Page 47 of Ashes of Us
I sat there alone at the wobbly table, staring at half a sandwich I couldn't finish.
Mrs. Kowalski's newspaper rustled, and the laptop guy's fingers were clicking again. Megan appeared from the back and started wiping down the espresso machine, pointedly not looking at me.
I stood up and walked around the counter and into the kitchen. Grabbed my apron from where I'd left it and tied it on with shaking hands.
Work…
I could work. Ialwaysworked.
Tomorrow's croissants. I needed to start the laminated dough. Flour, butter, salt, water. Yes, this was what I needed right now, something simple and methodical. I'd done this a thousand times.
I pulled out the industrial mixer and the scale, then set a bowl on the counter.
Flour first. Two pounds, six ounces.
I scooped and poured. Watched the numbers climb on the scale's display.
Two pounds, four ounces.
Two pounds, five ounces.
Two pounds...
I lost count.
“Crap.” I started over.
One pound, three ounces.
One pound...
I'm glad.
My hands were shaking too hard. I set down the scoop and pressed my palms flat against the counter.
"Hey." Megan's voice, careful. "You okay?"
“I… I’m fine." I didn't look at her. "Just tired."
"You want me to start the croissant dough? I've watched you do it like fifty times."
"No. I've got it."
I picked up the scoop again and started measuring. This time I got it right. I dumped the flour into the mixer bowl and reached for the salt. The container slipped from my hand and hit the floor. Salt exploded across the tile in a white spray.
I stared down at it.
"Okay." Megan was beside me now, gently taking the empty container from my hand. "Why don't you go upstairs for a bit? I can handle the counter."
"I need to?—"
"You need to not be down here right now." Her voice was kind but firm. "Go. I've got this."
I looked at the mess on the floor. At the mixer waiting with its bowl of unmeasured flour. At the afternoon stretching ahead with prep work I couldn't focus on.
Megan was right.
I untied my apron and went upstairs.
