six weeks?!” Wayne gave a slow whistle. “What about all these new contracts you’ve stolen from Fulton?”
“I didn’t steal anything; we won those bids fair and square. And I will be back tomorrow.” She shifted in the bed to face her grandmother, and given the quiet resolve she saw reflected in the brown eyes she loved, she wondered if this was an argument best left for another day. “Grandma, I know Doc means well, but we both know it is impossible for me to take six weeks off right now.” She reached out and took her grandmother’s hand. “We have just taken on three of our biggest contracts ever. This is our chance to prove to the family once and for all that the bakery is not a waste of money.”
Her grandmother’s lips tightened and she quickly nodded in agreement. Sophie knew that this was the one argument she would not resist. Five years ago when Sophie’s parents, along with her aunts and uncles, came together to try and force Mae to sell the bakery, only Sophie had stood with her.
At the time, the bakery was losing more than it was taking in, and no one wanted the responsibility of taking it over after Mae died. So, they’d gotten together and devised a plan to convince her to sell the store she’d opened over fifty years ago with her husband, Earl.
Unlike most of the family, Sophie understood that to Mae the bakery was more than just a means of revenue. It was the center of her life. She and Earl had managed to raise six children on the income from the bakery. When they first started off as a young couple unable to afford a home of their own, they’d converted the two small storage rooms in the back of the store into a living space. Sophie knew that the small building held more than just ovens and freezers to create pastries. It held the vast majority of Mae’s lifetime of memories.
That was why Sophie had fought tooth and nail against her own parents to keep the bakery open. Against the combined stubbornness of Sophie and Mae, the family had not stood a chance and had finally given up.
And now, almost five years later, Sophie saw the chance to prove to all of them that she and her grandmother had been right to keep the store open. Now they had an opportunity to grow it into something more than a neighborhood donut shop, and she was not about to let a broken ankle get in the way.
Mae clutched her purse, obviously torn between her own desires to prove to her children that she was not a helpless old lady and the need to protect her granddaughter. “But, what about your ankle?”
Realizing she was winning the argument, Sophie sat up a little straighter. “I promise to sit with my ankle propped up, and let Wayne, Dante and Lonnie do the work. But, I need to be there.” She snapped her fingers and turned back to Wayne. “When Dante comes back from his deliveries in the morning, can you have him clean out the apartment in the back? I’ll move in there temporarily, and that way you won’t even have to worry about moving me back and forth from the store.”
Mae frowned. “I don’t know if I like the idea of you being there alone at night.”
“Grandma, I’ve already spent many nights there alone working on the inventory. It will be fine. The important thing is getting these orders filled on time, make a good impression on our new customers, and at all costs keep the bakery running smoothly. Wayne can you look in the office and double check the permits and make sure it’s still coded for residential?”
“No problem.”
Later she would blame the combined problems of a stubborn grandmother, and too many meds, but for whatever reason it wasn’t until after Mae and Wayne had left that Sophie realized she’d forgotten all about the new baker flying in tomorrow.
Oh, well, she thought with a yawn, she’d be back in the store before his flight arrived. And he would need a ride from the airport, so that would give her time to prepare everyone. It would be fine. She yawned loudly again, as the painkillers took effect. It would all be fine.
Chapter 3
As Eliot entered the front door of Mayfield Bakery the next morning he collided with a thin teenager with a severe case of eczema.
“Excuse me” the boy called out, as he hurried away, his arms laden down with boxes.
Eliot turned and watched as the boy climbed into a beat-up, old van with a slightly confused expression on his face. Stepping outside, he glanced up at the sign that read Mayfield Bakery. He’d checked the local business directory on his laptop and this was the only Mayfield bakery in Selmer. This had to be the place.
He went back inside and glanced around. The glass counter was filled with fresh baked pastries, loaves of bread, cakes and pies. He closed his eyes and took in the delicious aroma. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d actually been inside a real bakery.
Fulton Foods, although considered a bakery, was in fact a large industrial machine that happened to produce baked goods, but it was not what Eliot considered a bakery. This was a bakery.
A breeze blew by him as the boy came back through the door. “Someone will be right with you,” he called over his shoulder, as he disappeared into the back.
Eliot stood in the middle of the vinyl floor, studying his surroundings and trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Could this possibly be the same Mayfield Bakery that had stolen three of his top contracts? Was this the Mayfield Bakery that was giving his uncle indigestion? Was this the newest threat to Fulton Foods? He almost laughed out loud as he shook his head in relief. Getting rid of this little shop was going to be a piece of cake—no pun intended.
The teenage boy came charging back through the store, his arms once again laden with boxes. This time he was followed by a short, chubby girl, also carrying a stack of boxes. She smiled at Eliot as they went by. She had a girlishly cute, light-brown face, but there was a blankness to her brown eyes that Eliot noticed right away.
The commotion and clatter of the back kitchen was easily heard from where he stood. He wondered if all that industrious noise was the result of their newfound business.
“Can I help you?” An older woman appeared in the entrance leading to the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. A slight smudge of flour smeared one cheek, and her gray hair was twisted and pinned on top of her head.
There was something instantly familiar about her untidy appearance. She looked like just what she was, someone’s grandmother baking goodies. Or…someone’s mother.
It suddenly hit Eliot why she seemed so familiar. He could remember many days coming home from school and being greeted by his mother looking just this way, right down to the flour-smudged cheeks.
He felt a rock drop to the pit of his stomach, because deep inside of him he knew without a doubt that this was Mae Anne Mayfield. Uncle Carl had sent him to destroy his mother’s reincarnation. His lips twisted in frustration, like he didn’t already have enough reasons to burn in hell.
“Are you Mae Anne Mayfield?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“I am.” She’d started walking toward him when someone called to her from the back to the store.
“Mama Mae! I need your help now!”
Putting up a finger meant to hold him in place, she turned and scuttled back into the kitchen. Eliot waited a few seconds before following.
Slowly he entered the kitchen, not sure what to expect. He was shocked to find a small space crammed with new equipment.
