curves. There was an all-white gazebo, and inside that, there were two tiny wooden bears. They looked like they were taken out of a board game’s set of pieces.
“What do you think?” asked Quentin.
“Well…I think that the gazebo needs some color,” admitted Katrina.
“I’m waiting to hear back from Marvin, our lead carpenter, on what stains we’ll be able to use,” admitted Quentin.
“Will you be able to match the colors used on the booth?” asked Katrina. “I like that the booth is loud. It’ll get attention.”
“That’s the goal,” said Quentin. “We’re seeing what we can do. I think Marvin is waiting to see what the vendor can do about the stains.”
“Worst case scenario, a white gazebo doesn’t look bad,” said Alex. “Very classy. Very on-brand for Hemlock Crew.”
“Rickety wood beams seem more on brand right now,” said Quentin, looking up at the sinking canopy of the garden.
“What is this place?” asked Katrina.
“Hemlock Lodge’s secret garden,” said Quentin. “It’s probably been here since my grandpa’s time. But…it’s gotta come down.”
“That’s too bad,” said Katrina. “I’ll admit that this place is a little…dank, and creepy, but…it’s also kinda romantic.”
“We’re going to rebuild it,” said Alex.
“We?” asked Katrina.
“Be right back.” Quentin went to a wooden door and walked into Hemlock Lodge.
“Me and Quentin, and two other guys — one from Grizzlyfir, one from Hemlock,” explained Alex. “We’re going to put in new beams, make a new canopy, the works. We’ll even replace this old splintery table.” Alex rapped his knuckles on the top of the picnic table.
Quentin opened the door with one hand. He pushed a cart out of Hemlock Lodge and into the garden. It was a fancy bar cart, but it had one set of modifications. It had all-terrain treaded wheels so it could easily roll over the knobby lawn.
Miss Muffet’s Bears: Freshly Baked Furry Tails, Book 2 Page 6
