Rachel
I’m the only worker at theAlpine Peaklodge in Crescent Ridge that wasn’t born on this mountain. Hailing from Denver, the small Colorado town seemed like the perfect place to gain experience after culinary school. They needed a pastry chef, and I needed a job.
The holiday season is in full swing, and I’ve baked enough pies, cookies, and muffins to feed the guests through Christmas. I’m cleaning up my section of the kitchen, wiping down the countertops, and putting away the rolling racks when Yesenia finds me.
She’s an older woman with a flawless shiny bun of silver hair and enough lines on her face to show she’s living a full life. She’s also my boss, and best friends with Hayley, the owner of the lodge.
“Rach, you shouldn’t be here this late!” she scolds. “The others left ages ago!”
“Special request from the Murphy party,” I tell her. “Bride wanted a pecan pie for her wedding instead of a cake.”
“You can’t feed two hundred people with a single pie,” she mutters. “How many did you have to bake?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Ouch.”
“But I made an even thirty so the staff and other guests can have some too.”
“You’re an angel, Rach. An absolute angel.”
Her eyes drift over the spotless kitchen, and then she’s turning back to me, pleased to find everything in order.
“You could have your own bakery,” she tells me. It might seem odd for a boss to encourage her employee to quit but I was upfront about my dream of owning my own shop when she hired me. It’s the reason I went to culinary school and the reason I moved up to this remote mountain town.Sugar Crossingis famous in Denver, and I drove up here seeking a job at the family-owned bakery.
They didn’t need my help, but the newly opened lodge did. Their pastry chef backed out a week from the grand opening two months ago and I was available.
“Crescent Ridge already has one,” I remind her. “This town isn’t big enough for two.”
She nods, her smile melting into a frown. I’m right and she knows it.Sugar Crossingis amazing. Sam Carmichael makes the best bear claws in the state.
“I don’t suppose you’ll stay in town forever then,” she says, her tone sad.
Something about disappointing the other woman has me revealing a secret I’ve barely been able to admit to myself.
“I want to,” I confess.
A sharp gleam enters her eye, and I feel like a fish she’s caught on a hook.
“It wouldn’t have to be a bakery,” she says slowly. “It could be a little café on the corner of Main.”
“I was thinking about opening one up. A place where the pie is famous and the muffins are lighter than air.”
“You’ll need servers,” she mutters to herself.
I agree, thinking about the startup cost I’ve been saving for the last three years, which has just tripled. I replaced my car’s alternator last week and it nearly wiped my savings account clean.
“I need an investor.”
“I know just the man.”
Eyeing her skeptically I wait for her to pitch her idea.
“Dominic is the perfect man for you.”
“Yesenia!”
“For your cafe!” she replies. “He can be your investor!”
