THREE
Hartley
I humunder my breath as I open the oven, the blast of heat warming up my tiny apartment. I pull out the last round of cupcakes, smiling when I see that they’re all a perfect light golden color.
My kitchen countertop is covered in baked goods. I’ve been making small batches, trying to figure out what recipes I’m going to use in the bakery downstairs.
There are nine different kinds of cookies, seven kinds of cupcakes, a few brownies, and even some fudge. I’ll end up spending the afternoon taste testing them and narrowing down the list. I already know that I’ll be making my croissants for some breakfast sandwiches and maybe I’ll do a few cake pops every now and then.
“Maybe I should do some cakes or pies. Sell them by the slice,” I murmur to myself as I take the cupcakes out to cool.
I set the pans in the sink and pick up my notebook and pen. I scribble down notes, trying to figure out how many treats I could fit in the display cases. If I do cakes or pies, I might need more round display cases on top of the counter.
“Donuts!” I shout as the idea hits me. “I can do them and the breakfast sandwiches to get the crowds coming in the morning.”
I scribble down more ideas, crossing off the fudge ideas and adding in more flavors of donuts. My grams and I used to have donuts every Saturday morning before we went out to run errands, and I can’t believe that we didn’t think of making our own before.
We made them in culinary school, but I haven’t made them since. I head over to the small pantry and check to see if I have all of the ingredients here. I frown when I see I’m almost out of flour and that I’ll need to grab some more stuff to make some more frosting.
It finally stopped snowing at some point this morning, and I decide to make a quick run to the store now before it starts to get dark out. I must have lost track of time while I was baking because the sun is already starting to set.
I turn off the oven and make sure that my wallet is in my purse before I slip on my new boots and jacket and head out into the hall. It’s almost ten degrees outside and I grin to myself as I wonder what Grams would say if she could see me now.
I was the girl who was always at home with fuzzy socks and a throw blanket on, even in the summer because I was always cold. Now, I’m here where it seems to snow every day and where temperatures have yet to be above ten degrees. I’ve heard that it gets nice here in the summer, but I’ll need to make it through the next four months before the snow melts to see it.
My old Honda Accord is parked around the corner and I bite back a groan when I see the layer of snow covering it. I hit the button on my key fob, starting the car up to defrost. I grab the brush out of the back seat and get to work scraping off the snow before I move to work on the thin layer of ice on the windows.
I’m both sweaty and cold by the time I finish and toss the brush back into the back seat. My car is warm and I use my teeth to pull off my gloves before I back out of my space and head the few blocks to the store.
The lot in front of the grocery store is almost empty when I pull in and I find a space near the front. I hurry into the store, pulling up the list that I wrote down on my phone. I grab a cart, wincing and wishing that I had left my gloves on when I feel how cold the metal is.
I smile at the bored looking cashiers up front. They’re all leaning against the checkout lanes, talking and watching the sky through the front windows.
I steer my cart toward the baking aisle, slowing as I hit the flour section. I debate a few of the brands, wondering idly if I should try to make some with some almond flour for people with allergies. I write a note down in my phone about it, but opt out of buying the almond flour today. It’s expensive, and since I’m still in the testing phase, it would be a waste. I’ll have to wait until I have flavors and everything locked in before I experiment with that.
I add a few packages of flour and some more sugar before I move onto the spices. I grab some vanilla and a few other flavors, tossing them into the cart. I add some powdered sugar so I can make some more frosting.
Now that I have all of my baking materials ready, I head over to the frozen food section. I should probably eat something besides desserts today.
I’m standing in front of the frozen pizza, debating between a pepperoni or the five cheese one when I catch sight of someone familiar walking toward me. It’s the guy from the outdoor store. He’s bundled up in a parka with a pair of dark wash jeans and some black boots on his feet. His black hair is mussed and I smile when I spot a navy blue knit hat shoved into the pocket of his coat.
My good mood immediately sours and I debate between grabbing my frozen pizza or just leaving and pretending like I never saw him. I’m about to do the second option when his eyes meet mine.
I’m not sure who is more upset to see the other.
“Elijah,” I say, giving him a tight smile.
“Hartley.”
He towers over me, and I duck my head, taking a sneak peek into his cart. It’s piled high with frozen meals and I raise my eyebrows.
“I’m guessing you’re not much of a cook, huh?” I ask with a small smirk.
“Oh no, I can burn things with the best of them.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to stop the laugh and smile that wants to slip out at his sense of humor.
“What are you making?” he asks as he nods toward my cart half-filled with bags of flour and sugar.