Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
“It wasn’t pretty. The owner is my aunt, so I got a second chance. And a third.”
“And now you’re baking on the other side of the world.”
“Yeah, I was hired as a pastry chef for a Michelin-rated restaurant in the city at a time when…” I scratched my neck awkwardly, wondering how to finish that sentence. “I needed to shake up my life and make a change or two. My plan was to stay for a year, learn some new tricks of the trade, then head home and open my own shop.”
“But you stayed,” Theo finished.
“Yep.”
“Do you have your own shop in London?”
“Not at the moment,” I admitted. “I had one in Notting Hill for three years, but the owner wanted to sell the property when the lease was up. I’ve been looking, but nothing has felt right.”
“How do you sell your goods then?”
“I have long-standing relationships with some cafes and restaurants around the city. Plus, I cater and make wedding cakes. And I have two pop-up locations with short-term leases.”
“That’s good.” He did the hand-grab thing again and flashed his baby blues my way. “Please tell me you make cupcakes.”
I snickered. “You like cupcakes?”
“Who doesn’t love a pint-sized excuse to eat cake?” Theo countered. “Crazy people, that’s who. I’m partial to anything with chocolate, but I’ll never say no to red velvet or coconut or even vanilla.”
“Good to know. My best sellers are my red velvet cake, my Victoria sponge, Bakewell tarts, and raspberry scones, but I make everything…including bread,” I replied, adding, “and my friend, Becca, is my in-shop pie expert.”
“Mmm. Sounds delish. But…no cupcakes?”
“To be honest, I’m more likely to make fairy cakes. They’re the British version of a cupcake, but they’re smaller and have less frosting.”
Theo gasped in delight. “Fairy cakes! Those sound right up my alley.”
“Yeah, well…I make a nice lemon drizzle one that’s pretty popular in spring, but they’re never big sellers. The occasional customer might order a dozen or so for a kid’s birthday party or tea. I don’t advertise them, though. I’ve lost count of how many fairy cakes I’ve ended up tossing out or giving away at closing time. Not worth it.”
“That doesn’t make any sense to me. Sounds like a marketing issue.”
“Probably, but I’ve already blown through my marketing budget with my pop-up idea. It’s best to stick to making pastries I know will sell.”
Theo furrowed his brow. “I mentioned that I have a background in marketing. I can help you brainstorm a few ideas.”
“Okay. What d’ya got?”
“Well, you could try a theme, like nineties music, and make Britney’s banana cream cupcakes. Or pick a sport like surfing and feature coconut surf and sand. Or maybe vacation destinations and make a Big Apple surprise—you get the idea.”
I nodded, charmed in spite of the fact that I knew I’d never go the theme route. “I do, but—”
“Or change up the size,” he continued excitedly. “I know a bakery in the Haight that serves all mini cupcakes. They’re immaculately decorated and you have to buy a dozen, minimum. You can also purchase pupcakes…mini or large versions. People love buying treats for their pets.”
“Good ideas, but chasing gimmicks and figuring out how long to ride that wave before my customers get bored is exhausting. I’d rather concentrate on sure things. The pop-up stores are working for me at the moment. I have one in Oxford and I recently opened one in Bath.”
Theo hummed thoughtfully. “How does a pop-up work?”
I spent the next hour or so explaining the short-term leasing contracts I’d taken on in the hopes of promoting my brand and drumming up business in touristy areas. I didn’t mention that I was low-key worried that I’d overextended myself. I’d had high hopes that the holiday season would push us into the black, but the numbers weren’t encouraging and I didn’t want to think about tough questions in the new year, like…what the fuck was I doing with my life?
At some point, the flight attendant stopped by with coffee and egg and cheese rolls. Theo and I made matching “ew” faces and laughed at our timing before continuing our conversation.
And in that sliver of a second—a shared look and laugh—I felt a strong magnetic pull. The kind of connection you’d expect with lifelong friends, not a random stranger. It threw me off balance for a beat. So when the captain announced that we were twenty minutes away from our destination, I was actually bummed at the thought of saying good-bye.
I frowned as I checked the time. That had to be the fastest nine-plus-hour flight of my life. I hadn’t slept a wink either.
“You must be tired,” I commented, tilting my seat to an upright position.
“Just a smidge. I’ll sleep well tonight and with any luck, I’ll wake up refreshed tomorrow with minimal jet lag.”