Chapter Three
Bobbi
“Do you think we should make more croissants? Everyone who comes by seems to want them,” my apprentice Victor says.
Only four remain under the clear cover, even though we started baking more just a couple of weeks ago.
“They do seem to be flying off the shelves. So yeah, I guess so.” I smile.
He’s the only employee I have. He says he’s lucky to have met me, but I’m the fortunate one. He’s one of the hardest working and most honest people I know. I wouldn’t have been able to grow the business this much without him by my side.
His head is shaved smooth—says it’s cheaper to do it himself with a razor than see a barber—but given his thick black eyebrows, he’d probably have stunning hair if he let it grow out. And he has beautiful wide-set brown eyes that look at the world with earnestness and quiet pride.
Although the weather is warm, he’s in a long-sleeve shirt and slacks. I told him he could wear short-sleeve shirts, but he politely declined. He was sporting a black eye and busted lip and crouching under the awning of the bakery at five in the morning when I met him a year ago. I figured him for homeless or a runaway teen, and felt bad for him, especially since he was nothing but skin and bones. So I gave him a couple of Danishes from the day before that I’d saved for breakfast.
Instead of accepting them and disappearing, he asked me what he could do for payment because he wasn’t taking something he didn’t earn. So I told him he could take out the trash.
After that he kept coming by and I kept giving him the stuff from the day before for helping out with little chores. Two weeks later I just hired him outright and started to pay him enough money for a modest studio apartment and decent food to put some flesh on his bones. I had to when I inadvertently saw the cigarette burn scars on his forearms and realized he had nowhere safe to go. Everyone deserves a sanctuary.
The kid has his pride, so I’ve never let him know I noticed. We all have scars we’d rather hide from the world.
I check the time. It’s four, an hour before closing. I hand him a carefully packed box of cupcakes that I made while he was busy manning the cash register earlier this morning. I used pearlescent blue and white frosting—his favorite colors—and decorated them with modeling chocolate that I molded into a house, people and dogs. It’s my wish for him to one day find happiness and love with people who have his back. “Here.”
“What’s this for?”
“Happy nineteenth. Sorry, didn’t have the time to make a birthday cake for you, but there was that emergency custom engagement cake in the morning.”
His eyes widen, like he can’t believe anybody would bother. “How did you know?”
“You filled out the job application, remember?” It’s terrible that he has nobody to wish him a happy birthday. But then I didn’t either until I met TJ and his family. Mom always pretended birthdays didn’t matter, although she remembered Dad’s, and Dad was too busy doing important jobs for the government to remember anyone’s.
Noah wished you a happy birthday.
Yeah, and then bailed on me. Broke too many promises. I’m not going to include him among the special group of people I can count on.
Victor shakes his head. “Well…wow. Thanks.”
“I would’ve done the whole candle and song bit, but I didn’t want to force you into therapy. Good employees are hard to find.”
He grins. “This is fine.”
“You can take off an hour early. And here.” I shove a hundred-dollar bill into his hand. “Birthday bonus.”
“Oh, man.” He runs his free hand over his shaven head. “You already gave me a Thanksgiving bonus. Christmas one, too.”
“Those were for holidays, this is for your birthday. Just say thanks and enjoy the day.”
His eyes film over. It kills me how easily a little bit of kindness can overwhelm him. His parents have to be absolute shits. I wish them a fitting punishment of eternal diarrhea.
Tears will only embarrass him. Time to lighten the mood.
“You still have to come in on time on Monday, so don’t party too hard over the weekend.” The bakery is closed over the weekend because most of our business is from commuters in the area. And I do special orders on weekends—weddings and so on.
“Of course.” He laughs. “I’ll be here on time.”
I give him a hug. “Happy birthday. Hope all your wishes come true.”
He hugs me back hard. “They did when I met you. Thank you, Bobbi. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
