shut behind him, she dropped back in her chair. Her hands were still shaking. Goodness he was upset and she shouldn’t be surprised.
At least this obligation had been taken care of. She could strike his name off her list.
The next thing to do was call Dale Eversleigh, her contact person on the SOS Committee, and let him know she had done her best with the names the committee had given her. Surely there had to be someone else in Bygones who was not only capable but willing to work in her bakery.
Just then the buzzer sounded, announcing another customer. Melissa glanced at the clock on the wall of her office. Amanda was still busy in the back. So Melissa caught the pink-and-white-striped apron off a hook, slipped it on and went out to greet her next customer.
A young man stood in the center of the bakery, hands in his pockets, brown hair brushed back from a narrow face frowning as a young woman flitted along the glass cases oohing and aahing over the contents, her dark ponytail bobbing as she crouched down and then straightened as she inspected everything. The cases held cupcakes with pink fluffy icing, cookies spread out on white paper doilies, cakes with pink trim and trays and trays of sugary squares and puffs piled up in fancy little displays. “Would you look at all the good stuff here?” she said, her voice full of awe.
“I’m looking at the prices,” the young man said, frowning at the blackboard Melissa had up on one wall with the amounts written on it. Amanda, the young girl who worked at the bakery, had written the list of offerings up in colored chalk, decorating it with fanciful flowers and flourishes. “Now that Dad’s not working anymore I can’t afford anything here.”
“But, Rory, it’s all so lovely,” the young girl said, pouting at him as she rested her hand against the case as if trying to touch the tarts inside. “I’m sure it’s worth every penny.”
“And I don’t have as many pennies since Dad got laid off from the police department,” Rory said. “We can grab a chocolate bar at The Everything around the corner. Be way cheaper.”
“But not as good.” In spite of her reluctance, however, the young girl straightened and with one last, longing look at the pastries gave Melissa an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
Then they left.
Another satisfied customer. Though the bakery was busy enough to require extra help, she had come across resistance to her prices—even though they were more than fair—and resistance to her presence. Small towns, she thought, turning away from the counter, Brian’s unwilling countenance slipping into her thoughts.
“Sorry I wasn’t helping you,” Amanda called as she came out of the storage room at the back of the bakery lugging a large yellow pail. Tall and thin, with curly brown hair and what Amanda said were True Blue eyes, she didn’t look strong enough to carry the large bags of flour and pails of shortening Melissa used. “I saw you were busy with Mr. Montclair so I figured I’d get the shortening out to soften. But I couldn’t find it right away and had to go digging.” She set the pail down on the wooden counter, her hair coated with a layer of dust. “What’s the matter? You look ticked.”
“It shows?” Melissa pushed out her lower lip and blew her bangs out of her face with a sigh of frustration. “I just lost a customer and tried to hire Brian Montclair.”
“You tried to hire Brian?” Amanda looked at her, her blue eyes wide with surprise. “I heard him at The Everything when the bakery first started, you know, saying he wasn’t comin’ to any of the new businesses if he could help it. ‘Wasn’t working for no city slickers,’ he said.” Amanda’s last words rose up as if on a question. “Surprised he would come for an interview.”
Though only a teenager, Amanda was a lifelong resident of Bygones and had been filling Melissa in on the many and varied people living in the town, their history and connections.
“He didn’t know it was an interview when he came,” she said. “But he didn’t want the job.”
“Not surprised. He’s more of a mechanic than a baker.”
Guess she had him pegged after all, Melissa thought.
“Got lotsa cake pops left,” Amanda said as she pried open the lid on the pail. “We don’t need to make any tomorrow.”
“That’s too bad. I thought they would sell better,” Melissa said, picking up her checklist for what they needed to make for tomorrow. “Back in St. Louis there was a bakery around the corner from the hotel I baked at that couldn’t keep up with the demand. Lots of mothers had them at birthday parties.”
“They’re great and all, but people need to try them, I guess. Maybe if Mrs. Morgan has them at the wedding—”
Melissa held her hand up as if to stop what Amanda had to say. “Don’t even say that out loud or somehow she’ll find out and she’ll add them to an already overstuffed dessert menu.”
Amanda grinned. “She is kinda getting carried away.”
“Kinda,” Melissa agreed, glancing over the amount of squares and cookies still in the case. “At least today we don’t have as much left as yesterday.”
She eased out another sigh, rubbing her left temple with her fingertips as she hung the clipboard back on the nail beside the industrial mixer. She’d been up since five o’clock this morning getting the bread going for the day and a spike of pain was slowly drilling into her temple.
“You look beat,” Amanda said. “Why don’t you go home? I’ll be okay to close.”
Melissa glanced around the bakery trying not to make a face at the flour dusting the floor, the crumbs spread around the cutting boards and the fingerprints she knew smudged the display cases in the front. Though she had dreamed for many years about opening her own bakery, the reality of the relentlessness of the work was settling in.
As did the fact that the success of the bakery lay squarely on her shoulders. In St. Louis, working at the hotel as a baker, she was an employee. Here, she was on her own. Though independence and the ability to support herself were what she had always wanted, she never realized how heavy the load could be.
“Okay. If you don’t mind cleaning up,” she said.
“Sure. No problem.” Amanda flashed her a smile.
With a grateful sigh Melissa tugged her apron off just as her cell phone rang. Her heart sank as she glanced at the name displayed on the screen.
Mrs. Morgan. Mother of the groom of the wedding Melissa was baking for. Very demanding mother of the groom, she might add.
“My dear Melissa. Sorry to be a bother,” Mrs. Morgan was saying in her usual hurried and breathless voice. “But I need to meet with you and Gracie. I want to rethink the dessert reception.”
Of course she did, Melissa thought, leaning against the counter behind her. “When did you want to meet?”
“Tomorrow. At noon at the Cozy Cup.”
“Okay. I’ll be there.” She ended the call and blew out her breath, catching Amanda’s concerned look. “Will you be able to help me at noon tomorrow for an hour or so?”
Amanda nodded. “My mom doesn’t need me then. I can easily come.”
“That
