Page 82 of The Alpha and the Baker
It was a community bake-off, and for the first time in a really long while, I actually felt like I had a community to compete with.
I wished my mom could see it. She would be so utterly delighted and down to help me plan whatever I needed. She’d be there to taste my successes and failures and give me genuine critique no matter what.
I missed her. She would love Cas. I knew that without a doubt. It was fun to imagine how she would get on with the other aunties. She was younger than a few of them, but as I had experienced myself, that didn’t matter.
Leaning back, I picked up the bath bomb I had placed on the toilet and dropped it in. As I watched the colors and glitter swirl, I let my mind wander.
And boy, did it wander. From the bake-off, to recalling the two glorious nights Cas and I had spent together, to old memories with my mother. Sometimes the juxtaposition was a bit off-putting, but it wasn’t like there was anybody in my head to judge me.
When the water was lukewarm, I drained my tub halfway and refilled it, then did it once again. I probably would have stayed longer if I wasn’t turning into a prune, with both my wine and two water bottles I brought along all being drained. I might have been a bit chagrined at how much alcohol I’d imbibed if it hadn’t already been half empty from the last time I had a very rough day.
After such an involved shift with lots of socializing, a good soak, and two glasses of wine, I thought I would be ready to pass right out as soon as I was dried off and dressed in a simple shift for bed.
No, suddenly I had the urge to look over what I had on the list for the bake-off. Not that I expected to come up with any amazing ideas or anything, but I wanted to visualize everything we had so far.
I threw my robe on and went downstairs to get my notebook. But it wasn’t on my counter beside my shelf. I frowned. I wassure I’d left it there. Perhaps I’d been distracted by a certain pair of green eyes with unfairly long and thick lashes. Ha, yeah, I’d certainly heard of stranger things happening.
Sure, it was a bit disappointing that I’d ruined my own vibes and now had to search the whole kitchen, but I was determined to look at the list. It was like I got an itch in my brain that just couldn’t be ignored.
However, even after searching high and low throughout the entire space, I still came up empty. Weird. I shrugged. I wouldn’t let it ruin my whole night. I’d find it after work tomorrow. Or ask Cas to look for it on Monday. I was sure he’d go over every inch of my kitchen with a magnifying glass.
“Fuck it,” I murmured and headed back upstairs. Even though it wasn’t exactly the most ideal end to the day, I was still quite contented as I settled into my bed.
Goodness knew I had plenty of amazing things to look forward to.
“My sweetie piewould probably say I’m crazy, but I swear your donuts have gotten even better!”
I smiled warmly at Mrs. Unsymi, one of my regulars, as she waved the glazed donut she always had. In a moment, she’d start going on about her sugar level.
“I switched to Madagascan vanilla,” I said, perhaps a bit more pridefully than I should have. It had been a massive hit to my ego when I’d had to switch from the pricey stuff to generic. Some people said there was no discernable difference betweenhigh-end and convenience when it came to vanilla, but I couldn’t disagree more.
One day, I wanted to have the space so I could make enough of my own to last the month. Considering how much I went through in a single week, it would be quite the endeavor.
“Madagascar? That sound exotic.”
Ugh, I never really liked that word, even though it was correct in this context. “It’s a tropical island, yes.”
“I would have never known they excelled with vanilla. You learn something new every day.”
“It’s either learning or forgetting,” I agreed. “And I’d rather the former.”
“Learning or forgetting. Oh, Ilikethat! I’ll definitely be using it later.”
“You’re welcome to it.”
We continued to banter back and forth while Mrs. Unsymi finished her donut, then she launched into her mandatory sugar talk. I didn’t mind. Yes, Sundays were my busiest day, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make time for my regulars. After all, they were my livelihood. The least I could do was humor them.
But things really hit their stride about halfway through her saccharine speech, and before I knew it, about a dozen-and-a-half people came in a steady flow. I didn’t recognize three of them at all. New customers?
Don’t mind if I do, I sang to myself in my head. While not every new customer automatically became a repeat customer, there was always the chance that they would, and that was what mattered. With a bakery, it was all about the law of large numbers.
“Happy Sunday!” I called out when I heard the bell chime while I was in the back to grab trash bags. That was the downside of doing everything on my own; I had to be everywhere all at once. “I’ll be right with you!”
Technically, I knew it was risky every time I left the front, even when I stood in the large swath of it that had a clear view of the door, but what choice did I have? I needed to go to the bathroom, eat, and actually bake stuff. If I could afford to just sit idle up front for a full shift, then I’d be in a much different financial situation.
“Sorry about that,” I said, rushing to the front with trash bags in hand. “It’s been?—”
I broke off. It wasn’t a little old couple or a family dressed up in Sunday clothes that were waiting for me. Seven men, ranging from what looked like barely twenty to slightly older than me all stood in a semi-circle in front of the door.
