Nora suppressed a worried sigh. The fact that her best friend was a police officer and therefore risked her life as part of her job was almost more than she could bear. She scattered a handful of flour across the table as Bea turned and left.
Nora went back to the cool room to fetch a piece of the cold-proofed dough made from the century-old sourdough starter that her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother had nurtured and cared for all these years. It was one of Nymans’ claims to fame. She dumped the dough out on the table, sending the flour swirling. She ran her floury hands through her hair with a sigh, and glanced up at the clock: five to five. Time to open up.
She employed a full-time baker, but this was Renée’s day off, which meant that Nora arrived at four, worked in the patisserie until five, then opened the café. She did some baking and prepped for the day while serving customers until eight, when one of the part-time workers arrived. After that Nora concentrated on making cakes and tarts until midday, when she took a break for lunch. At three she took over in the café until closing time. She knew this approach was unsustainable. She needed two people to work in the café, plus another full-time baker if she was going to stay open for as long as she wanted to, while maintaining the high quality of everything she made.
It hadn’t always been like this. She hadn’t had to cut down on staff until a couple of years ago, but since then the pressure had beenrelentless. She sometimes wondered why she bothered, given that some of her customers had deserted her anyway.
Soon the construction workers would be in for breakfast. She hurried into the café with the rolls, switched on the cash register, unlocked the door, and put out the sign: COFFEE & CHEESE ROLL25KRONOR. She hadn’t changed the price since her grandmother’s day, and Nora liked that. It was still dark outside, and the slight chill of early winter made the morning air feel damp. She shivered. Tiny crystal-like snowflakes drifted down and landed on her bare arms.
She went back into the bakery and carried on kneading the sourdough. She would hear the bell ring if anyone came into the café. She shaped the dough into three loaves, took the tray of baked loaves out of the oven, and slid the new ones in. She couldn’t help thinking about what Bea had said. Was this her only choice? Was she going to have to sell out by providing prime-time entertainment in order to save the shop? Bea was right when she said that Nora couldn’t go on like this for much longer.
She took her phone out of her apron pocket and searched for clips fromLet’s Get Baking. What a stupid name for a show. It aired in the fall, and this year’s season had just wrapped up. Each episode followed a baker guided by Henrik. Each year there was a Christmas special made up of four episodes in which the viewer saw Henrik making over one business in the run-up to Christmas.
She chose a clip that began with Henrik Eklund frowning as he explained to a bakery owner how you can tell when your dough has finished proofing and is sufficiently elastic. As if a baker wouldn’t know that! However, the poor baker in the clip nodded, eyebrows raised just a fraction, as if this were all new to him. She realized that everything was controlled by a director, of course. This was exactly what Nora didn’t want to do: play dumb on TV. In fact, she didn’t want to be on TV at all.
Then she searched forLet’s Get Baking—Christmas Special. Instead she foundChristmas with the Eklunds. The famous family, headed byHenrik’s father, Hasse Eklund, was celebrating Christmas at a magnificent mansion. Viewers were able to watch the family’s Christmas preparations. Henrik, his father, and his brother baked wort bread and saffron-flavored Lucia buns while reminiscing about times gone by. “I never have such good conversations as when I’m kneading dough,” Henrik said as he worked on a golden-yellow dough. Then he made Christmas candy and his stepmother, Anita, prepared the ham, while children—presumably his nephews and nieces—ran around the house. One scene showed Henrik and Anita bickering about the best glaze for the ham over a bottle of ruby-red wine. Two laughing children hurtled into the kitchen, and Henrik gave them a big hug and ruffled one tot’s hair. His sister appeared and took the red-cheeked little boy. Then the whole family gathered in front of the fire next to a table groaning with Christmas treats. A tall Christmas tree adorned with fairy lights towered by the window, a huge pile of presents beneath it. Red baubles shimmered in the glow of the fire.
Nora felt a stab in her heart. Christmas had always been her favorite holiday. She and her family had also enjoyed their well-established traditions, but now there was only Nora left. Her loneliness became more acute during the festive season, but she had continued to celebrate just as she had when her parents were alive. It was hard to believe that it had been eight years since her mom passed. And her dad had been gone for seventeen years. An eternity.
At the end of the trailer, there was an extra unedited scene where the family was sharing a box of Aladdin chocolates. Everyone laughed when Henrik’s stepmother said that it was okay to take from the bottom layer. She felt another pang of envy. Henrik Eklund had everything. Absolutely everything. A career as a baker, a big, wonderful family. Success. No financial worries.
She opened the email that Bea had forwarded. It was from the producer, explaining that they wanted to take a look around the patisserie and discuss the logistics. The producer emphasized how important it was for Henrik to meet the person he would be working with, theunderlying message being how kind it was of the celebrity baker to take the time to engage with non-TV personalities.
The bell interrupted her train of thought, and she put down her phone in order to greet the first customer of the day. Ingemar Larsson, his copy of that morning’sDagens Nyhetertucked under his arm, had been a regular since Grandma’s day.
“Morning, Nora. Coffee and a cheese roll, please.”
“You’re up early, Ingemar.”
“Yes—I woke at four o’clock and couldn’t get back to sleep.”
Nora picked out a roll with extra butter, made especially for Ingemar.
He took out his wallet and peered inside. “Sorry—can you put it on my tab?”
“No problem.” She wrotetwenty-five kronoron the pad under Ingemar’s name. She was grateful for her regulars like Ingemar, but she needed more customers buying her more expensive items if the business was going to survive. Her café customers were drifting away to other establishments, and people had opted for the convenience of buying their cakes for graduations and birthday celebrations at the supermarket. All of which was a big blow to Nymans’ bottom line.
Two construction workers arrived and ordered cheese rolls and coffees. As they walked away with their trays, there was a tap on the glass door. She glanced over and saw Jonathan from the wholesaler’s. Or the Veg Guy, as she and her friends called him. She gave him a nod, then went into the bakery to open the back door for him.
She popped into the bathroom for a quick glance in the mirror, adjusted her ponytail, and pinched her cheeks to give them a little color. Why hadn’t she put on any makeup today? Even though she wasn’t interested, she didn’t want to look like a wreck.
Jonathan ran a wholesale business with his father, and they took turns delivering the produce. Nora hadn’t expected to see him today; he’d brought the last consignment. Maybe he was making an extra visit to see her? It had been a couple of months since they’d gone hometogether after an evening at Harry’s. He’d texted her a few times afterward, but Nora had responded evasively.
She opened the door and smiled at him, then helped him to carry in the order—boxes of tomatoes, lettuce, cucumber, and bell peppers; crates of milk, yeast, butter, whipping cream, and cheese.
“Thanks,” she said as she placed the last crate of sour cream and yogurt on the table. Jonathan stood there shifting from one foot to the other; he looked as if he were searching for something to say. She hoped he wasn’t going to ask if they could see each other again—hooking up with a guy more than once wasn’t really her thing.
She was about to say goodbye when he cleared his throat. “It’s ... I take care of the company finances, and I just wanted to mention that our last two invoices haven’t been paid.”
Nora felt the blood rush to her cheeks.
Jonathan cleared his throat once again. “I think you’ve had a reminder?”
“Oh—yes. Of course.” Nora hesitated for a few seconds. “Yes. I apologize—I’ll make sure it’s dealt with. Obviously.”
Jonathan gave a brief nod and began to back away. “Listen, if you feel like meeting up sometime ...”
“I’ll be in touch, thanks.” She closed the door behind him. Jesus, she definitely couldn’t see him again.
