“I don’t sell it in the store—I only make it for myself.”
“Why don’t you sell it?”
“Because people around here aren’t interested in buying expensive crispbread when they can buy Wasa instead.”
“I think you’re misjudging the residents of Västervik. From the little I’ve seen of this town, people seem to enjoy the good things in life—and are prepared to spend money on them. I think you could sell this.”
“Sell crispbread,” she said calmly.
“Yes, and it’s made from your sourdough, so it feels rustic, authentic. That’s what you’re after, isn’t it?”
She didn’t say anything, but she nodded hesitantly.
“I want you to try something. Wait there.” He went over to the bench where he’d left his backpack and took out a jar of marmalade that he’d bought at a specialty shop back in Stockholm. He broke off another piece of crispbread, added a slice of ordinary cheese, then someof the marmalade. Without thinking, he brought the crispbread to her mouth. She was so surprised she took a bite. His fingers brushed her lips, and a strange tingling sensation shot all the way up his arm. He hadn’t considered the intimate sensuality of what he was doing. Nora, however, seemed unmoved. She munched away, then looked at him.
“Delicious.”
“Isn’t it?” He nodded, took a bite for himself. The crispbread’s mild but well-rounded flavor was the perfect pairing for the bittersweet marmalade and the savory creaminess of the cheese.
He could feel Ted’s skeptical gaze, and he heard Don clear his throat. No doubt Ted was ready to shoutcutat any second. He had to change course—and fast.
“I really think the locals would love this,” he said with conviction. “They could buy it to add a touch of luxury to their weekend breakfast, or a Friday night cheese platter, or to give as a gift with a good jar of marmalade. Better than this tough, uninspiring object.” He held up a roll.
“But our rolls . . .”
“Are uninspiring. At least ... these rolls are uninspiring. If you made them from your sourdough, I’m pretty sure they would be something else.” He leaned back against the table, folded his arms. “What do you want your customers to think of your patisserie?”
“Authentic and classic.”
“Authentic. And would you say that rolls made from mass-produced flour are authentic?” He almost thought he heard Ted heave a sigh of relief now that he was back on track.
Nora didn’t answer.
“How about trying something more specialized? Flour made from different grains, for example? You could try baking with flour produced by local farmers—I think that could work.”
“Cut—let’s move on,” Ted said.
Henrik thought the scene had gone well, but judging by Don’s grim expression, he knew it was a long way from what TV24 wanted.
14
They were about to start interviewing Nora when they were interrupted by Don, who had followed them into the bakery. Nora got a pit in her stomach whenever she saw him. She had noticed that some of the others—Elnaz and Henrik in particular—didn’t seem to enjoy his presence much either.
He inspected her face, and then he turned away and yelled, “Sara, get in here!”
Nora sighed. What now?
Sara came in, and Don stepped aside.
“Can we do something about the wrinkles on her forehead?”
Nora blinked. Was this a joke?
Sara hurried off and immediately returned with powder and a brush, which she quickly swept across Nora’s forehead. Don scrutinized Nora’s face again. “I suppose that’s the best we can hope for.” He met her gaze. “I don’t suppose you’ve considered fillers?” He narrowed his eyes, still studying her.
Nora couldn’t speak.
“Enough, Don,” Sara snapped.
