Page 5 of The Alpha and the Baker
“Please tell me the other cakes are cooling somewhere,” I murmured as tears welled in Melodie’s eyes. I feltsoincredibly bad for her, and I hoped she wouldn’t hold it against Arietty. Melodie hadn’t gone through her first shift either, and was on the cusp of being a late bloomer, so she didn’t quite understand the compulsions and confusion that came with being a wolf for the first time.
“No. All the layers for all three cakes were in there,” she said, wiping her eyes bitterly. “I know she couldn’t help it, but I’m so mad!”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I said as she burst into tears. Being a teenager was hard enough, but being one in a wolf pack came with so many extra hurdles. “It’s perfectly understandable to be upset, even angry. Do you want some comfort right now or space to process?”
“Hug!” she blurted, and I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing just hard enough to be comforting. I let my inner wolf rumble through my chest, figuring the young woman could use the extra soothing.
“It’s okay, Melodie. You’re all right. Let yourself feel whatever you gotta feel, and then we’ll figure out what to do.”
“Can we start from scratch?” Saoirse asked. She looked less upset than Melodie, but she wasn’t exactly happy.
“There’s not enough time for that, especially not with all the layers needing cooling,” Auntie Letitia said matter-of-factly. “But that’s all right. There won’t be any less bounty, and we can just make twice as many cakes next time!”
“Okay…” Saoirse said in a thick, high-pitched voice that told me it was absolutely not okay.
It was a trivial matter, but I couldn’t help but think of how awful Arietty would feel once she was human again and understood what happened. Was it just cake? Sure. Would we live without it? Yes. But it felt a bit like a rain cloud over what was supposed to be a very sunny day for us.
I chewed on my lip a little as I contemplated what to do. Maybe we couldn’t have the delicious, light, and fluffy cakes everyone admired Aunt Letitia for, but surely that didn’t mean we couldn’t get any cakeanywhere, right?
“Letitia, did you already make the rhubarb jam and the cream?”
“Sure did. The jars are in the fridge. I was just about to pull the jam out to get it to room temp.”
“All right, I’m gonna need those.” Once Melodie was done hugging me, that was. I wasn’t planning on ending the embrace until she was ready.
“What for?”
“I’m gonna go find us some cake.”
Felicia
Meet Cute
Due: $229.23
Due: $568.34
Past Due: $103.94
Due: $44.99
I sighedas I looked over the stack of bills for the umpteenth time and did the mental math to figure out how I was going to pay them. When the number I came up with wasn’t all that encouraging, I checked my online ordering platform again, hoping against hope that someone had used it in the ten minutes since I had last checked it.
But no, there were no online orders. There likely wouldn’t be any today, just like there hadn’t been the day before, or the week before, or the week beforethat.In fact, the last online order had been nearly a month earlier, and I doubted it would change anytime soon.
I really needed to step up my online presence, but I often found myself at a loss with social media. I tried my best, butmore often than not it felt like I was throwing money into an endless abyss, which wasn’t exactly encouraging.
But I had to try. If things didn’t change soon, I wouldn’t be able to keep the doors of my bakery open for much longer. I’d already whittled down the morning prep by seventy-five percent for all days except Sunday, so there wasn’t much else I could eliminate. Point blank, I wasn’t selling enough, and I wasn’t selling enough because I didn’t have enough customers.
The thing is, once Igotpeople in, they tended to become regulars or at least come to me for anything they needed for special occasions. Getting people here was the issue. Between so many folks having to cut back oneverythingand the proliferation of convenience baked goods a la Starbucks and Dunkin, independent bakeries were struggling more than ever. Especially newer ones.
“Let’s not linger on this for now,” I told myself as I pushed the bills aside and took a deep breath. I knew four out of five restaurants failed within their first few years, but I’d been so determined to make it. It stung my pride that after just nine months, I was already failing.
Not that life had exactly been easy for me.
No, in fact, it had probably been the hardest year of my life. And that was saying something considering I was a first-generation American raised by my widowed, immigrant mother after my father had died back home.
“First things first, let’s warm up the ovens.”
