Kate had never seen anything like it.
As word leaked out that the Cookie House was getting a facelift, people started showing up from all over town. Some signed up for work shifts on Carl’s crew. Others pledged to bring food for the workers throughout the week.
She and Maxi spent the next few hours standing on the sidewalk in front of the bakery shaking hands and thanking people. It reminded her of the receiving line at a wedding.
Suddenly Kate remembered the reason she had been hustling back to Flowers Maximus: Marco!
How could that have slipped her mind? What if she was too late? What if she failed? What if the bakery had to reopen without its signature sourdough? Who was she to be running a business?
“Uh, I’ll be right back,” she said hurriedly to Maxi, who was mid-conversation with Andy Levy.
She ducked inside the flower shop, grabbed the orange landline from Maxi’s desk, and called Information. As she dialed the California bakery, her hands were trembling.
“This is Marco, how can I help you?”
“Um, my name is Kate McGuire, and I’m a pastry chef at the Cookie House in Coral Cay.”
“Hey there! How’s old Sam these days? He still making the best sourdough east of the Golden Gate?”
“He is, and that’s kind of why I’m calling. We had a bit of a mishap and, well, we lost Francine.”
“Oh no! She’s Sam’s pride and joy. Is Sam OK?”
“He’s fine,” Kate said, crossing her fingers. “He’s actually … on vacation. Maxi—she owns the flower shop next door—she and I are running the place while he’s away. Anyway, I spoke with Sam and we were wondering, since you guys supplied the original Francine, if maybe you could spare another piece for him? As a replacement? And we’ll pay you for it, of course.”
She held her breath and prayed Marco was feeling generous.
“Sure, one of us will pack her up and run the box down to the shipper today. If we overnight it, you guys should have it tomorrow. Same address?”
“Same address. The Cookie House on Main Street in Coral Cay. I really can’t thank you enough. You have no idea what this means.”
“Glad to hear Sam’s taking a break. That man could use it. And this is on the house, by the way. It’s the least we can do. Because it seems he didn’t exactly give you the whole story.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sam got Francine—the original Francine—years ago from a historic San Francisco bakery. In business since the 1800s. Made traditional sourdough bread and rolls. Nothing else. Wonderful stuff! Unfortunately, it folded about the same time the housing bubble burst. A few years after that, when Sean and I were opening our place, we went on a road-trip tasting tour. Indie bakeries we’d heard about and always wanted to try. But Sam’s sourdough? Off the charts. When he realized we were opening a bakery out here, he gifted us with a piece of Francine. He gave her to us, not the other way around.”
“So what you’re sending in the mail…,” Kate started.
Marco laughed. “We call her Francine Junior.”