Sure enough, I crashed on the couch when I got home and didn’t wake up until I heard my cell phone ringing the next morning.
Who would call this early? I thought as I reached for the phone and glanced at the clock. It was just after five. My heart skipped a beat. Could it be Carlos? We hadn’t spoken since he’d returned to the ship. Maybe he’d gotten his times mixed up. A twinge of regret swept over my body as I picked up my phone and saw that it was Mom calling.
“You’re up early,” I said, swiping to answer. “Especially since Torte is closed today. For once, we don’t have to be up before the sun.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I thought you would be up. You’re always up early.”
“It’s okay. I was starting to stir, and I had fallen asleep on the couch, so my back thanks you.” That part was true, my lower back felt like it had been hammered with a rolling pin. One of the cons of being tall is that I don’t fit on couches very well. Last night, I’d slept with my legs hanging off the end.
“I just heard from Doug. The Chocolate Festival is going to continue as planned today with two changes.”
“Okay.” I stretched from side to side trying to loosen the knot in my back. “What kind of changes?”
“Do you want the good news or bad news first?”
“Uh-oh. I guess I’ll take the good.”
“The good news is that they’ve pushed back the opening time to eleven this morning.”
“And the bad news?”
“They haven’t heard back from the lab yet, which means that we can’t serve our chocolate cake.”
“Oh, no! What are we going to do with all those squares we cut?”
“Doug said that he’ll let us all know as soon as he receives the lab report. We might be able to serve them later today or tomorrow. If not, we can donate them. I’m sure Ashland’s police and firefighters would be happy to take some cake samples off our hands.”
“I guess this means we’ll be baking this morning after all.”
Mom sighed. “That’s why I’m calling. If we get to the bakeshop in the next hour or so that should give us time to bake new tasting cakes.”
“Right.” My back loosened as I swayed my hips in small circles. “Let me take a quick shower. I can be there in thirty or forty minutes.”
“Great. Me too. I’ll see you soon.”
After we hung up I continued stretching and then hurried to the kitchen to get coffee brewing while I took a shower. Waking early has never really bothered me. Some of my friends in culinary school struggled with the insane hours required of a pastry chef, but not me. I like the feeling of rising early with the bread, but only, only if I have coffee. My mornings don’t start without a healthy jolt of caffeine.
With the coffee brewing and my back feeling more normal, I took a long hot shower, pulled on my favorite pair of well-worn jeans and a honey-colored cable-knit sweater that brought out the natural highlights in my light hair. Since I was going to be on my feet all day, I opted to wear a comfortable pair of fleece-lined knee-high boots. I dried my hair and pulled it back in a ponytail and dusted my cheeks and forehead with some powder. There’s not much point in wearing a lot of makeup in the bakeshop, since between the steaming water and constantly opening hot ovens, makeup tends to run and get sticky. I did apply a pale pink lip gloss and put on a pair of small gold hoop earrings. Dangly jewelry doesn’t lend itself well to baking, but since Mom and I would spend the majority of the day talking to potential customers at the Chocolate Fest, I wanted to look polished.
Before heading to Torte I guzzled two cups of coffee and ate a banana. I prefer to start my mornings with coffee and work my way up to breakfast later in the morning. My stomach has never adjusted to eating a big breakfast when it’s still pitch-black outside.
I grabbed my winter jacket from the coatrack by the front door and walked downstairs to Main Street. My apartment is above an outdoor store, Elevation. Like most of the buildings on the plaza, Elevation is modeled in Elizabethan design. The contrast struck me because the outdoor store was showcasing spring gear—kayaks, paddle boards, and swimsuits. It looked out of place with the old-world scroll of its logo and the antique iron design around the window frame, but that was Ashland—Shakespeare mashed up with the twenty-first century.
Torte was a few stores down and about a two- or three-minute walk from my apartment. Being so close to the bakeshop and in the heart of all the action on the plaza had made my transition to being home easier. Mom lived outside of town in the hills surrounding Ashland where deer roam free and snack on neighborhood apple trees and backyard gardens. Growing up in the wooded hills made for a magical childhood. I remember one summer when my friends and I discovered a hollowed-out log in my backyard. We transformed it into our secret hideout with blankets, dolls, and a stash of Mom’s homemade chocolate chip cookies. The deer, or some other creature, discovered the box of cookies and devoured them. When I lamented to Mom that an animal ate our secret treats, Mom laughed and said, “I’ll take that as a compliment. Even four-legged friends love Torte’s sweets.”
It was true. I smiled at the memory as I unlocked the front door to the bakeshop. The smell of paint assaulted my nostrils. I flipped on the lights and opened the front windows a few inches. Cold air rushed inside. It was a good thing that we had decided to close while working on renovations. The strong scent of fresh paint would overwhelm customers and our pastries. Smell is an extremely important element in taste, and the thought of our sourdough bread infused with the essence of chemical paint was less than appetizing.
I walked to the kitchen to see how much progress the team had made last night. From the look of things, they had primed each wall and all the cabinets in the kitchen. Everything glowed shiny white. When Mom and I were deciding on paint color for the kitchen, the owner of the hardware store had recommended that we prime the walls with a high-gloss white before painting. The kitchen was subjected to constant heat, steam from boiling water, and the cabinets got heavy usage. Priming would take an extra day, but would give us another layer of protection. I ran my finger along the far wall to test the paint. My fingers came back dry, which meant that by the time Andy, Sterling, and Stephanie arrived later this morning they could paint the finish coat. We were right on schedule, just as I had mapped it out. Thank goodness something was going according to plan.
The smell of paint was even stronger in the kitchen. Before I got to work on creating a new batch of chocolate tastings, I needed air flow. Torte’s kitchen windows are the old crank style. I twisted the vintage glass pane windows open and welcomed the cool air. Next, I assessed the space. Everything had been carefully boxed and packed away exactly as Mom and I had spelled out. The only problem was going to be finding everything and clearing off a space to work.
Mom arrived as I began moving around boxes and plastic tubs. “Good morning,” she called, pausing by the front door and fanning her hand over her face. “Whew, the fumes are pretty strong, aren’t they?”
She closed the door behind her, making sure to keep the CLOSED sign facing out. Normally at this hour the bakeshop would be buzzing with energy and the smell of coffee brewing. We open at six every weekday morning and a ton of customers often pop in before work for a cherry turnover and to-go cup of Andy’s rich brews. Even though we’d let all of our regulars know that we were closing for a few days, I had a feeling that if anyone noticed Mom and me baking in the kitchen we’d get a knock on the door.
“I know, and I’ve had the windows open for the last fifteen minutes,” I replied. “I probably should have told them to crack them last night. I didn’t even think about it.”
Mom hung her wool coat on the rack and joined me in the kitchen. “Oh, my, where do we even start?”
“That’s what I was trying to figure out.” I handed her a box of crystalized decorator’s sugar. “At the moment I’m trying to make a space for us to work. Do you have any thoughts on what we should bake?”
She rolled up the sleeves of her thin cream-colored turtleneck and glanced at her watch. “We have at least four hours. There’s going to be a vendor meeting at ten and then they will open the doors to the public at eleven, so we have plenty of time to make the cake again, but I don’t know, what do you think? It almost feels tainted.”
“I’m with you. I think we should do something different. Plus, baking in here isn’t going to be easy. What if we hand-dip chocolate truffles? That way we don’t have to use the oven. We can melt the chocolate on the stove and they won’t require using the mixers or anything.”
“See, that’s why you get the big bucks.” Mom winked. Her eyes held a brightness and a hint of mischievousness. It was one of the many reasons that people were drawn to her. She was an excellent listener, but she also had a playful side that helped lighten everyone around her.
“Yeah, right. Big bucks and family bakeshop don’t exactly go hand in hand, do they?” I found a tub of baker’s chocolate.
“Juliet Montague Capshaw, how can you say such a thing? You know as well as I do that we’re only in this for the money.”
I laughed. “Right. The money.”
“What if I whip up a batch of your grandmother’s marble fudge? We can cut it into tiny tasting squares.”
“Fudge and truffles. That works for me. Let’s do it.”
Mom unzipped the forest-green vest she was wearing and took off the creamy wool scarf wrapped around her neck. Her tone shifted. “Speaking of money, I reviewed all the paperwork last night.”
“And?”
“It looks good to me. Basically everyone’s application will be submitted for the grant, and as soon as the funds are awarded, the construction begins. It’s pretty straightforward from there.”
I had cleared a four-foot square on the corner of the island. “They are awarding ten grants, right?”
Mom nodded. “That’s right, and we don’t have to pay that money back. That would be the ideal outcome, but of course everyone is in the same boat.”
“What about a small-business loan?” Rosalind had mentioned that the city was going to offer low-interest loans to help businesses on the plaza retrofit their buildings with proper drainage for flooding. I started looking through a box labeled “Knives” for a chopping knife. Our chocolate truffles are relatively easy to make. I planned to melt dark chocolate with heavy cream. We would roll the truffles in chopped nuts and dust them in cocoa powder. The thought of nuts made me feel slightly light-headed. Maybe we should ditch the nuts and go for straight chocolate.
“The interest rate is extremely low and we would pay it back over the next twenty years.” Mom dug through a box of saucepans.
“That’s very doable.”
She was quiet for a moment and then handed me a large saucepan. “Yes, but you have to think seriously if that’s really what you want to do, Juliet. I don’t want you to take on a loan that traps you here.”
“Traps me?” I took the pan from her and placed it on the stove. “I don’t feel trapped. I want to be here. I’m choosing to be here.”
Mom’s smile was thin as she measured dark chocolate. “I know that, but I worry that you might feel differently months or even a year or two from now.”
“You mean because of Carlos?”
She shifted her head from side to side. “Yes, Carlos but also you. You’ve only been back for a little while. Ashland is a wonderful place to live and work, but you’ve had such adventures.”
I started to interrupt her. She put a finger in the air. “Let me finish. I know that you’re happy to be here now. I can see it in your face. You look lighter, happier. But that could change, and it’s okay if it does. I don’t want you to feel tied down.”
“I don’t feel tied down.”
She pursed her lips. I could tell that she was considering her words. “You’ve been through a lot, honey, and they always say that you shouldn’t make a major life decision when you’re dealing with grief.”
“I’m not grieving.” I lit the gas burner and took the chocolate that she had measured. We would melt the chocolate on low heat, slowly incorporating heavy cream and flavored extracts.
“I know that this is different than when your father died, but loss is loss.”
“Mom, come on, I’m fine.” I caught her eye. “Really.”
She looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead she squeezed my elbow and said, “Okay, but promise me that you’ll really think about it.”
“Promise.”
She smiled. “I guess I need to go dig out some butter and cream for our new chocolate offerings.”
I stirred the satiny chocolate with a wooden spoon. “That would be great.”
We worked on the fudge and truffles for the next few hours but kept the conversation light. Mom didn’t mention Carlos or expanding Torte again, but I kept replaying what she’d said. Was I grieving? I hadn’t ever thought of leaving him as a loss to be grieved, but maybe she was right. Mom had a way of knowing things about me that I didn’t know myself. I didn’t want to make a rash decision that I would regret, but I also had to make a decision before the ship sailed on getting financial help from the city.
As expected, throughout the early morning hours, a handful of customers knocked on the front door. Each time Mom or I would wipe chocolate from our hands and have to break the news that their Torte fix would have to wait for two more days. We encouraged everyone to come join us at the Chocolate Fest. Andy, Sterling, and Stephanie arrived in paint gear a little after nine. We praised them for their efforts and enlisted their help to finish our chocolate assembly line. I instructed Stephanie on how to cut the marble fudge into tiny squares. Mom had swirled white and dark chocolate together to create the fudge. The cooled fudge had a beautiful sheen and could have been mistaken for an expensive marble countertop.
The truffles turned out even better than I expected. We hand-rolled them into perfect one-inch balls and dusted them with cocoa powder, crystallized sugar, sprinkles, and gold sheen. They looked decadent and fit for a king. Once they had set we boxed them up and returned everything to its original place so that painting could continue.
“Leave the windows open,” I cautioned, as Mom and I headed for the Ashland Springs Hotel. “We’ll check in tonight, but if you finish before we’re done, lock the front door.”
Andy gave me a salute. “You got it, boss.”
Mom waved and added, “Be warned that customers will probably knock when they see you in here. You don’t have to answer, but if you do, let them know we have samples at the Chocolate Fest and that we’ll be back open on Monday.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. C.” Andy nudged Sterling. “You’ve got the dream team here. We’re totally all over it.”
“They really are a dream team,” I said to Mom as we walked toward the hotel. “I can’t believe how much they got done last night. Honestly, I never thought they would get all of the cabinets primed too. We’re actually ahead of schedule at the moment.”
Mom tapped on the cardboard box of fudge she was carrying. “Knock on wood or something. You might jinx us.”
“You’re not superstitious.”
“I am now. Think of everything that’s happened in the last few weeks.”
“Good point.” I couldn’t exactly blame her, especially as we entered the hotel.
Mom paused in front of the doors leading to the ballroom. “Are you okay, honey?”
I gave her my best brave face. “I’m good.”
She raised one brow. “I know you’re not. I’m not either, but let’s do this together, okay?”
“Okay.” How did I get so lucky to have a mother like her? I squared my shoulders, shifted the box of truffles in my arms, and braced myself.