We barely get time to bask in the afterglow before a loud banging comes from the front door.
Panic sets in, our eyes widening as we scramble out of bed.
“Oh, no… It seems I have left the baby in the car. I’ll be right back.” I hear Spencer yell from the living room.
“I swear to god, Spencer, if you left her outside in that car by herself,” I yell back.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Finn is in the car with her. Now clean up and put some clothes on.”
I button my jeans as Jasper throws a T-shirt in my direction. I hold up his leather pants. “How do we get them back on?”
“A whole lot of shimmying,” he says with a wiggle of his hips.
I let out a strangled groan, “Jasper…”
“Go take care of Baby Spy, I’ve got it.”
I’msittingatmykitchen table, pen and paper in hand. I know everyone uses their phones for notes, but when planning something important, I need the physical act of writing to get my thoughts in order.
I sneak a glance at Mazie, sound asleep in her bouncy chair.
I also know any distraction right now might be helpful to stop me from overthinking what happened between Jasper and me the other night.
When Spencer came back with Mazie, I needed to give her a bath and get her ready for bed. Everything was a jumbled mess of noise and commotion. Jasper finally headed home, needing some peace and quiet. Not that I blame him one bit. But now it’s been a couple of days and we still haven’t talked.
After her vacation, Ms. Wilson, the local social worker, was back. We spoke yesterday morning, and she started looking into what we could do about placing Mazie in Spencer’s and Finn’s care. She mentioned needing to review their documents, but she might be able to grant them emergency protective custody.
The lady works quickly. She called first thing this morning, saying that Spencer and Finn were approved for temporary custody, and could pick up Mazie anytime.
I’m going to miss the little peanut. She was such a good baby. Sure, she had a couple of two a.m. breakdowns, but for the most part, she was a chill baby.
They say wait until the teething starts, but I’m sending up a prayer for Spencer and Finn, hoping they won’t suffer too much. But just like everything else they do, I’m sure they’ll excel.
As I wait for them to get here, I thought it was time to set this whole baking idea into motion. First, I need to figure out what items I want to bake. Do I want to dive into specialty cakes for weddings and birthdays, or do I want a classic bakery with morning breakfast items and fun and funky desserts and pies?
I’m worried that if I were to go the specialty cakes route, it would eat up all my time, and to be honest, I’m not the best cake decorator.
Now cupcakes Icouldmake, maybe with some small standard birthday cakes, and maybe even some pre-made pies ready to sell with specialty bars.
In the mornings, I could sell a handful of donuts and croissants. I could even do some small breakfast sandwiches.
My brain keeps churning, ideas swirling until I have a well-organized menu list.
Now here’s the big question:where?
I need to scan the local paper and see if there’re any available locations I could turn into a bakery. In the meantime, I could bake things at home and sell them to friends and family.
I pull out my grandfather’s cookbook, which has some of my grandmother’s old handwritten recipes. She used to make a pecan pie that was to die for.
There’s a soft knock on the door. Spencer immediately pokes his head in. Patience is a virtue that is seemingly unknown around here. Heck, I’m surprised he even knocked.
“Is she asleep?” he asks, tiptoeing into the living room. “She should be awake soon.”
Finn comes through the door, carrying a new car seat. “We picked up a few things and decided a new car seat was a good idea,” he says, lifting it up to show me.
“That was smart. Who knows how safe the one we found her in is?”
“What’s this?” Spencer says, thumbing through my stack of papers on the kitchen island.
