Chapter 3
1116 Words
3
"The buns!"
The cry of anguish came from a stout, middle-aged man. He wore a hairnet over his bald head and an apron over the front of his large belly. His finger pointed at a stack of ovens against the wall, and one of them exuded a clear trail of black smoke.
A young woman of twenty-five rushed to the rescue. Her face was plain, but not ugly, and her long, dirty-blond hair was tucked precariously into the all-too-small hairnet. A few loose hairs edged her smooth face, and her brown, bright eyes finished off her matching look. She, too, wore a white apron. She opened the door and was met with a face-full of smoke.
"Shut off the oven!" the man yelled.
The young woman leapt at the button and pressed it. The machine clicked off, but the smoke continued to float out the open door. The man pushed her to the side and slammed the door shut. He slumped his back against the wall beside the oven and wiped his brow before he turned his attention to his companion. The young woman cringed beneath his disapproving frown.
"What did I tell you about this oven, Elizabeth?" he asked her.
She shrank beneath his ire and her voice came out a tad squeaky. "To always watch it?"
"And what didn't you do?"
"Always watch it?"
"And what are you going to do now?"
Her shoulders fell and she hung her head. "Hang up my apron and go home."
The gruff man pursed his lips and sighed. He straightened and set a large, heavy hand on her shoulder. She dared to look up into his stern face.
"When the going gets tough you never give up, you hear?" he told her.
She looked past him at the oven. The interior was blackened beyond compare. Her shoulders slumped. "But all those buns. . ." she reminded him.
"We can make more tomorrow, but only if you pay attention," he scolded her. A faint ghost of a smile slipped onto his lips. "Otherwise I'll have to dock it off your perk pay."
She winced. "So no more dozen donuts a week?"
He nodded. "For a month."
Elizabeth sighed, but gave a nod. "I understand, and I'm really sorry, Mr. Baxter. I just don't know how I forgot-"
"It's because your heart wasn't into it," he told her.
Mr. Baxter dropped his hand and walked around her to the desk at the front wall of the kitchen. Elizabeth remained near the far right wall beside the triple stack of ovens. On either side of the ovens were plain walls with a few silver trays stacked on the shelves of tall wheeled carts. To the left of the wall of carts was the back of the small store with an exit door and a long counter with a large sink. The wall that Baxter approached was also surrounded by a long counter and several cabinets filled with ingredients for the confectionery ingredients. The center of the bakery held a large island with store under the counter top for pots and pans. Those that couldn't fit or were used nearly constantly hung above the island for easy access.
The front of the store lay beyond the front wall and through the wide doorway. The small shop was covered wall-to-wall in angled trays of white paper covered in the remains of that day's unsold donuts, cakes, cookies, breads, and other assorted pastries. There weren't many left, and tomorrow they would all be priced down and sold within minutes. Baxter's Bakery had a solid customer base because of its solid baking, so there were very few days where Mr. Baxter had to gift out food to the local shelters.
Mr. Baxter untied his apron and tossed the cloth over the desk before he turned to Elizabeth. He folded his arms over his ample chest and studied her downcast face. "So why did you forget?"
She turned her face away and shrugged. "I don't know. I guess my mind was on other things."
He chuckled. "That wouldn't be about a man, would it?"
She snorted and shook her head. "No worries about that. The only man who's ever been in my life is my dad."
"And he was a good man," Baxter added before he leaned his rear against the desk and set his large hands on the top behind him. "But perhaps that's the problem. Here you are cooped up in a bakery all day with an old man like me. You need to get out and meet more people."
Elizabeth held up a hand. "I can do-"
"-without a man," Baxter finished for her. "You keep saying that, but I see you leave here night after night with no one to meet you and I don't like it." He wagged his finger at her. "You don't like it much, either. I can see it in your eyes."
Elizabeth removed her apron and hairnet, and folded the items over one arm. "Well, tonight you don't have to worry about that because I've got someone waiting for me."
He arched an eyebrow. "Who?"
She hung her uniform on a hook nailed into the dividing wall between the bakery and shop, and shrugged. "Una."
He snorted. "Una is not a man." He paused and stroked his chins. A mischievous smile curled the corners of his lips. "Though I sometimes wonder. She is a little odd."
Elizabeth laughed and pulled down his arm. "Odd and not a man, yes, but not a bad roommate, as far as roommates go."
He pursed his lips and shook his head. "I still wish it was a man you were meeting."
She sighed and patted him on the shoulder. "Maybe someday, but this Friday night is not a day, and I need to get home and wash the smell of my failure out of my clothes and hair. Una gets off early tonight and that's why she's going to meet me." She leaned forward and pecked a platonic kiss on the older gentleman's cheek. "Goodnight, Mr. Baxter, and thanks for putting up with me." She strode past him towards the front door.
Mr. Baxter shook himself from the allure of the gentle kiss, spun around to frown at her retreating back. "Don't make me put your name in a husband-wanted ad!"
She paused at the door, flipped the sign so it read 'Closed,' and smiled at him. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Baxter."
She stepped out of the bakery and walked down the street. Through the large front windows Mr. Baxter glimpsed her meet another young woman of short stature with short, bobbing brown hair. Night had already fallen and the streetlight illuminated their bright smiles. They walked down the street and disappeared around the corner.
He sighed and shook his head. "That little Lilly deserves a good man. Such a pity there aren't many of those left."
- Writer
