Caught Bread Handed (4 page)

Mindy pulled one of the men she'd come in with to his feet. “Can you believe this, Mathew? This is ridiculous. It's like a witch hunt or something. We are a multimillion-dollar chain. We're not rebranding or remodeling anything. Period. You can take that to your city council while I call my legal team.”

The man wore a gray suit with a ShakesBurgers T-shirt underneath. He gave Mindy a look to say,
I've got this
and then turned to face the audience. “I'm Mathew, Mindy's business partner and I assure you that we've done hundreds of renovations like the one at ShakesBurgers and we always try to take input and feedback from local owners into account. It sounds like maybe we missed that step this time.” He looked at Mindy.

Lance leaned toward my ear. “First rule of fashion. Never pair a cheap T-shirt with an ever cheaper suit. He looks like a walking pickle.”

“Maybe that's what he's going for. He owns a fast-food joint, right?” I whispered.

“This is why I love you, darling.”

“How can you tell that it's a cheap suit?”

Without a word Lance gave me a hard look.

Mindy threw her hands in the air. “What are you talking about, Mathew?”

He slicked his gelled brown hair back. “Please accept our deepest apology for any misunderstanding we may have caused. We are always committed to being team players and bringing new business to the communities we place our restaurants in. ShakesBurgers is a recognized brand and I guarantee that name recognition alone is going to draw new customers to downtown that hadn't previously come. That means more shoppers for all of your stores.”

“Mindy looks like she's going to explode,” Lance said. “He's throwing her under the bus.”

He was. Mathew walked up to the stage and took the mic from Rosalind's hands. “Do you mind if I speak directly to the business owners?”

Rosalind hesitated for a moment then stepped aside.

“Thank you.” Mathew smiled at Rosalind. “I understand your concerns, I really do, but we have plenty of data that supports my argument. ShakesBurgers is going to bring new clientele to downtown. Unfortunately, this particular property got pushed through quickly.” He paused and gave Mindy a knowing look. “We didn't have the kind of time we normally do to connect with each of you and share some data about what we offer to communities like yours here in Or-ee-gone.”

“It's
Orygun,
” Lance said aloud. Everyone around us chuckled.

Alan yelled, “That's because you stole it from me, man!”

Mathew made eye contact with Mindy again. I wished I could see her face. “We try to keep personal issues separate from business.”

“Ooh, he's smooth.” Lance leaned close to my ear. “Do you think there's going to be a fight?”

“I hope not.” But I wasn't sure. The man sitting next to Alan had gotten to his feet as well. He had his arm around Alan's shoulder again.

Rosalind took the mic from Mathew. “Alan, I think it might be best if you stepped outside and cooled off for a moment. I know that we're all attached to our community and everyone is on your side, but let's try to stay levelheaded. The best approach to deal with this situation is to work through legal channels, and for starters that means signing the petition that's coming around.”

Alan threw his friend's arm off of him and stormed toward the door. “This isn't over.” He pointed to Mindy.

“Darling, pinch me,” Lance whispered. “It just keeps getting better and better.”

“Lance, you're terrible. Can you imagine losing your business? Especially to a giant chain like ShakesBurgers?”

“You're always so serious. Have a little fun.” He turned his head as Alan slammed the door behind him. “But of course, you're right. Poor Alan. Maybe I can workshop that anger and rage into something fit for the stage.”

Mathew said something to Rosalind and then stepped off the stage. “I think maybe we could all use a little fresh air,” she said. “If you can stay, please sign the petition tonight. We have to band together as a community of business owners. If for some reason you can't sign the petition tonight, I'll be coming by each of your businesses tomorrow. We have our next meeting scheduled for Wednesday evening at Puck's Pub. If you have any other comments or suggestions, please come see me. I know we are all committed to making Ashland the best place to live, and I'm confident that we're going to be able to find a resolution to this situation.” She placed the mic in the stand. “Oh, and don't forget to buy your shirt. Let's Save our Shakespeare!”

Lance chuckled. “Well, this has been fun, hasn't it?”

“I'm going to take off. I have an early shift.”

He screwed the flask lid on. “What? Without a shirt? And what will they say? Juliet Montague Capshaw isn't going to sign the petition to preserve our Shakespearean town? That's going to make front-page news.”

“I'll sign it tomorrow. I agree with Rosalind. I don't want to see chain stores downtown, but I have to work bright and early. Actually just early. It'll still be dark when I get up.”

Lance blew me kisses. “Ta-ta, darling. I'll keep you posted. I have a feeling the best action of the night is still to come.” He nodded to the front where Mathew and Mindy were having a heated discussion.

I left before I got sucked into any more drama. In hindsight, maybe I should have hung around longer. Drama quickly found me.

 

Chapter Three

My alarm rang early the next morning. I dressed in the moonlight. Usually my morning routine involved a coffee ritual. I decided to forgo it in favor of getting a head start on the day. We stock eight different local coffee blends at Torte. Postponing my first cup by ten minutes wouldn't kill me. Well, probably not.

I tugged on a pair of jeans, a thin black sweater, and a red vest. Lance's comments about my appearance last night made me stop in front of the mirror. I hated to admit it but I did look like I could use more sleep. The skin underneath my eyes was puffy and my cheeks lacked color. I applied extra moisturizing lotion, a thin layer of under-eye concealer, and blush. My face brightened with the makeup.

Stars danced in the dark sky as I stepped out into the cold. Ashland might be experiencing a warm spell, but temps were near freezing in the predawn. My breath fogged in front of me. I tucked my hands into my vest pockets and hurried down the empty sidewalk to the bakeshop.

My apartment is above Elevation, the outdoor store, just a few shops away from Torte. It makes for an easy commute, which I appreciate after years of working on a cruise ship. In fact, my commute in Ashland might actually be shorter than my walk from my room to the galley on the ship. My apartment is definitely bigger. It's not fancy, but it works for me. It's a small one-bedroom apartment with a kitchen, living room, and bathroom. Compared to the tiny room that Carlos and I shared on the ship, it's practically luxurious. I've learned to live lean. All of my possessions fit in two suitcases. I'm still not sure what to do with the extra space in my apartment. Mom says that it looks barren. I've been trying to remedy that by putting up watercolor artwork that I bought in Tuscany and the Greek Isles and unpacking my collection of vintage cookbooks.

It's not much, but it's a start.

Torte sat in a sleepy slumber when I arrived. A single light in the dining room had been left on. Mom and I had decided it was best to leave a light on at night after a recent break-in. I unlocked the front door, flipped on the overhead lights, and cranked up the heat.

White Stargazer lilies in red vases dotted the tables and the booths along the front window. They had been delivered yesterday and made the space smell almost tropical.

I hung my vest on a hook by the office and tied on an apron. My first task was getting the yeast rising. Coffee would be next, but first—the yeast. I mixed yeast and warm water in a glass measuring cup and left it on the butcher block counter to rise.

A latte sounded divine, but I didn't have time. That would have to wait until Andy arrived later. I settled for a dark French roast. The smell of the mild, citrusy beans pulsing in the grinder gave me an immediate jolt. I returned to my yeast, which had risen to the top of the measuring glass. Time to get to work.

Some restaurants and even a few coffee shops outside of the downtown plaza stocked our pastries, but the vast majority of our wholesale accounts were for our bread products. I attached the dough hook to the industrial mixer and preheated our one functional oven. The broken oven was a constant reminder of how much potential income we were losing. I had been impressed with the amount of product we'd been able to produce as a small staff and with one oven, but we couldn't keep operating like this.

While the coffee percolated, I mixed the yeast with sugar, flour, and salt. We offered wholesale clients five daily bread options—sourdough, marble rye, French, whole wheat, and sweet bread. The sourdough was our bestseller. It paired perfectly with soup, especially on a cool day.

Mom has been using the same sourdough starter for as long as I could remember. Starters improve with age, and ours has been passed down from generation to generation. Sourdough tends to intimidate home bakers. It shouldn't. Sourdough is simply fermented yeast, flour, and water. We store ours in a glass container in the walk-in. When we use the starter to bake we replace it with equal amounts of flour and water and a pinch of sugar. It's one of the easiest things to maintain and gives breads and pancakes a beautiful sour tang.

I poured myself a cup of coffee with a splash of heavy cream and grabbed the starter out of the fridge.

Stephanie arrived as I began kneading the first batch of dough.

“Morning,” she mumbled, pulling off a knit cap. Her hair was dyed a brilliant shade of violet. It wouldn't work on many people but somehow it did on Stephanie. Without saying a word she poured herself a cup of coffee and walked like a zombie to the kitchen.

“You're loving this early morning shift, aren't you?” I teased, dusting my hands with flour.

Her head limped forward in what I assumed was a yes.

“This is early even for me.” I gave her a reassuring nod.

She cradled the coffee in her hands and took a drink. “It's Saturday. No one is up this early.”

“You're right.” I coated the butcher block with flour and worked the large ball of dough with my hands. “It's crazy. I'm working on it, I promise. I have the order form for new ovens filled out and ready to go in the office. I just need to crunch the numbers one more time before I put the order in.”

Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Jules, I'm here. Okay? I'm going to complain, but I'll be here as long as you need me.”

I smiled at her. “Thanks.”

She shook her head and drank more coffee. “But I am going to complain.”

“Noted.” I pointed to the whiteboard with the list of wholesale accounts. “Can you start on the marble rye and whole wheat?”

Stephanie gulped her coffee and poured herself a refill. She held up the half-empty pot. “You ready for another?”

“Please,” I said, thrusting my cup in her direction.

We baked in a comfortable silence for the next hour. Stephanie didn't need much direction, and she wasn't much for morning conversation. She had our new routine memorized, and I appreciated that she wasn't overly chatty. When I first met her, she seemed perpetually withdrawn and sullen, but I've learned that Stephanie's an introvert at heart. By the time everyone else arrived and we opened the door for business, the bakeshop would hum with lively banter and dialogue for the rest of the day. Having uninterrupted time was a godsend. So was the coffee.

Soon the kitchen smelled of baking bread. There's nothing like the smell of fresh bread to calm the mind. My thoughts drifted to Carlos. Since he had shown up at Lake of the Woods, I had felt unsettled. When I left him and the ship last summer I wasn't sure if I would ever see him again, but Carlos had other plans. He wrote me letters every single week during our time apart. I hadn't read them. At least I hadn't yet.

I had made a rash decision to leave him. It wasn't my proudest moment, but it was the only thing I could do at the time. Having him here was a reminder of how good things could be between us. It wasn't that easy though—there were still too many things left unsettled. Like why he had lied to me about having a son. Carlos and I had had a stage-worthy romance. I never imagined that he would keep something so important from me.

He tried to offer an explanation while we were at Lake of the Woods. It was only recently that Carlos had even learned that he had a son. Ramiro's mother had tried to raise their child alone. She realized that Ramiro deserved to know who his father was, but made Carlos promise that he would keep her secret. He agreed out of duty and protection. I believed him, I really did, and I wanted to forgive him and let it go, but I still couldn't understand why he would need to keep that secret from
me
. I was his wife. Wasn't marriage supposed to be about sharing each other's secrets, burdens, and joys? If Carlos couldn't tell me about Ramiro, what else could he be keeping from me?

Then there was the issue of what was next for us. It wasn't until I set foot in Ashland again that I realized how much I had missed being home and on solid ground. Working on the ship had been an almost mythical experience when I was younger. I was different now. I loved being home and as much as Ashland had welcomed Carlos in, I couldn't quite imagine him here permanently.

“Jules. Jules!” The sound of Stephanie's voice startled me.

I shook myself free from my thoughts. “What?”

“The oven's beeping.”

“Oh, right,” I said as I pulled on an oven mitt and turned off the beeping timer.

“You want me to do the deliveries?” Stephanie tucked her hair behind her ears, revealing a row of stud earrings lining her lobes.