CHAPTER TWO
Allie
“Marcelle?”
“Yes, Ms. Hendricks?”
“For heaven's sakes...those buns should be ready now!” I protested, feeling my mood spontaneously unraveling into acute stress-mode. My assistant raised two coal-black eyebrows and gave an elaborate shrug.
“Yes, they should. But they're not. Sorry.”
I sighed. “Is the oven playing us around?”
Marcelle glanced at the dial and shook her head. “I don't think so, Ms. Hendricks. It looks okay.”
“Fine,” I said crossly. I transferred my attention to the batch of dough I was making, restraining myself from working my frustration into it. I didn't want to go breaking up the gluten by stirring it too much – that was a sure-fire way to make scones that flopped.
Slow and steady. Give it some love.
I heard the voice of my mentor, Chef Petersen, in my head, and took a steadying breath.
Then I finished mixing the dough and started rolling.
“All done,” Marcelle called.
“Hurray,” I said, as relief flowed through me. Those cakes were for a catering order and they had to be done before three today, cooled and ready for packaging.
“Ms. Hendricks?” a voice asked.
“Yes?” Kelsey, my friend's teenaged daughter and my temporary help in front-of-house. She was on her gap year and I was glad Frank had suggested she work for me – I didn't know what I'd do without her.
“I need two coffees for Table 2. They're waiting for scones.”
“Oh, for...” I closed my eyes. “Is the machine working again?”
“Uh huh,” she commented. “I'll get the coffees going.”
“Perfect,” I said tightly. “I'll try and get the scones done before too long. Take them some of those little crunchy things with the coffee and apologize for the wait, hey?”
“Okay, Ms. Hendricks,” she said cheerfully.
I sighed and got back to making scones. As I worked, the peace descended over me as it always did. I loved my kitchen and no more so than now, with the chaos and the sweet scent of baking. I breathed out and closed my eyes and let the clink of glasses and the scent of baking and the sound of talking people fill my ears and settle my soul.
I love my job.
It made me jump out of bed with enthusiasm every morning – the one thing in my life that was likely to make me grin even when I was feeling glum. Which happened more than I would have liked nowadays.
“Two filled croissants, please,” a customer asked as I headed to check on the front-of-house.
“Uh, sure,” I nodded, reaching for the croissants and heading to the newly-installed filling device. I prayed inwardly that this was a good day – the thing had taken two weeks to settle down into functioning – and pulled the handle. The right volume of filling seemed to issue into the croissants and I wrapped them carefully in one of the new monogrammed paper bags and exchanged them.
“Uh...do you have change for a ten-dollar bill?”
I scratched my head. “I hope so,” I said, rummaging through the till. As it was I had just enough.
“Thanks very much,” the customer grinned. I saw him head off with his daughter, out into the street.
I looked away, feeling a wistful stab in my chest. I was thirty-two and I sometimes wondered if family life was something that'd ever be for me.
Sometimes I found myself feeling lost. I had a flourishing career, my own business, friends – and I hadn't really had a lover for the last year. Sure, I had occasional encounters, but I hadn't met anyone I really liked.
“The last year?” I asked myself as I reached for a piping-bag to make more cookies. More like six.
I hadn't met someone I felt that I could love, not really.
Not since he left.
It was silly, but every morning I thought about Drew. Not consciously, not for long. But he was often in my thoughts.
I guessed it was just silly of me. After all, why would Drew actually care about me? I was no-one.
“Ms. Hendricks?”
I sighed as Kelsey bounded up, ponytail swinging.
“What, Kelsey?”
“Daddy's here. He's finishing for the day...” she trailed off, skipping out of the kitchen to the front room.
“Lucky him,” I said under my breath. At that moment, my friend Frank, father of Kelsey, appeared. He came round the back to the kitchen. He was also a chef – he owned a restaurant around the corner – Green Eat Bistro. We were good friends. If he wasn't married, I think we'd still only be good friends, actually. We really liked each other but I hadn't really considered sleeping with Frank.
“All! How's it?” Frank asked, leaning his tall form against the wall and giving me a blue-eyed grin.
I rolled my eyes at him. He sighed.
“That kinda day?”
“A don't-even-ask-me-about-it day,” I said, washing flour off my hands and reaching up to draw the net more-firmly over my long brown hair.
He chuckled. “It's the time of year, I guess. Or something. You know, changing the season and stuff...” He sighed. “Beats me how these things work. But I'm hectic too.”
“Makes two of us,” I commented, turning to take the scones – at last ready – from the oven. “Kelsey?” I called as I set them out on a plate.
“Yes?”
“Take this out to Table four, please? And apologize again for the wait...”
“Sure thing,” she said cheerfully and headed out.
“So energetic,” I murmured, watching Kelsey walk briskly to the table, a big grin on her face. It was just after two P.M. and I felt like I was dying on my feet.
“Yeah. I wish I was her age sometimes,” Frank grinned. “Then I remember school and how horrible it was and I stop.”
I laughed. Frank always made me laugh. “True,” I said. I wiped down the counter, hands working automatically. I could smell the cakes that Marcelle had cooked and my own stomach groaned in sympathy. I hadn't had much lunch.
“You busy tonight?” Frank asked.
“I'm closing at six,” I said. I usually did, except on Friday, when I stayed open until eight.
“Well, then. Maybe you'd be interested in this event I heard about?” Frank said. “I'm going. Astrid has to be at a class, so it's just me coming along.”
“Oh?” I frowned.
“Should I start packing the cakes?” Marcelle asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“Uh...are they cooling yet?”
“They're cool to touch,” Marcelle informed me. Her dark skin was shined with perspiration and I realized for the first time how hot it was in here.
“Great,” I said. I leaned back, taking off the net cap and sighing appreciatively as the cooler air cooled my hot scalp. “We can box them.”
“Awesome.”
“So?” Frank asked as I turned back.
“You mean tonight?” I asked, fluffing out my hair. “I guess I could.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “I was interested, actually – it's about some new transport venture. They want to advertise it to the local hospitality people. We all get free invitations.”
“To what?” I asked as the bell at the desk rang and I headed slowly out.
“To a dinner event,” he said.
“Oh.” My stomach asserted itself with a sudden pang and I nodded. “Sounds great.”
“Okay,” Frank nodded. “Well. I'll meet you here at six, then? It's just round the block. At the Drayton Hotel.”
“Oh. Fancy, then?”
He shrugged. “Not too fancy, I guess. If you wanna go change first, I guess you can. The event is scheduled to start at seven-thirty.”
I nodded. “Let's join up at seven, then,” I said, glancing at my dark slacks and sweater. I was dressed for work – not casually, but not super-smart either. I wanted to at least redo my hair and put on a new blouse. With all the running around this one was smelling funny.
“Fine,” he nodded, smiling broadly. “See you at seven.”
“Great,” I called as he headed out of the shop. I saw him grin at Kelsey and then head back into the street.
“Mrs. Hendricks?”
“Mm?” I turned to Marcelle.
“Telephone.”
“Oh. Great. Thanks.”
I took the call – an order for a tea-party for ten – and headed back into the kitchen. I felt confident. My business was growing. We were starting to make a reasonable profit as equipment was steadily paid off, and I was enjoying myself. If I could just feel at peace in myself, I'd reckon things perfect.
“More scones, Mrs. Hendricks,” Kelsey informed me with a big grin. “An order for four, table one.”
“Great,” I said. I set them out and passed her the tray. Then, as I did so, I glanced at the clock. It was almost three. Only three more hours and then we'd close.
I was planning a route through the traffic to my apartment that would take good time when I suddenly realized something. I was excited about this evening. It was too long since I went out just to have fun.
I stirred a new batch of dough with renewed vigor and headed through to help Marcelle with packaging the order to get delivered later today.
At six-thirty I turned in front of the mirror and raised a brow. My trim yet curvy figure was clad in brown slacks, a cream shirt with the top two buttons undone and a long, flowing blazer in a brown somewhere between the color of the slacks and the shirt. I had on high-heels and my hair was done in a kind of chignon style I'd wanted to do for ages, leaving it partially loose and partially in a bun behind my head.
I don't look bad.
With red lipstick on my full mouth and subtle brown shadow on my large eyelids, I thought I looked quite pretty.
You never know who might be there.
I chuckled. I really should either take the initiative to meet someone, or just quit worrying and throw myself wholeheartedly into baking.
“Come on Allie. You're done.”
I turned around from the mirror, lifted my handbag from the hook by the door and headed out to the restaurant.
When I got there, Frank was already waiting. Wearing navy slacks and a semi-formal shirt, he looked like what he was – ruggedly handsome chef about town. I waved.
“Hey!” I called, walking over wet sidewalks in my high-heeled boots. “Waiting long?”
He shook his head. “No. Just got here. You look great.”
“Oh.” I blushed. “Thanks, Frank. So do you.”
He chuckled. “I dunno about that. Right. Should we go in?”
I glanced at my watch and he did the same. “It's early still,” I commented.
“Mm. But it's cold out.”
“Yeah.” I shivered. It was warmer than yesterday, but still the evening was turning out to be chilly. I followed him into the lobby of the hotel.
“Oh!”
I saw him look as surprised as I felt as we joined the gathered throng in the lobby, waiting for the event to get started. Everyone else seemed more-formally dressed than we were. I shrank to the back of the crowd, feeling shy in the hall that smelled of perfume and with the air abuzz with genteel conversation.
He chuckled. “I guess we look a bit different, right?”
I laughed. “A bit. Should we go?”
He shrugged. “What's the worst that can happen?”
I nodded. He was right. I wasn't so under-dressed – not as much as he was, anyhow – and if he was comfortable, I certainly was. “You're right,” I said.
We looked around. There was a sign in the lobby, just outside the restaurant. “Promotional Event – Safetrans services.”
I frowned. “What's it about? Frank?”
He blinked. He'd been surveying the scene, almost as half-asleep as I was. We both wore ourselves out during our work days. “Uh...a taxi service focusing on getting people safely home from pubs and stuff,” he explained neatly.
I grinned. “I'm out of place then.”
He smiled. “I guess. You don't have a license, right?”
“No,” I said with a grin. The Sugarlips Cafe and Pastry Shop didn't really need to be licensed to serve drinks. I wasn't really the clientele these people – whoever they were – wanted in the audience. But still. I was here with Frank. And we were going to have fun. I was staying.
“Well, looks like we're starting,” he said, raising a brow. The crowd was heading into the restaurant. I nodded. We walked in together, following them in.
In the posh-looking establishment, a sort of stage had been set up with a microphone. Whoever was going to promote whatever-it-was would be up there, I guessed, noting the discreet lectern with a laptop already set up for the presentation.
I guess there'll be a boring talk in the middle of dinner, but I don't mind. I'm starving.
“Ready to order?” An elegant young woman in a starched uniform asked us.
“Uh...water to drink?” Frank asked. I nodded.
“Very good. Still or sparkling?”
Frank ordered sparkling for us both while I read through the rest of the menu. It looked exciting. I realized I'd hung my outdoor coat up on the coat-rack and left my wallet in my pocket. I frowned.
“Frank?”
“Uh huh?”
“I need to go get my wallet quickly. I left it by the door.”
“Sure,” he nodded. “If the waitress comes back should I place an order for you?”
“Tell her the pea soup starter, please,” I said as, heart thumping, I ducked between the tables, heading to the door. I hope no-one's stolen it. I dismissed the thought – who in this room would need to go digging in someone's coat looking for money? – but I couldn't help an unnatural fear. Fear made me jittery, and the jitters made me look down, watching my feet as I headed straight for the door.
I knocked into something hard and stopped dead. I had walked into the waiter.
“I...so sorry!” I stammered, feeling my cheeks go red. I felt like such a dunce.
“No problem, ma'am,” the man said politely. “This way, sir?”
I saw him gesture to a man and then my eyes fell on the man himself.
The man in a black suit that fit him like he was born in it, covering his muscular form. The man with a tall, lean presence. The man with brown hair and soulful eyes who was, now staring at me like he'd seen a ghost.
I felt the same way.
I couldn't have been more shocked if he was a ghost – after all, he'd left my life six years ago with no word, dead to me.
It was Drew.