Page 31 of Miss Humbug
I also liked this very much.
The room filled quickly with bakers. Marlowe’s family arrived one after the other, setting up at tables around the room. I scouted the competition. Her cousin Riley and her daughter arranged a nice set-up with wooden snowman decorations they must have brought from home. Rafe and crew had brought in expensive looking glass dishware and cake stands to display their baked treats. Silver ornaments sat in clusters between the dishes. His wife Brianne paced behind the table talking on her phone while the kids sat on the floor slumped over electronic devices.
“Are these enough?” Marlowe pointed toward the fresh greens I’d nabbed from the farm. “Some of the decorations people have on their tables is way more elaborate than ours.”
I opened a cookie bin and began placing the bagged items across the table. “Classic is good. People like a classic look.” I hoped. “Hey, how did the presentations go?”
“They were surprisingly meaningful and informative. Annoyingly, Grans awarded everyone equal points. There was no winner. It was all a ploy to get us to contribute to the community.”
“That actually makes more sense than judging volunteering. But yeah, annoying.”
I already knew the respite facility had made an impact on Marlowe, so I couldn’t fault her grandmother for the setup. But the bake sale would count for real points. As would the baking competition in the town square next weekend. We needed every point to get ahead.
After running between the tree farm and the highway sales lot all week, it couldn’t have been more obvious we needed more land. Once we expanded the farm, we could bring on more help. The way we operated now, we couldn’t justify bringing on more regular full-time staff without the larger vision and business plan.
And if selling cookies got us there, then that was what I’d do.
Marlowe and I reviewed our attack plan. I’d be man out front, greeting shoppers in the space in front of our table with our sample tray. Broken and ugly cookies that didn’t pass our final cut were divided into smaller pieces for free sampling. Marlowe would handle the sales and backstock.
“Are you sure your sales approach is necessary?” Marlowe scanned the room. “Everyone else is behind their tables. Not in front.”
I leaned toward her. She smelled like lavender and something else sweet I couldn’t name. Probably twenty types of cookies. “That’s exactly why it works. We have competition. We want buyers interested inoursugar cookies. Not some third-rate cut-out that for all we know could be dough from a can.”
Marlowe snickered. “This side of you is compelling. I always remember you being so nice.”
“Iamnice.” Just competitive. And I had a goal.
Arlene Elmhurst, a put together lady in her sixties pinned with an official staff ribbon, inspected our stock for consistency in packaging and pricing. She found no errors. Marlowe and I made a great team.
Before we knew it, the doors opened to the public and eager customers arrived wide-eyed and ready for a sugar high. The bake sale, as I’d reminded Marlowe through the week, made for big news in the community. The sale was advertised on the radio and social media.
Marlowe peered past me. “Is that Benny Arends? Working the door?”
We’d all graduated together. “Yup. There’s usually a line to get in lasting the whole sale. Benny’s working line management and crowd control.”
Marlowe muttered something I couldn’t hear. Probably not anything cheerful, which was why I was the front guy. A gaggle of gray-haired ladies headed our way. The tray came out, and I went to work.
The first round of samples disappeared in ten minutes—all leading to sales.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Shawn called from across the room as an opening appeared among the crowd. He pointed at me. “You can’t give away samples!”
Ah, but I could. “There’s nothing in the rules stating samples are off-limits.”
Shawn dug through a bag behind his table to pull out the printed rules. He could afford the distraction since no one shopped at his table.
I refilled the sample tray and went back to work. The tray, and my sales pitches, worked their magic until the tray emptied.
When a lull hit, Emmaline Holly herself appeared. She had on her own fancy holiday sweater, understated and classy, as always. “You look to be doing well.” Her gaze danced between us. “I’m so pleased to hear you two are settling in.”
Whew, I knew this moment was coming, but it was a doozy. Telling Shawn and Ashe’s kids that Marlowe and I were dating? Sure, easy. Telling that lie to Emmaline Holly? Genuine fear.
Thankfully, she didn’t expect an answer. Maybe she’d mistaken my dopey look for love, not open terror.
“Your stock looks low,” Mrs. Holly commented. “We have an hour of the sale to go.”
“If we sell out first in the family, do we get extra points?” Marlowe asked.
Mrs. Holly’s eyes sparkled. “What a novel idea. I’ll run it by TL.” She took out her phone and sent a text. “TL has an orthodontist appointment that couldn’t be rescheduled. Those Saturday appointments go quickly.”
