Flower Romance Series - Season 2

The Baker & The Bear #2

"Are you sure?"

Bree nodded. She understood Gigi's concern, but her decision had been made a while ago. She looked down at that piece of paper. They were supposed to hand them in tomorrow, but of course, the best friends had to let each other know first. Gigi pouted, making her cute little lips look like a pumped heart.

"You're not doing this..."

"To get Tom's attention? No, of course not." Bree shook her head, "I'm not that obsessed! But you know I really love patisserie. I might have been inspired by all the times I went to the bakery, but you know I really do."

"I know." Gigi smiled, "Your orange cake is the absolute best!"

Bree smiled back, a bit proud. She had gotten very good at baking all kinds of pastries, cakes, and delicacies. Gigi's favorites, mostly, but now, she had gotten good enough to confidently bring her creations to school and show them off to their classmates. As it turns out, there was no faster way to make friends than feeding two dozen empty stomachs! From the scary, oversized, and intimidated Bree, she had turned into everyone’s favorite baker Bree. Now, there wasn't a month where she wouldn't get at least one classmate's request to bake something on their birthday.

"I don't understand why we have to fill out something like this," Gigi sighed, glaring at her own form. "We're just fifteen! Who's supposed to know what they want at fifteen?"

"Well, I think I do." Bree chuckled.

"Lucky you," Gigi grunted.

Tired of looking at the paper, Gigi pushed it aside and laid down on the bed instead. Like always, she put her feet up against the wall, as if she was trying to stretch. Bree glanced at her thin, white, and perfect legs. Despite her best efforts, it was hard not to be jealous of Gigi's slender body. She was petite and skinny, with flawless white skin and long, gorgeous, dark hair like the ones in shampoo ads. Bree pretended not to be aware of all the eyes on her friend wherever they went. In fact, she wished she'd been able to turn invisible next to Gigi, but it wasn't so easy, not when she was a head taller than the tallest girls in her class and had a bigger body than all of the boys. Teenagehood wasn't easy on anybody, but these days, Brianna was starting to think it might have been hardest on werebear girls. If it wasn't for her cakes and all the hard work she'd put into being amicable, knowing when to smile, and how to stand not too close or too far from someone so as not to intimidate them, or make her voice a bit quieter, she would have probably still been friendless, except for Gigi. She couldn't call herself pretty, and it wasn't like she hadn't tried hard to convince herself. Every morning, her hair was a nightmare to detangle, and when she managed to, it just looked like an unfashionable mountain of curls. She had tried to grow it in hopes of being as feminine as Gigi, but it just made her look like she was growing a sheep on her head. Her face was round and chubby, and her features too small, except for her eyebrows. She had large hands; great for baking cakes, but ridiculous for any attempt at trying those fake nails the other girls were obsessed about. She was just hoping for one of two things: either she'd grow to like her body, or she'd grow to have a personality that'd make others forget about it. She had thrown away all hopes of miraculously becoming sexier; after all, her big sisters hadn't woken up and suddenly became feminine one day. They were both unapologetic tomboys, and happy to use their large bodies to work with their dad; her entire family was in woodwork. Werebears had always been ideally fit for carpentry and logging. Bree would be the first in her family to ignore the calling of the wood and work in a completely different field.

"Is your dad okay with it?" Gigi asked, who had apparently thought the same thing.

"Totally." Bree nodded, "He already has four of my siblings working with him, so I can do what I want... I think he was a bit disappointed that I wouldn't be working with him, but he laughed and told me to let him know when I chose a career path. I haven't told him I chose to become a patissiere yet."

"He'll probably love it! He's one of the baker's biggest clients... Lucky you for being the youngest. I'm the oldest, so I have to set an example."

"Your mom and dad wouldn't force you to do anything, would they?" Bree asked, suddenly worried.

"Of course not. But when I said I wanted to work with Mom, she asked me if I really didn't want my own career. I think she hopes I'll become an office worker or a lawyer or something. Grandma said I could intern at her company."

"Sometimes I forget you come from a wealthy family."

"My grandma is the wealthy one. Except for Christmas where she gets to spoil us, Mom is pretty strict on her not even giving us a penny... although she does manage to give me a bill once in a while."

The two girls chuckled. Brianna knew that, of course; they'd often used Gigi's Grandma's pocket money to buy themselves some treats at the bakery after class. She sighed, thinking about Tom again. Like Gigi, she laid down on the bed. It was Gigi's bed, so it was barely big enough to hold both of them, but Gigi immediately placed her head on her belly, her legs still up. After a little while, the giggly atmosphere died, a serious silence filling the cozy bedroom.

"... Have you told Tom?"

"No." Bree sighed, "I wanted to tell you first."

"Glad I still come first." Gigi chuckled.

Bree didn't need to answer that. Of course Gigi always came first. There was comfort in knowing that no matter what happened, with Tom or with their classmates, Gigi would always be on her side. And Bree would be on Gigi's. That was just the way it was. The girls kept chatting, discussing Gigi's possible career paths. While Bree was confident, Gigi was still unsure and far from Bree's resolve.

After a while, a notification pinged from Bree's phone.

"Dad asked me to bring three baguettes home for tonight, he's making soup. Are you coming?"

"No thanks, I'm going to look up career paths, maybe I'll get inspired... And Dad's coming home tonight, so probably chicken and pizza night! Say hi to your family for me."

"I will," said Bree, getting up already. "Same to you. And enjoy the pizza for me. Dad's soups are so unpredictable at times..."

She gathered her things while Gigi chuckled, and the two friends parted ways with the light-hearted familiarity of people who see each other every day.

It was cold and dark outside, but Bree's werebear body wasn't sensitive to the cold, and she had never been intimidated to walk home alone. Her frame was enough to ensure her safety, as she was already as big as most adults, if not bigger. Gigi's house was in the middle of the city, just a few streets away from the bakery. The trip would be longer to get back to the outskirts of the city, where her family lived in a big house at the edge of the forest. Bree confidently walked into the bakery full of customers grabbing a baguette or dessert for dinner. She queued patiently, tempted to grab herself something that would sustain her for the trip home before having her father’s more-often-than-not horrid soup. While she waited, she couldn't help but glance at the father and son duo, busy taking one order after another. Most customers wouldn't have felt anything from the baker's impeccable smile and Tom hurriedly walking in and out of their kitchen, but Bree could feel that faint tension in the air between them. Tom barely glanced at customers or greeted them, and his movements were not as careful as usual. He almost threw the freshly baked bread in their baskets, and he didn't even glance once in his dad's direction. The sounds from the kitchen were louder than usual too. Bree glanced behind her; she was the last in line. The bakery was near closing time, and no more customers would be coming in so late in this cold. She waited, patiently, all thoughts of buying herself a treat eclipsed by the silent drama she was witnessing. Luckily, most customers were oblivious, blinded by the baker's smile, as warm as the freshly baked bread. In fact, by the time it was her turn, they'd run out of baguettes. Seeing her, the baker greeted her with a warm but exhausted smile.

"Evening, Bree. Sorry, love, but we've run out of baguettes tonight."

"It's alright. Can I get some pain de campagne and pain aux olives instead? I'll take two of each."

"You're a pie." The baker smiled, moving to grab her order, "You know what? I'll throw in one of your favorite strawberry tarts, how about that?"

"Thanks." Bree smiled.

Her eyes had gone towards the kitchen, where Tom had disappeared just seconds before it was her turn. Of course, his father noticed. He glanced in the same direction and sighed.

"Hey, Tom! Come say hi!"

"N-no, it's not necessary." Bree tried to stop him, feeling the storm coming.

Tom walked in and couldn't hide a faint glare towards his dad before nodding at Bree. A brief, cold greeting where he didn't even properly look at her. Bree felt her heart sink a little. Love was painful more often than not... but tonight, it was even worse.

"Hi," he mumbled, putting his hands on his side of the counter with a sour expression.

"Hi, Tom," she said back, dejected.

"Oh, come on," his father said, dropping his smile. "You could at least be friendly to our customer, could you not?"

"Your customer," Tom retorted. "Bye, Bree."

After that, he turned around and left, disappearing into the kitchen. Bree was upset, but she felt it must have been worse for the baker, from his saddened expression. He turned back to her, trying to gather up a smile.

"Sorry," he shrugged, "the boy's been a bit difficult lately. Teenagehood, hey?"

But Tom was already over twenty, and not a teenager anymore. Bree bit her lip, wondering if it was alright for her to ask.

"... Is everything alright?" she asked, showing her concern.

Her gentle question seemed to make the baker relax a bit. He turned to her and rubbed his nose with his forearm before patting his hands on his apron.

"You know how boys are. One minute they dream of taking over Daddy's business, and then a girl comes along... and gets in their head to become some office worker. Nothing wrong with being an office worker, it's just... you know."

Bree's heart broke three times. First, because Tom had a girlfriend, second, because she couldn't imagine him in a tight suit behind a desk filled with paperwork, and third, for his dad. She could tell he was more upset than he let on, and she immediately felt resentment towards whatever girl had put this nonsense in Tom's head.

"Do you want me to talk to him?" she suggested.

"Oh, darling... I don't want you to get hurt."

There was a lot of context in that sentence. The baker, a widower, knew exactly what real love, even one-sided, looked like. Perhaps he'd always known about Bree's feelings, far less oblivious than his son. He liked Bree a lot, enough to silently support a little girl's awkward and fragile first crush. But he also knew his son better than anybody else, and he didn't want Bree to suffer too. However, Bree's youthful enthusiasm was brave and blind to such concerns. She smiled, and confidently walked behind the counter as if she belonged there; and in her heart, she felt she did.

Leaving the baker's sigh behind her, she walked into the kitchen, discovering the strange familiarity of the silver counters, the large mixers, the ovens, the wood-top work table, the sheet pan racks, and the smell of fresh dough and flour filling the air. It was as if she knew what she'd find here before she had walked in. Except for Tom, visibly busy moving large trays of dough into a refrigeration unit.

"Tom?" she called.

"Bree?" he exclaimed, surprised.

He even forgot to be sullen for a moment, staring at her dumbfounded. She smiled, finding him much cuter than when he was sulking.

"What are you doing here?"

"I just came to talk." She smiled, trying to be friendly.

His expression sank immediately back to a grimace.

"My father sent you? Seriously?"

"No, I was just—"

"Go home, Bree. I'm sorry, but this isn't any of your business."

"I'm just worried," she retorted, feeling her confidence plummet.

"Well, you don't have to. It's nice of you, but I know what I'm doing, and I don't really get why you think you can talk me out of it or anything."

"You're doing this because of a girl?" She frowned, growing more upset.

Tom rolled his eyes, and she didn't like his expression when he acted like that, arrogant and self-centered.

"Listen, I know what my dad wants, but it's my future and I get to decide it."

"You've always wanted to take over your dad's bakery!" she protested. "Ever since we were kids, you—"

"When I was a kid, I did what I was shown," he cut her off. "And you're way too young to understand that, Bree. You're what, probably going to be a lumberjack too? Or a carpenter? It might be an easy choice for a werebear, but I'm human and there are a billion things I can do, so I don't need to just follow my father's footsteps, alright?"

She didn't answer. She could have retorted that he was acting like a jerk, dismissing his dad's feelings and hers like that. She could have told him he was wrong, that werebears could be more too and that she wanted to be a patissiere, but the words stayed in her throat, with a big pain.

"You should go home, Bree. As I said, this isn't any of your business. You're a nice girl, but this is a family issue, and if anyone's going to talk me out of it, it won't be one of his customers."

"One of his customers?" she repeated, astounded. "That's it? You've known me for ten years, seen me almost every day, and that's all? I'm just another customer?"

He sighed.

"I didn't mean to make it sound like that. Sure, you're a bit more than an acquaintance, but we're not that close for you to come and tell me what I should be doing with my life. We're not even actual friends, Bree. You're a nice girl, but please, stay out of this. Just take your order and go home."

That was the last stab. Bree stayed there for a couple of seconds, staggering a bit, feeling more hurt than she'd ever been before. She saw in his expression that he realized he'd hurt her, but she turned around before he could try and do anything about it. It was too late, and anything else would just make her feel more pathetic. She walked back into the bakery, grabbing her order from the baker's hands, his words falling on deaf ears. She left a bill on the counter and didn't wait for the change before walking out of the bakery. She felt surprisingly calm, walking back, her mind just numb.

Then, it hit her. She stopped at a crosswalk, and just as her feet stopped moving, the pain washed over her, like a hole in her heart opened wide. She started sobbing. She didn't know how to cry prettily like Gigi, she could only wail pitifully and feel the big tears and snot running down her puffy, red face. She didn't try to repress it. There was nobody around to care, and she was long past feeling ashamed. She felt like her tiny, shy love had just been trampled all over. She felt like an i***t, an i***t who'd been in love for ten years without realizing how pathetic and insignificant she was. It just hurt. It hurt as she'd never hurt before, because she'd never been brokenhearted.

She walked into her house, dropped the bread on the table, and ignored her family's concerned expressions, running up to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her. Just like in the movies, she only wanted to curl up on her bed and cry. A faint knock on her door came just seconds later.

"Bree Baby? I just want to be sure you're okay, honey. You're not hurt? … Do you want me to text Gigi?"

She was not okay. She was hurt, and she didn't want anybody to text anyone. For a while, she just needed to be alone with her pain, and let the shame pass before she could confide in anyone. Even Gigi.