Page 107 of A Queen's Game
Marietta cut the cake into slices, sharing it with Amryth, Emynuel, and whoever stopped to see what she made.
“This is spectacular.” Amryth covered her mouth, which was still filled with her first bite. Emynuel and his team murmured in agreement. Marietta smiled to herself, happy to have made something for them to all enjoy.
An afternoon filled with laughter, swapping of stories, and helping the staff gave Marietta a chance to work through herfrustration, to reset her mind. Much was different in Satiros, but for one afternoon, she could pretend she still lived a normal life.
Chapter Forty-Two
Marietta, Before
Nervous behind the counter of her bakery, Marietta fretted after spending the last few days baking and preparing for her first day in business. Pastries, cookies, and sweet buns filled the case below the counter. The small fortune she paid for the enchanted cabinets would preserve the quality of her baked goods.
“Ready, my love?” Tilan walked up from the kitchen, the apron around his waist wet from washing dishes. A few loose strands of dark hair broke free from his knot that he pushed away with a hand.
He had been a tremendous help, stocking the shop and readying it to open, even closing his smithy to help her prepare for her opening. If her projections were correct, she’d make enough income to hire a few workers in the coming weeks.
“For the first time in my life, I don’t know if I did enough.” Marietta frowned, staring out at the seats and tables placed at the front of the shop. The building sat at the corner of two main streets in Olkia’s central district. Through the broad windows that overlooked the streets, she could see the uptick in morning foot traffic.
“Who is this version of Marietta?” Tilan said, teasing. “Never thought I’d see the day you questioned your own work. You sent your former clients flyers, told all your friends about your opening. Gods, you even handed out samples in the market—that was just to get the word out. Per usual, you’ve done more than most people in your position.”
Marietta shrugged off the compliment. Gods, she really wasn’t acting like herself. It was hard to, knowing that the work she had been putting in would culminate in how her bakery did this week. If it was a flop, how could she just go back to helping others’ businesses? Who’d want a failed business owner to help them?
Anxious to distract herself, she looked around for something to fix. The last batch of bread was nearly done in the oven as its scent filled the front of the shop. Marietta passed Tilan to the kitchen in the back, which was double the size of the storefront. Plenty of storage lined the walls and underneath workspaces, and one wall had four different ovens stacked two by two.
The bread looked perfectly browned as she pulled the loaves from the oven to cool. A specialty box built next to the window drifted the hot bread’s scent to people walking on the street—one of Tilan’s creations. The location would receive a lot of foot traffic that she planned to utilize.
“Being nervous is natural, especially when doing something new. Just don’t spoil it for yourself,” Tilan said, carrying the racks of hot bread.
“I’m not used to feeling nervous,” she muttered. “I’m still excited but I’ll feel better after we get past the first few days.”
With shaky legs, Marietta walked to the front of the shop and unlocked her doors. A peek into the street sent her jaw dropping. People lined up outside, waiting for her to open. She snapped the door shut and looked at Tilan, her eyes wide.
“What is it?” he asked.
“There’s a line of people.”
Tilan stared at her. “That’s a good thing.”
“But it’s a line of people.”
“Mar, you have to let them in.”
She peered out the window. “What if I over-sold the quality of my baking?”
“Then everyone who has had your lemon bars must have shit for taste buds.” Tilan slung a rag over his shoulder. “No one in their right mind would be disappointed in those.”
“You have to say that; you’re my husband.”
Tilan rolled his eyes. “I have no such obligation to lie to you.”
“So, if they’re bad….”
“Marietta, they’re great.”
“Okay, but what about the bread?”
“It’s bread. People like bread.”
“What about—”
