“It’s definitely true that you can do things differently at home than you can in food service,” Quinn said, although she tended to follow the same practices no matter where she cooked. It was all habit to her now. “Come on over and let’s get cleaned up.”
After everyone had washed their hands, she handed them each a clean D’Angelo’s Bakery apron. Kathy couldn’t get over the fact that she was wearing an actual, real-life D’Angelo’s apron, like she worked here or something. Quinn hadn’t thought about it before, but Kathy was right. Getting to wear that apron was a privilege. It meant being part of something special.
“All right, now we can begin. Please gather around the counter while I demonstrate how to dirty ice the cake. It’s pretty simple, just a few flicks of the wrist, but it’s important to hold your hand steady so you get a consistent amount of frosting on all sides. These pedestals under the cakes spin to help you with that.”
The ladies crowded around, jostling for the best spots, and Quinn was surprised to see that Jonah was right in there with them. Of course she realized that she couldn’t judge him—many of the world’s best chefs and bakers were men—but the plaid and the steel-toed boots had thrown her off. What was his story? What had brought him here to this class?
She plopped a dollop of icing in the center of the cake and then spun the pedestal, holding the knife steady and watching as the cake pivoted all the way around. Then she picked up a large frosting bag with a large tip and piped icing around the sides. Once that was done, she smoothed it out with her knife, spinning the pedestal consistently as she worked. She ended with a flourish in the air. “This cake is now ready for whatever else you’d like to do to it. You could roll out a layer of fondant and place it over the top, or you could start decorating it right now with buttercream roses and leaves. But regardless of which you choose, you’ll always start with this first layer of frosting. It’s the foundation for everything else. It acts as the glue to hold the fondant in place, or it’s the background for your other decorations. Now you try.”
The students each picked up their knives and looked at the cakes in front of them with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. Jonah was the first to dive into the frosting bowl, bringing up a large scoop and slapping it on the center of the cake. Then he spun the cake plate around, just as Quinn had demonstrated, using his knife to bring the frosting out to the edges, then reaching for the pastry bag. The ladies watched, dumbstruck, as he smoothed everything out and then glanced up for Quinn’s approval. She was more than a little surprised.
“Have you done this before?” she asked, unable to come up with another explanation as to how he’d done such a great job.
He shrugged. “No, but it’s not so different from spackle.”
Quinn nearly choked. “Spackle?”
“Yeah. It’s that white stuff you put on walls to repair holes before you paint—”
“I know what spackle is. I just can’t believe you compared it to frosting.” She couldn’t help the shudder of revulsion that ran through her.
“Well, they’re both white, and they spread the same, and you use them as the foundation for other things, so I’d say they’re quite a lot alike, actually.” He seemed not to understand why she was so annoyed.
She took a deep breath and tried to smile. A quick glance around told her that the other students in the class were watching them curiously. “Okay, there are similarities. It’s just that after I graduated from culinary school, I spent six months in Europe, studying under some of the world’s finest pastry chefs. To hear this process compared to spackling is just a little bit unsettling to me, that’s all.” She hoped her voice sounded conciliatory.
“Europe, huh? So, how’d you end up here in Aspen Ridge?”
She had to ignore that. He probably wasn’t trying to be a buffoon—but he was succeeding fabulously.
“And you know, there’s spackle in Europe, too,” he added.
That was the final straw. Quinn turned to the rest of the class. “Ladies, I’ll be right back and we’ll frost your cakes, all right? Jonah, may I have a word, please?”
She stepped to the far side of the bakery where the wrought-iron tables and chairs were set up. When Jonah reached her side, she spoke in a soft voice. “I’m not sure why we’re bickering, Mr. Owings, but I’m trying to create an atmosphere of professionalism, and this isn’t helping. Do you suppose we could dial it down a bit and just go back to frosting some cakes?”
Jonah shrugged again. “I’m not bickering with you. You asked if I’d ever used frosting before, and I gave you my answer. For some reason, it rubbed you the wrong way. I guess I can stop mentioning the fact that I’m in construction, if that would make you feel better. That might be a little snobbish of you, but I’ll get over it.”
What? “Snobbish? What on earth are you talking about?”
“I said I do spackling, and you just had to tell me that you’d spent six months in Europe. That’s kind of snobbish, don’t you think?”
Quinn opened and closed her mouth a few times, her voice suddenly missing. “I’m not a snob!” she finally choked out.
“Then I don’t think we have anything left to bicker about. Now, I don’t know about you, but I want to watch Melba ice her cake.” Jonah gave her a wink and strode back over to the counter. It took Quinn a full thirty seconds before she could pull herself back together enough to rejoin the class. Who did he think he was?
She smoothed down the front of her apron and smiled. “All right, who’s next?”
The women frosted their cakes with varying levels of success. Helen seemed more interested in showing off for Jonah than she was in actually getting her cake to look even, but the other ladies took their assignment seriously. Kathy nearly burst into tears when the side of her cake crumbled, and Quinn explained that she’d been pushing too hard with her knife. She’d baked extra cakes just in case and let Kathy try again, this time with a much better result.
“All right, now that we’ve frosted our cakes, let’s talk about the next step. This fondant is made of sugar, gelatin, and corn syrup. We’ll talk about other variations of it later on in the course.” Quinn pulled a ball of fondant from the shelf behind her and broke it into smaller portions. “First, we’ll knead it until it’s nice and soft.”
She managed to keep her voice calm and her temper in check until the end of the class. Each participant had now frosted a cake, covered it in fondant, and written on it with a piping bag. On Thursday, they’d learn how to make icing roses, and she needed that interval to clear her head. What was up with Jonah? He’d come into the bakery like a tornado, and she didn’t like how he’d questioned her and made her feel so . . . inferior. She was not inferior.
That didn’t mean she thought he was inferior, though . . . they were just different. Two people can come from entirely different walks of life and have different perspectives and be equals. One was not better than the other. And one didn’t have to call the other one a snob.
She flipped on the faucet to wash her hands, but turned it too far and splashed water all down her front. Great. Just great. The perfect way to end a perfect day.
Chapter Two
Four a.m., and it was time to get up. Quinn never even thought about the early hour anymore. When she’d first taken this job at D’Angelo’s, she’d been sure she was going to die. But bakers get up early—that’s what they do. And if she wanted to be a baker, that was the sacrifice that came along with the job.
She downed some hot chocolate and a plain bagel with cream cheese, then took a quick shower and pulled her still-damp hair back into a bun. No point in worrying about makeup—the heat in the kitchen would just melt it all off her face. By four thirty, she had unlocked the back door of the bakery kitchen and pulled it closed behind her. Kenny, her sometimes morning helper, would be in at five.
The sugar seemed to be running a little low, so she made a quick note on the whiteboard on the far wall. Then she got to work mixing up the batter for
the chocolate cupcakes. There was something soothing and peaceful about watching the giant beater work its magic, blending the ingredients together to create a concoction so light, so fluffy, that people came from a hundred miles around to buy their pastries here. This was a legend she was working to maintain, a level of excellence that was nearly impossible to find. And to compare it to spackle . . .
She shook her head. She’d promised herself that she’d stop thinking about Jonah, but that seemed nearly impossible. He just kept popping right back into her thoughts, which had been especially annoying the night before when she’d been trying to go to sleep.
While the chocolate batter finished mixing, she put the ingredients for red velvet batter in the other mixer. The bakery began to fill with the unmistakable smell of moist sugar and butter, and then cocoa and all kinds of other delicious things. Quinn took a deep whiff. Some people liked the smell of perfume or flowers. This was her favorite smell in all the world right here.
The cupcakes were in the oven and Quinn had started on cookie dough when Kenny arrived. He was just out of high school and they’d been lucky to find him—his mother was an amazing cook and he’d grown up helping her in the kitchen. After he pulled his floppy brown hair into a ponytail and tucked it into his clean baker’s hat, Quinn had him get started on the breads and rolls—he had a knack for those that couldn’t be rivaled.
Everything was well underway when it was time to open at nine. Quinn made sure the coffee pot was full—many of their morning customers liked coffee with their muffins or donuts. Today’s batch of blueberry muffins had turned out exceptionally well—another point for Kenny—and Quinn flipped the “open” sign with a smile on her face. She loved being prepared for whatever the day would bring.
What she was not prepared for, however, was Jonah walking in not thirty seconds after she returned to the kitchen.
“Um, hi,” he said, resting the heels of his hands on the edge of the counter.
“Hi,” she replied. She leaned against the doorjamb that separated the sales area from the kitchen, not feeling particularly welcoming even though he had shaved and looked a little less scruffy. “Our next class is on Thursday.”
“Yeah, I know. But listen, I feel really bad about how we left things last night. I know I come off wrong sometimes, and I didn’t mean to be such a pain. I, um, I got you something.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief, waving it before he set it down. “I didn’t know where to get a white flag in Aspen Ridge, so I thought this might work instead. Oh, and this.” He pulled out a small gold item, which he set in the middle of the handkerchief.
Curious, Quinn stepped over and picked it up. It was a little cupcake charm, and it was completely adorable. It had a Marchbanks and Sons tag on it, which confused her a little bit.
“But how did you get this—Marchbanks isn’t even open until now,” she stammered.
Jonah grinned. “Guy who works there is a friend of mine. He met me a few minutes early.”
“You made arrangements to meet him there early so you could buy me this?” Quinn was totally flummoxed. Who does something like that?
“Yeah. Hey, I’ve got to be on a job in five minutes, so I’m kind of in a hurry. But thanks again for class, and I’ll see you on Thursday.”
He was gone before Quinn could pull herself together enough to offer him a donut. It was the least she could do, right? But he was a fast walker, and she apparently wasn’t a very fast talker.
She turned the charm around and around between her fingers before sliding in into her pocket. This day had taken a very odd turn, to say the least.
* * *
Lexi, Quinn’s friend from the pet shop, leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. “No way. He compared frosting to spackle?”
Quinn nodded. “Yeah, like anyone who does construction can ice a cake.” She was glad Lexi had dropped by—she needed a break, and she also needed to vent. Jonah had been on her mind all day, and if she didn’t talk this out, she was going to go crazy.
Lexi took a sip of her coffee and then shook her head. “I’m sorry, Quinn. He sounds like a total jerk.”
“Actually, here’s the thing. I don’t know if he is.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the handkerchief and the little gold charm. Lexi picked up the charm and turned it to all sides while Quinn told her the story of how she got it.
“That’s probably the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” Lexi said, putting the charm back on the table. “So, does he have a split personality or something?”
“See, that’s the thing. I just don’t know. One minute, he’s all ‘I can spackle and you’re a snob,’ and the next, he’s bringing me this totally cute gift. What am I supposed to think?”
Lexi shook her head again. “I wish I had any idea. Is he cute?”
Quinn thought about it for a second. Was he cute? She’d been a little distracted by the steel-toed boots, definitely not something she saw every day in D’Angelo’s. “I think he is,” she said.
“You think he is? This isn’t a hard question, Quinn. Is he or isn’t he?”
“I’ll go with yes.”
Lexi flicked a lock of her long honey-brown hair over her shoulder. “You are one strange girl, you know that? You’ve been staring at cakes too long if you can’t even tell a good-looking guy from an average one.”
“I think I have been staring at cakes too long. Might be time for me to take a day off.”The alarm on Lexi’s phone sounded, and she silenced it. “Sorry, I need to run. I’ve got a French bulldog puppy on antibiotics, and it’s time for her next dose.”
“Oh, that’s awful. What’s she got?”
“Just a little cold. She’ll be fine, but she’s on a pretty regulated dose. Poor thing’s been separated from the other animals and she’s dying of boredom.” Lexi downed the rest of her coffee in one gulp. “Thanks, and let me know what happens with this guy.”
“I will.” Quinn watched as her friend left the bakery and walked down the sidewalk, checking her phone again. Quinn sighed. She should go stroll down the sidewalk. Rumor had it, the sun was out and shining today, a whole world out there beyond the bakery doors. She’d go check it out, but she had some rye bread to throw in the oven.
“Kenny? How are we coming on that dough?” she called out as she reentered the kitchen.
* * *
Mr. D’Angelo’s face was crumpled with worry as he came into the kitchen the next morning. “Quinn, did I forget to do a wedding cake yesterday?”
“No, you’re fine. You did one the day before yesterday, but that was the only one we needed.”
His expression cleared. “I was up all night thinking I’d forgotten an order. Thank goodness I was wrong.” He reached out and patted her shoulder. “You’re a good girl, Quinn. Thanks for keeping me on track. You know, you should marry my son, Tony. He’s a good boy, and he’d take care of you. Then you’d really be my daughter.”
“Thanks, Mr. D. But I think Tony’s already married.” And quite a bit too old for her, besides. He had to be around forty-five.
“He is?”
Quinn smiled. “Yes. He has two teenage boys, remember?” She took him by the arm and led him over to the corkboard they hung on the kitchen wall for moments like these. Pointing at the picture of Tony and his family, she said, “This is his wife, Angela. And this is Tony Junior, and this is Marco.”
Mr. D’Angelo’s face softened. “He named his beautiful son after me?”
“That’s right. So you see, as much as I’d love to be your daughter, I can’t marry Tony. I don’t think Angela would like it.”
Mr. D grinned. “I remember her now. She’s Sicilian, right? And we all know that’s where the Mafia comes from. We’d best keep you safe.” He patted her shoulder again. “Oh, well. You can be my daughter anyway. Now let’s get back to work. What’s next?”
Quinn blinked back the tears that had arisen in her eyes and pulled out some order sheets. “We have a birthday cake
for a lady who’s turning one hundred, and she’s really into pink. And then we have a bridal shower cake . . .”
After making sure Mr. D knew what he wanted to do for each cake, Quinn stepped into the bathroom and had herself a nice little cry. The trouble was, she didn’t know if she was crying for Mr. D or for herself.
* * *
Quinn glanced up from behind the counter when she heard the bell over the door chime. She had run dangerously low on snickerdoodles and was refilling the display case, noticing that the brownies were also getting scarce. She couldn’t seem to keep those in stock no matter how many she made and no matter how bad the economy got—thank goodness for one sale they could always count on. Cara from the jewelry store was the new customer, and Quinn straightened to greet her, smiling.
“Hey!” Cara almost bounced up to the counter. “I need another dozen of your chocolate chip cookies, please. Do you have any that are still warm?”
“They’ve been out for almost an hour, but I can rewarm them. I have ovens and stuff. They’re very handy.”
Cara laughed. “Okay, let’s use one of those magical ovens to warm some cookies, please.”
Quinn pulled out a tray and placed a dozen chocolate chip cookies on it. “Special occasion?”
“Well, you remember how I got some cookies last month?”
Quinn had to think for a minute. She sold hundreds and hundreds of cookies every day. “Um, I think so.”
“Well, those were a house-warming gift for Alex and Bryce, the two guys who’re renovating the old antique store into an art gallery. They’re also my next-door-neighbors. Anyway, Alex asked me to attend the grand opening with him, and now I can’t because of this.” She held out her hand, and Quinn gasped.
“Cara! You’re engaged?” She quickly set down the tray and took her friend’s hand, studying the ring from all angles. “To the guy you’re singing with now? I’ve watched your YouTube clip a million times—it’s amazing, and I can’t wait to buy the album.”
Just Desserts (Main Street Merchants Book 4) Page 2
