Julie Caplin - The Little Brooklyn Bakery - A heartwarming feel good novel full of cakes and romance!

‘Interiors, can you do anything in conjunction?’ asked Trudy.

‘Oh yeah,’ came an enthusiastic voice from the end of the table, where three women sat in a cluster, all nodding in unison. ‘We’re loving a bit of hygge ,’ said one.

‘Cosying up the house in the fall,’ added the second.

‘Fireplace décor,’ chipped in the third.

‘Mantelpiece mania.’

‘Toasting forks.’

‘Burnt oranges, autumn tones.’

‘Velvet piles, sumptuous fabrics.’

‘Great, ladies,’ said Trudy, holding up her hand, clearly used to handling the trio. ‘And Paul. Does that sound like something the sales team can get a handle on?’ She turned to the tall blond man sitting next to Madison, who bore a distinct resemblance to a less-bulked-up Chris Hemsworth. He immediately gave an enthusiastic thumbs up, ignoring his neighbour’s less-than-discreet eye-roll.

‘Certainly can. I can see a year-on-year increase in ad sales for this issue compared to last year’s, which is great because revenue for this quarter is already up.’

Trudy held up her hand. ‘You do good work Paul, but spare me the sales figures until the senior management meeting.’

He beamed at her. ‘Sure thing.’

‘You’re off to a good start, Sophie,’ said Trudy.

As everyone’s attention turned back to Trudy, Sophie looked up. Paul gave her an encouraging smile, his eyes holding hers for that brief too-long second which no one else would have noticed, but it made her feel a touch warm. She focused on Trudy’s voice.

‘Sophie, after this meeting, I’ll get the team to show you the test kitchens and the studio. We’ve got a great roster of freelance food photographers. And the interiors team can help you dress the set for a photo shoot.’

Madison’s mouth settled into a sulky slash and she shot Sophie a look of dislike, but Sophie responded with a cheery smile. ‘Great. And I’m looking forward to Madison’s cheese grits and corn pudding recipe.’

Years of snuffing out pettiness with good cheer had stood her in good stead. Madison was a rank amateur in comparison with Sophie’s dad’s ex-wife.

The meeting drew to a close and as everyone drifted out, Paul stopped at Sophie’s chair.

‘Hi, I’m Paul Ferguson. Sales Director.’ He held out his hand.

Sophie took it and received a warm, dry and firm handshake. ‘Sophie.’ She winced. ‘Obviously, because Trudy introduced me …’ There was a definite twinkle in his eyes as she drew to a flustered halt.

‘Good to have you on board, Sophie. If there’s anything I can give you help with, I’m up on the next floor.’ With a quick lift of his eyebrows he looked upwards and added with a self-deprecating wink, ‘The executive suite. We have superior coffee up there,’ he paused, shooting her another twinkle-filled smile, ‘but we’re good at sharing. Come on up any time.’

Sophie nodded, trying to act naturally. She was so out of practice at this stuff. Maybe he was being super-US-style open and friendly, but her gut was telling her that there was definite admiration here.

‘Thanks, that’s great. I’ll remember that, next time I er … need superior coffee.’

‘Make sure you do,’ his smile was warmer this time and he held her gaze. ‘I’ll look forward to working with you, Sophie. And if you need anything, like I said. Just call. In fact,’ he pulled out a silver card holder, ‘here you go. My direct line. Welcome aboard.’

As soon as she walked into the test kitchens, the familiar sense of rightness settled upon her. This was home. She would always be OK here, even if the size and the state-of-the-art equipment along with the view of Central Park were pertinent reminders that she wasn’t in London any more. Everything was that much bigger and better. Her head buzzed with names and details as she was introduced to food technicians and the rest of the food-writing team. They all seemed friendly and envious, in terms of food, of her previous proximity to Europe, especially when she talked about her recent trip to Copenhagen.

By the time she came back to her desk, she’d decided that she was going to be alright here. Things were vaguely familiar, although she was going to have to get her head around cup measurements, which in her book related directly to bra sizes and not flour, butter and sugar. The big question was how many hours could she spend at work each day?

There was no sign of Todd but in the centre of her desk was a hard-backed notebook, with the words My Little Black Book etched in gold on the front, and on closer inspection, she saw that the first few pages had been ripped out. There was also a battered stapler; a box of pink paperclips; a selection of pens with various company slogans on them, in a white tin with a red circle bearing the words Japanese Condom Tin ; and a green Perspex ruler printed with an advert for multivitamins. On top of the notebook was a yellow sticky: Desk-warming gifts. Todd —

With a reluctant smile, she touched the embossed letters of the notebook and then with a shake of her head, she opened it for a second time and, picking up a pen, wrote the date and started writing out a to-do list. Todd McLennan was too charming for his own good.

‘Hey there Sophie, how is it?’

Kate’s voice spilled from Sophie’s phone, propped on its side on the breakfast bar of the kitchen, her slightly blurry image dancing across the screen.

‘Hi Kate. How are you?’

‘Little bit tipsy. Me and Ben have been out for dinner with Avril and Christopher. She sends her love, by the way. She’s not drinking, so I drank her share of prosecco. And Ben was being sensible because he’s playing football tomorrow. He’s going to bed.’ Kate raised her eyebrows in mock disgust and in the background Ben’s figure appeared and waved.

‘Night, Sophie. Hope it’s going well.’

There was the sound of a door closing and Kate leaned closer to the screen.

‘So how are you? Are you cooking loads of brilliant food? New York delis are supposed to be amazing.’

‘Mmm,’ replied Sophie with a guileless expression and a noncommittal nod, thinking of the succession of ready-roast chickens she’d eaten since she’d arrived. Chicken and salad nearly every night for two weeks. So much for being an award-winning food writer with an explorer’s quest for new and native tastes.

‘And how are you?’ repeated Kate, leaning even closer to the screen, as if that would help her get a closer look at Sophie’s guarded face.

‘I’m fine,’ said Sophie with a gentle smile.

‘Sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I’m not going to talk about James, unless you want to.’

‘Definitely not. This is a James-free zone.’

‘So what’s it like? Have you been up the Empire State Building? Have you been to Central Park? Have you done any shopping? Or are you too busy? I get the impression that New York is so busy and people work really hard there. Is it crazy?’

‘Yes, it is a bit. The subway’s crazy. Manhattan is busier than London. But I’ve got into a good routine.’ She made her eyes deliberately bright as she talked. Why couldn’t she match Kate’s enthusiasm?

Perhaps because the routine was quite dull.

Up at seven-thirty. On the subway at eight-thirty, coffee at Starbucks at nine-fifteen. At her desk at nine-thirty. It was all very Abba’s ‘The Day Before You Came’. Except there would be no one coming for her this time. During the day she was fine. The job was absorbing, busy and familiar, and she was getting plenty of sleep. Most nights she was in bed by nine.

‘The apartment is lovely. Look.’

Using her phone, Sophie gave Kate a quick tour of the apartment, showing her the deck first before the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom.