Page 2 of Half Baked

Poppy

“You have a stubborn heart, my dear,” my grandmother used to tell me. We would sit under her peach trees, drink lemon lavender tea, and dream together. And she would assure me that my stubborn heart was going to be the key to achieving those dreams.

It was my grandmother, Annette, who taught me to bake. We’d bring peaches in from our orchard and spend all morning in the kitchen. Following the instructions, organized and clear, helped tame my constant racing worries growing up. It provided the structure my mind craved. And then over time, baking became more than a distraction. It became the very dream we started to talk about over tea.

As an ode to Nana Annette, the first item to be assigned a permanent spot on my bakery menu was a lemon lavender scone—in the shape of a heart. I load a batch of them into a pale blue pastry box, secure the lid, and run my hand over the bakehouse logo. I think she’d be proud to see what I did with those dreams. If only I can hold onto it all.

I step outside to the fresh scent of salty air. It’s still the early hours of the day, and seagulls caw overhead as they watch for the morning hauls to come into the harbor. This is all part ofmy new morning routine spent outside of my home kitchen. My white sneakers glow against the weathered wood beneath my feet as I move down the wharf. Similar to how my freshly painted white clapboard bakery stands out amongst the grey weathered buildings surrounding it on this very structure.

The Seaside Bakehouse is a narrow building, sandwiched into the row of establishments that sit atop the wharf. It separates the harbor from the beach and is a hub for both the locals and the tourists. The perfect spot for a business. And one that doesn’t become available often. Fitzy had told me that there was a significant number of applicants that he quickly narrowed down to myself and Hayden. From there, I dove headfirst into the duel. And technically, I only won by default in the end.

Why Hayden didn’t use the walk-throughs Fitzy gave him to double check his needs and make a plan was beyond me. But maybe he was accustomed to things being no concern due to his endless funds.

Must be nice to not worry about things like bills.

I travel toward my baby blue vintage Bronco, stack of boxes in hand, on my way to Café Around the Corner. The owner, Vanessa, has been supportive of my new endeavor, setting up a standing order for scones, muffins, and popovers to stock her counter display.

“Poppy Wheeler, always on the go,” Sam, proprietor of Oak + Harbor Pizzeria next door, chuckles as he comes up the wharf from the parking lot.

“Deliveries,” I reply with a smile, holding up the boxes.

Maybe one day I can hire someone to make deliveries. Or simply to help in general. But there are a few things on my wish list before I reach that point. It took all my reserves to get the place up and running, and I still had to set up a payment plan with the construction team that did the renovations.

So here I am, rushing through the Brick District in town just to hurry back in time to open for the day. Needless to say, I’m tired.

Lifting my hand to check my watch, I’m careful to not drop the baked goods. But when my foot catches the step up into the café, everything I’m balancing starts to topple.

“Watch yourself, Poppy Seed,” a gravelly voice scolds me. The man catches me and my pastries from clattering to the ground, his large hands keeping me steady without crinkling the boxes.

I don’t need to look up to identify the man behind the voice. There’s only one person who taunts me with that absurd nickname.

“Baywatch,” I groan, pulling myself from his embrace before my skin can heat at his touch.

Hayden Thompson, my competitor for my bakery’s location, lets out an amused huff. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he says, holding open the café door to me.

I glance his way briefly as I pass by him. His dark blond hair is trained back in an effortless look, the loose beach waves sweep away from his tanned face and rest at the nape of his neck. It’s more than likely the result of ridiculously expensive styling paste.

“I had everything under control.”

“Right,” he says, amusement in his tone. “What are those things anyway?” He points at the heart shaped pastries through the clear window of the box lid.

“Lemon lavender scones, and they are wicked good,” Vanessa answers him from behind the white marble counter. She slides me an iced coffee with extra caramel, same as every morning.

“Lavender? Like the flower?” He scrunches his nose at me skeptically.

“Yes, like the flower.” I tilt my chin up at him as I hand the boxes over to Vanessa. “And someone with taste wouldn’t make that face at them.”

“Nessa, can I get a black coffee? No scone for me,” he says, looking over my head to our mutual friend. A whole head taller than me, it doesn’t take much effort for him to do so.

I don’t have time to stick around and be insulted. I shove my way around him and move quickly for the door. “Have a good one, Vanessa,” I call over my shoulder, the sound of Hayden’s gruff chuckle chasing me on my way out.

Climbing back into my Bronco, I take a sip of iced coffee and slide my sunglasses onto my face. People are starting to make their way out in the summer sun around me, milling about the historic brick buildings and bright flowers adorning the window boxes. Foxport comes to life in the summer, and as always, it is showing off this July.

I crank up the pop song playing and head back to the wharf, passing beach goers in floppy hats and linen cover ups. It’s the best time of year, in my opinion. And I’m eager for my next day off to hit the beach myself.

Luckily, business owners have our own reserved parking, and I pull into the front of the lot and park beside Sam’s truck. Bounding up the wharf, I wave to Marv at the fish market before stopping at my own door.

I spent a painstaking amount of time finding the right shade for the door, and finally settled on Benjamin Moore’s “daydream”—it’s the light blue of the sky on a cloudless day, and it is perfect.

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