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“Welcome to Sweet Escapes, what can I get for you this morning?”
I listened from the back as Lacey greeted another customer. She has only been here a couple of days, learning to balance work, her senior year of high school, and life in general. Ah, the days of being a teenager with my first job. I was scared shitless most days or bored to death. At least here, she was in a constant state of thinking. For now, I was only scheduling her three days a week in the afternoons. I didn’t want her to get overwhelmed.
I’d gotten lucky today; there was some kind of teachers’ workshop, so there were no classes. It gave her the early morning experience—weekdays weren't quite as busy as the Saturday and Sunday crowds. Good practice for her nonetheless.
“Do you have any gluten-free donuts left? I know they go fast.” A deep rumbling voice came from the other room. I knew that voice. Mr. Lang. He came in every Tuesday and Saturday morning for two donuts and a scone. His daughter would be next door buying a box of chocolates for them to have this week as well. I could almost set a clock on his visits.
“Sure thing, Mr. Lang. I set them aside for you earlier. You want your scone today? Honey and almond, right?”
One thing I could say for Lacey—well, one of many—was that she learned fast.
“Yes, please. You girls are too good to an old man like me.”
I listened to them and smiled. Lacey’s mom had given her a long talk about jobs and responsibilities over Christmas dinner. It was enough to make me nervous and uneasy. Sometimes, in rare cases, I thought parents put a little too much on their kids’ shoulders. Then again, some didn’t put enough. It was a delicate balancing act for sure. When I thought she was at her breaking point, her dessert being left untouched hadn’t sat right with me, I’d gone over and offered her a part-time gig here. The pure joy on her face had told me that I’d made the right decision.
“That’ll be $3.89.”
“Thank you. Here you go, keep the change.”
“No, sir, I can’t. You gave me a $10 bill.”
“I know; you've earned that tip. Now you have a good day. See you on Friday.”
I walked out from the back and moved to where she was standing watching the door. “You know arguing with him won’t do a bit of good. Stick the change in your tip jar and get ready for the big rush.”
I hurried into the back to get the next trays of pastries in the oven. I had an hour before the Carson party would be here for the two gift baskets they’d ordered.
I made sure to have everything lined up, ready for assembly already. I had a batch of sugar cookies cooling that needed to be bagged and added to the supplies. Though, I could just add them last.
“Why wait to do something when it can be done now?” I muttered to myself. The buttered caramel drizzle for the croissants currently baking needed to be done as well.
I turned the stove on, set out my ingredients, and got to work. Breaking Benjamin was playing as I worked. I needed the music to keep my ADHD under control. Legit. If I didn’t have something to concentrate on besides the baking and presentations of my goods, I’d probably get nothing done.
One by one I scratched things off my to-do list. Caramel sauce made, croissants drizzled. The last few trays of bread had twenty minutes left to bake, and the baskets were in the final stages. Not bad. Not bad at all.
I pulled out the large cellophane bags and set each basket in one. The confetti, note card, and a small box of sweets from Cindy’s place went inside. I pulled the cellophane together and hurried to get the big bow tied. This wasn’t as easy as the people on the TV shows made it out to be. I gave the streamers that hung from the bows a little fluffing and nodded.
“That’ll do. That’ll do.” I carried the two baskets to the front and set them on the pick-up table behind the display cases. This way I wouldn’t end up knocking one over as I pulled out the trays of baked goods getting ready to come out of the ovens. I was behind, which meant some of these breads and pastries would be set aside for in the morning. Meant that was less I had to work on in the morning, I guess.
I glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. It was almost 3:00pm. We closed at 5:00pm… We were almost there.
I got lost in removing hot things from the ovens when a commotion from the front caught my attention. I really disliked people coming into my place of business being loud. It was rude.
I wasn’t sure what was going on, but nonetheless, I had to go deal with whatever it was. But first, I had to pull the last two trays of braided loaves from the ovens.
I’d let the noise from the front distract me so that it wasn’t until I had the second pan out of the oven that the pain in my hand hit.
I yelped, dropping the large pan onto the stovetop. Fucking hell! I hurried to the sink, flipped the cold water on, and shoved my hand under it. Somehow the large pads I used to remove the trays slipped in the process of my picking up that pan. My right hand, thankfully, was fine. My left though, the pain was ridiculous. The space between my thumb and index finger and part of my palm was literally on fire. It was red, blistering. Just what I needed to end my day.
“Dana? What happened?” Lacey barreled in scanning the kitchen for trouble.
“I’m okay, sort of. Just a little burn. Can you do me a favor?”
She nodded, her eyes wide. “Text Nich that I’m going to the emergency room. You know what, dial the phone for me. I’m not texting this.”
She did and as soon as she hit the speaker, he answered. “What’s up, kid?”
“Hey, don’t panic, everything’s okay, but I need to go to the emergency room.”
