Carolyne Aarsen - The Bachelor Baker

Melissa was cracking eggs into a large mixing bowl on a stand.

“We’re out of doughnuts,” he said, unable to keep his annoyance with Don out of his voice.

Melissa brushed some dough off her chin with her shoulder, then frowned at him. “We’re not out of doughnuts because I don’t make them.”

“What? Really?”

“No. I thought I would try a different direction with the bakery.” She hit a switch and the huge paddle of the mixing bowl started spinning around.

Brian could only stare at her. “Everyone expects doughnuts at a bakery. That’s not a good direction.”

Melissa’s expression darkened. “I think I know best what I’m trying to accomplish in my own bakery.”

Now she was getting all uppity with him. One of those “her way or the highway” bosses. He’d worked under a couple of them in the factory.

He also knew sometimes you just needed to push.

“I’m sure you do, but the other bakery we had here always had doughnuts.”

“And where is that bakery now?” Not hard to hear the chill in her voice as she turned the mixer off.

Brian just stared at her, then spun around and walked away. “No doughnuts today,” he said to Don. “But I got some amazing ‘petty fours’ you could try.” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“Nah. I prefer something I can bite into. Guess you don’t get our business today,” Don said, tossing off a wave. “Don’t get your apron dirty.”

Brian drew in a slow breath as he watched them leave. Just fantastic. Now it would be all over town. Brian Montclair wore an apron. A pink-and-white-striped apron.

Awesome.

But now it was quiet in the bakery and he needed to do something. He walked over to the wooden shelves and straightened the loaves of bread. Once he was done with that, he glanced down at the floor, noticing the crumbs there. Guess Melissa and Amanda were too busy baking to clean up. He strode to the back of the bakery, looking for cleaning supplies.

Melissa was dividing some of the mixture she had made over a set of four baking pans sitting on a scale. “Something I can help you with?” she asked as she looked up from what she was doing.

“Nope,” he replied, still fuming at Don’s “lady boss” comment and Melissa’s previous attitude to his suggestions.

He grabbed a broom and dustpan from the cleaning supply room and walked past Melissa without a glance her way.

He swept the floor in the front, again taking out his frustration with a broom. What kind of bakery doesn’t carry doughnuts? City girl and her fancy cakes and pastries that cost too much. Not so good for business in a town where people were struggling to get by.

He made short work of cleaning the floor, then strode to the back again, returned the broom and came back with a spray bottle of window cleaner. He wiped down the front of the display cases, surprised at how many fingermarks were on it. Wasn’t Amanda supposed to take care of this?

Guess it was his job now.

The rest of the day went by with fits and starts of work. Some people came in to simply look, a few more to buy. He wasn’t terribly busy, but he wasn’t too bored.

But as he worked he was far too aware of the woman fussing away in the bakery behind him.

Just get over it, he thought.

By the time the day was over, his feet were sore from standing on the concrete floor and his temper hadn’t improved much. He had to keep reminding himself why he was doing this. For Grandpa.

Sunday was a relaxing day. He and Grandpa walked around the yard, making a few plans, reminding Brian again of why he was putting on a fancy apron come Monday. Next weekend they were going to Concordia to move his stuff back here.

When he arrived at the job Monday morning, Melissa wasn’t working at the large butcher block counter, nor was she in her office. He followed the sound of a machine and found her in the back of the bakery twisting a bag of bread and clipping it shut.

She started when he came in. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the machine.

“Bread slicer.”

“How does it work?”

She frowned at him as she set the bagged bread on a large rack already holding a number of loaves and plucked another unsliced loaf from the rack on the other side. “I guess you could learn how to run this,” she said as she dropped it into a slot on the top of the machine. It wasn’t too hard to hear the reluctance in her voice.

Control freak, he thought again.

“I guess I could,” he returned. “Not much happening right now.”

She shot him a frown, as if she wasn’t sure what to make of his comment, then, to his surprise, stepped aside. “You set the bread here, push this button, wait until it comes into this chute and slip a bag over top. Hit the release button and then twist the top and put a clip on.”

Brian followed her instructions, the noise of the machine precluding any other conversation, crumbs flying from the blades cutting the bread. A few seconds later he had a bag of bread closed off and ready to put on the rack.

“Good,” she said, sounding surprised that he had caught on so quickly. “That’s good.”

“I’ll do the rest,” he said, setting the loaf on the rack and grabbing another one. “You go bake some petty fours.”

She looked like she was about to protest, then with a shrug, she turned, leaving him to his job.

The work was tedious, but it kept him busy and soon he had all the loaves done and was wheeling the full rack to the front of the bakery.

As he set the loaves neatly on the shelves, the door opened again and their first customers of the day stepped into the bakery. Brian turned to see a young woman and little girl enter. He tried not to flush as he recognized Lexi Ross, a girl he had dated in high school. Her long blond hair, green eyes and narrow features had made her the darling of Bygones and the epitome of Midwest wholesomeness. Now she and her husband, Wilson Ross, lived with their three children in a two-story Victorian off Granary Road.

Lexi gave him an awkward smile as she glanced from him to his apron to the loaf of bread he still held. How the mighty have fallen, he thought, remembering how he used to tell her he would one day be his own boss, run his own business.

“What can I help you with?” he asked, unable to keep the gruff note out of his voice.

Treena Ross, six years old, her short blond hair like dandelion fluff around her round face, looked up at him, then back at her mother. Her lower lip quivered and her green eyes welled up with tears. “He scares me, mom,” she said. “Why is that big man working here?”

Lexi gave Brian an apologetic grin, then crouched beside her daughter, her full skirt brushing the floor. Her hair fell over her face as she bent her head toward her daughter, lowering her voice to assure her. “He’s a nice man. That’s Mr. Montclair. You saw him yesterday at our church, remember? Now why don’t you ask Mr. Montclair what you came here to do?”

Treena sniffed, palmed her tears off her cheek then held up a piece of paper. “Can you sign my perdition?” she asked in a small voice. “I want the school to stay open so I can go there. Like my mommy and daddy did.”

Brian frowned as he took the paper from the little girl. “What do you mean, stay open?”

Lexi brushed Treena’s hair away from her face and gave Brian a despondent look. “We got a letter from the county school board saying she and her brother, Phil, will be bussed to Concordia School, over an hour away, when school starts. They are thinking of closing down the school here in Bygones.”

“Close down the school? Why?”

“Budget cutbacks,” Lexi said. “They don’t think they have enough money to keep it open this year.”