Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Gabriel had been complimentary and sweet and our relationship had been wonderfully shallow. However, his evasiveness not only became annoying but raised alarm bells. I never met any of his colleagues, didn’t know anything about his family, and in the last few months of our relationship, he’d grown even more distant, cagey, and he’d started drinking more. I knew his job was difficult, but I also didn’t feel like he’d ever let me in long enough to be a safe place for him to come home to. The fact was I didn’t have the energy to find out. I didn’t want to find out. It hadn’t hurt a bit to break up with him, and honestly Gabriel had seemed relieved when I broke it off. We’d both known I would be leaving Paris once I graduated.
Mum sighed. “Your social media posts were very deceiving, then. You two … you looked in love.”
I raised an eyebrow. “We did?”
“Very much so.”
“Well, we weren’t, I assure you.” I could never love someone as closed off as Gabriel. “I know absolutely nothing about him beyond the obvious stuff. He wouldn’t tell me about his family, if he was originally from Paris or not … it was all superficial. He was always working, so I barely saw him.”
My mum seemed to deflate before me. “Oh, thank God. I’ve been so worried that you were giving up this amazing life in Paris because of a promise to me.”
“Don’t you think I would have told you if I was in love?” I’d told her every detail of my life. She was my best friend. Shaking my head at her silliness, I pulled her in for another hug. “I am exactly where I want to be, Mum.”
“I’m so glad,” she whispered, sounding a little teary.
When we finally released each other, Mum picked up her fork and dug into the Saint Honoré again. She shook her head in wonder as she moaned around the bite. “These are going to sell out fast,” she said once she’d finished. “Let’s take the others home to your dad and brother.”
“Sure.” I watched as she boxed up the selection of pastries, feeling nervous again as I considered broaching another topic I wanted to discuss. As Mum grabbed the keys to lock up, I finally blurted out, “How would you feel if I opened the bakery an extra day? You wouldn’t have to be here,” I hurried to say.
Mum only opened the bakery three days a week. It was one of the reasons that made it so successful because people, including tourists, clambered to get to the bakery first thing on the days it opened. We were usually sold out by one o’clock in the afternoon, sometimes by ten a.m. during the summer months.
She considered this. “I only open three days a week because of the early hours. Do you really want to be up at three in the morning four days a week?”
“I was thinking I could do a lot of the prep work the night before. In fact, I was thinking of introducing that idea to the bakery in general. If we make the right things, we could do that.”
“Not bread.” Mum shrugged. “The bread has to be freshly baked.”
“So, I don’t make bread on day four.”
Mum shook her head. “You’ll get nothing but complaints from our regulars.”
“Not if we market it as patisserie day. And I was thinking, maybe I could handle the running of the bakery so you can concentrate on the cake-making side of things.” Mum specialized in celebration cakes, like weddings and birthdays. Her cakes were to die for, and she had a strong following on social media for her creations. But she was extremely exclusive and difficult to book because she only had time to do so many, what with the running of the bakery.
“Actually, I was going to run that idea by you, so I’m happy to do that. But I think we still need to discuss this day-four idea.” She opened the back door, gesturing me out. “Why don’t you settle into things first and we’ll see how it goes?”
I nodded, knowing I couldn’t throw all my ideas at her at once. “Sounds like a plan.”
Once we were settled in the car, we chatted a bit about recipes. Anytime I’d returned home from Paris over the last three years, I’d shown Mum the things I’d learned, and she soaked it all up like a sponge. She wanted more lessons, and I was more than happy to oblige. We never had so much fun than when we were baking together.
As we drove down Castle Street, the village’s main thoroughfare, my chest filled with a happy ache. It was almost summer, so the days were longer this far north. The Victorian streetlamps that lined the village were only beginning to glow, and the car park out front of the Gloaming was filled. The historical architecture and design of the village appealed to tourists as much as the celebrities staying on the village outskirts. Everything predated the mid-twentieth century, and dominating it all, near to the Gloaming, sat a medieval cathedral.