Chapter Twelve
I caught two mice in the coming weeks and released them both by the river. I didn’t see another afterward, so I deemed the kitchen safe for baking and got busy. Mom had an arsenal of fabulous French recipes, and I tried them all. Now that I knew why she favored all things French, I wished I could know the man who inspired her as well. Unfortunately, every attempt I made to find him came up short.
Alicia and Ilona helped with the weekly yard sale while I worked on cookie orders Saturday morning. Nearly a month had passed since my big move, and we’d finally cleared the house of clutter. Unfortunately, a colony of bats in the attic kept me living in the trailer. Apparently, bats were a protected species and required a properly trained pest evacuator to remove and relocate them. Currently all my baking money went to the cause.
I snuck into my old house to bake large orders, where the newer double ovens saved precious time. I had the entry and exit process down to a science, and I liked the adrenaline rush more than I should.
Business boomed with the photos I shared regularly to social media and the generous number of contact cards included with every order. Summer break was in full swing, and it seemed everyone and their sister had a child’s birthday party, wedding, or baby shower in need of pastries. Blessedly, I was fast becoming the go-to source, and I was slowly paying off Mom’s bills without using a dime of money from mymarital accounts. In fact, I tried not to think of my old life more than absolutely necessary.
The temporary hearing came and went without issue, costing me several nights’ sleep for no good reason. The event itself was underwhelming, and I happily put it behind me. Another milestone completed on my path in the right direction.
Robert hadn’t spoken to me or sent a single text message since the day I walked out, and he avoided eye contact at court. Alicia thought it was a miracle. I took it as a sign he was up to something, and I was afraid to guess what that might be.
The back screen door creaked open and slapped shut a moment before Alicia appeared. “Lunchtime,” she said, marching to the fridge. She collected two bottles of water, then leaned against the appliance looking sweaty and exhausted. “I’m starving. Let’s order delivery.”
“Deal,” I said. “Need a sugar pick-me-up?” I lifted a small pastry from the parchment paper before me and passed it her way.
“Good lord in heaven. Yes.” She popped the mini sweet into her mouth immediately. A moment later, an appreciative moan fell from her lips.
Pride sizzled through me, drawing a smile on my face. “I hope Dr. Ford’s baby shower guests will agree,” I said. “She insisted on providing all the desserts as a way to show her new mother-in-law that she is equally domestic. As if running a successful private medical practice wasn’t enough to impress her.”
Alicia leaned against the counter, eyeballing the tidy rows of circular delights. “There will always be someone determined to think we aren’t enough.”
I passed her another treat. “Fact.”
“I think as long as we know we’re enough, who cares about the naysayers? They’re obviously miserable. Happy people don’t shit on other humans.” She shoved the second treat into her mouth and let her eyelids flutter. “These are actually magical. What are they? When can I have more?”
“You are currently enjoying mini peach-and-berry croustades. I found the recipe in one of Mom’s books. In the fall I’ll make these with apples, orange blossom water, and cinnamon.”
“Croustades are Danishes?” she guessed.
“Croustades get their names from the crusts,” I said. “From what I’ve learned, they can be made from flaky or puff pastry like these, or from bread, potato, rice, or something else that’s escaping me.” I searched my brain. “Semolina, maybe.” I hadn’t spent any time looking into the savory versions. My sweet tooth demanded I make everything with sugar. “You can have more whenever you want. I think I owe you my perpetual servitude.”
Alicia sucked a glob of filling from her thumb. “Excellent. How many orders have you filled this week?”
“Four, and I’m almost out of ingredients.”
Hard to believe how quickly Mom’s house went from practically uninhabitable to a place I felt comfortable baking. And as it turned out, I accomplished more in a single day, without the pressure of living with my bully, than I ever fathomed possible.
“I might have to raise my prices soon,” I said. “I’m not clearing enough to make these more involved orders worthwhile. Basic cakes and cupcakes are one thing, but the specialized pastry doughs and fruits needed for the fancier stuff is killing my profits.” I cringed at the thought of potential repercussions. “I like the harder recipes, so I don’t want to take them off the table, but I also don’t want to lose business if higher costs turn customers away.”
“People know they get what they pay for,” Alicia said. “Don’t underestimate that. Plus, you provide a double service. Fabulous desserts and anonymity.”
I smiled. “I’ll update the website tonight.”
“Attagirl. Now, what’s for lunch?”
We ordered delivery, then arranged a picnic on the front lawn beneath a shade tree. We noshed and chatted as the occasional yard-sale shopper came and went.
Ilona wore a Velcro sun visor around her pixie-cut hair and a fanny pack from the early 1980s on her narrow waist. This was the last of the scheduled sales. Whatever didn’t sell by closing would go to charity.
Ilona joined us, popped a grape into her mouth, and looked pensively in my direction. “Trailer door was open again this morning. I didn’t see Raisin inside, so I shut it.”
I rolled my eyes. “I can’t keep it closed unless I lock it from the inside. I think the latch is busted.”
Alicia raised her brows. “When do you move into the house?”
“Hopefully later this week, as long as the certified bat evacuation experts show up and get the job done as scheduled tomorrow.”
