The following morning, I entered the cafe early with a spring in my step. There might not be customers today, and I might have a long-lost brother with a less than warm opinion about my dad, but I had a plan.
A plan to infiltrate the Bakers group and find out what Elijah was up to.
“Fran? Are you here?” I’d asked my chef to come in and help me with the prep for my Bakers group application.
Fran knew several other chefs who worked for restaurants and bakeries that were a part of the Bakers group, so she had inside knowledge on what we could bake with our application. And what Rebecca Gold was like.
“I’m in the kitchen,” Fran called.
I entered and found her waiting, hair net in place, her dark curls tucked safely back, and an apron on, stretched over her stomach. Fran had gained a bit of weight since she’d started working in the cafe, possibly because she would stress eat about job security. She was as pretty as a peach, and kind to the core even though I’d caused her all this extra worry.
Don’t be negative. Stop it.
“Ready?” Fran asked, holding out an apron and hairnet to me.
I put them on. “As I’ll ever be. You know me, Fran, I’m not exactly an expert when it comes to cooking and baking.”
“I think you’re great,” Fran said, cheerfully. “You know, you’re way too hard on yourself about your cooking skills.”
“Eh, I don’t know about that.”
Fran patted me on the arm, then gestured toward the recipe book she’d opened on the countertop. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what we can make that will really get Rebecca excited,” Fran said, “and I think I found something in your dad’s old recipe book.”
“Oh?”
Frank’s Foolproof Vanilla Sprinkle Cupcakes.
The title of the recipe was written in my father’s looping handwriting. Emotion clogged my throat. “This looks great,” I said. “But do you really think that this will work? Does Rebecca like vanilla flavoring?” She was the new head of the Bakers group so impressing her was paramount if I wanted to get into the group and snoop around.
Rumor had it, the Bakers group hosted loads of meetings, and there was the fact that applicants were invited to attend interviews at the Bakers group clubhouse. I could do plenty of snooping around in there.
“Rebecca loves everything vanilla,” Fran said, “especially if the vanilla is strong. That’s why this recipe is perfect. It’s got vanilla bean paste in it so the flavor is really pronounced, and then there’s the vanilla buttercream frosting on top.”
“Sounds good, Fran. Thank you for finding this for us. Now, we just have to do the hard part. Baking it.”
“Are you kidding?” Fran asked, grinning at me. “That’s the fun part. I’m just glad I don’t have to fill in the forms or go see Rebecca in person.”
“Why?”
Fran brought out a heavy duty mixer from under the counter and fitted its bowl. “Sheesh, I don’t want to scare you, but Rebecca’s kind of intimidating. That’s probably why Ms. Jensen chose her to be the one who took over after her. She might even be tougher than Nora.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Fran said, and gestured for me to grab the flour from the pantry. Her voice followed me across the kitchen as I did her bidding. “Rebecca was born and raised in Star Lake, which makes her even more of an asset to the Bakers group. You see, her mother was a part of it, and her grandmother too. Rebecca joined the minute she was old enough to, and within a few weeks, she rose in the ranks to become Nora’s secondhand woman.”
“There are ranks in the Bakers group?”
“In all the groups. They’re essentially Star Lake’s very own unions. There’s a treasurer, a leader, a board of members who help that leader make informed decisions. There are group meetings, an email newsletter, and even a lawyer on retainer in case of any legal trouble for the groups.”
“How are they regulated?”
“I know there’s a board for it. Like a federal board? But I’m not sure what it’s called. The National Labor something or the other. Anyway, I’m not sure if they’re even regulated by them because there’s a lot of gray area. It’s all very… what’s the phrase?”
“Cloak and dagger?” I placed the flour on the countertop.
“Yeah, exactly. So Rebecca—”
The bell tinkled in the cafe’s interior, and I raised an eyebrow. “Wow,” I said. “I think we have a customer.”
“I’ll get started on the cupcake batter.”
“Thanks, Fran.” I hurried out of the swinging doors then stopped beside them, my insides doing an about turn as if they wanted to pull me back into the kitchen.
Luca, in all his glorious handsomeness, stood in front of the glass portion of the counter, admiring the cookies Fran had put out in case we drew in any customers this morning. Next to him stood a gorgeous, tan woman with long dark hair that fell past her shoulders. She wore ankle boots and a knit dress that was a tad on the tight side.
I swallowed.
So, Luca had a girlfriend, apparently. That was fine. I hadn’t expected him to wait for me since I’d rejected his offer of a date. I was totally fine with this. Totally.
My mouth had gone dry, so I worked moisture back into it, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I looked in my hairnet and apron.
“Milly,” Luca said, smiling. “Hi. This is—”
“Hi.” I forced a massive grin that might’ve been on the maniacal side. “What can I get you two? I’m just in the middle of baking cupcakes, so you’ll have to excuse me. I’m in a bit of a rush.” The words came out squeaky and of their own accord.
Jealous. You’re actually jealous.
“Oh, sure, no problem,” Luca said, graciously. “Can we get two cappuccinos to-go?”
“And two chocolate chip cookies, Luca.” The woman’s voice was as smooth and pretty as her skin.
“Coming right up.” I made quick work of the cappuccinos, using the noise of the coffee machine as an excuse not to talk or make eye contact with either of them. I carefully placed the cookies in a brown paper bag then handed the order over.
Luca fiddled to get his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans.
“On the house,” I said, my crazy smile widening. “You two have a great day now, you hear?” And then I rushed for the kitchen with my tail between my legs, aware of how ridiculous I was being. How childish this looked.
I didn’t care.
The past few days had been trying, and after meeting my alleged half-brother, I couldn’t handle more emotional drama, right now.
I let the kitchen door swing shut behind me then went to join Fran at the counter. “What can I help with?” I asked.
“Are you OK, Milly? You look kind of red.”
“Never been better,” I managed. “Should I make the frosting?”