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Desperate times call for desperate measures, and we all have to sacrifice for the greater good. There’s no chance I’m letting this man build a monstrosity of a building in our quaint little town. If that means I have to make sacrifices, I’m more than willing to do it, which leads me to spending too much time with him. I’ll be okay because I’m a strong person. He won’t break me.
I look over at him as he stares at his phone again. I don’t know why this irritates me. The more he pays attention to his phone, the less he learns about my town. This is a good thing. It’s mind-boggling to me that he can’t see the beauty all around him. This place truly is a gem in a field of coal.
We pass my favorite bakery on a back alley. No one but the locals know it’s here, and I’m grateful for that because these ladies sell out of their goodies every single day by eleven in the morning. They’re up and open at the crack of dawn. I’ve tried duplicating some of their recipes but it’s impossible. I once asked them their secret ingredient and they held up their worn hands and told me it’s love. They’re right; that can’t be duplicated.
I normally wouldn’t bring a stranger here, but he won’t see the beauty of this bakery like I do. He’ll see the chipped paint, the writing on the outside walls from years of loved ones leaving messages, and the worn furniture that all has a story behind it. He’ll see this successful business as a failure.
We step inside and find Anna and Gretta kneading dough with the same practiced hands they’ve been using for decades. I give Callan a glance from the corner of my eye to see him looking around, seeming far more intrigued than disgusted. This isn’t what I expected. The scents in the bakery are making my already full stomach rumble in delight. Sometimes they slip me extra goodies since I tend to visit them several times a week.
“Good morning, Sasha. Who is this strapping young man you’ve brought to see us?” Anna asks.
“He’s playing tourist in our town and no sightseeing trip is complete without seeing your glorious bakery.”
“Oh, we love our doors darkened by such a handsome man,” Gretta says as she gives a toothless smile to Callan who beams at her.
“And you’re making my mouth water with the absolutely decadent smells that have been drifting to us for the past three blocks,” Callan says.
“That earns you a cannoli,” Anna says as she carefully pulls one from the table she just finished putting together. Jealousy fills me as Callan accepts it like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever held. He doesn’t waste time before lifting it to his beautiful lips and taking a bite. The moan he lets out sends all sorts of tingles through my body that I absolutely don’t want to feel.
I’m not sure what I want more right now, to rip the cannoli from his fingers, or to push this man over and mount him right here and now. It’s pretty damn close... too close.
“Oh, you can get that pouty look off your face, my dear girl. You get a cannoli too since you brought this handsome man to us,” Gretta assures me before she hands one over. I barely manage not to stuff the entire thing in my mouth that is watering so badly it’s almost embarrassing.
I take a bite and let out my own moan of pleasure. I look up and meet Callan’s eyes, now filled with heat that shocks me. If he’s a bit turned on by me, I can’t imagine it’s as much as I’m hot for him. I won’t act on it, but damn, the man really is fine. I remind myself he’s a corporate junkie trying to destroy my home. I have no business wanting him. I turn away and quickly gather my thoughts.
“These ladies have been running this bakery since long before I was born,” I tell him. “Before they ran it, their mothers did, and before that their grandmothers. I love a generational business that stands the test of time. Besides being the best bakery in all of America, they have a beautiful history.”
Callan looks at the ladies. “Will your children run it next?” he asks. Again I’m shocked when he seems genuinely interested in their answer. Am I judging this man too harshly?
“Well, our daughters are terrible bakers,” Anna says with a laugh.
“Both of them, which horrified us at first,” Gretta adds as they both continue to create their goodies as they speak to us. These ladies work harder than anyone I’ve ever known.
“But don’t you fret at all because our granddaughters are beautiful bakers and work with us quite often. They took a trip up to the city for supplies, but they’ll be back this afternoon. They not only have a love of baking but the skill to do it right,” Anna says.
“That’s wonderful,” Callan says. “I bet you have recipes that have been passed down for many generations.”
“My grandmother was a formidable, proud Italian woman with a passion for baking. She was skilled in everything she made in the kitchen. My mother was almost as good, but no one was as great as my nonna. The cannoli you just had is her secret recipe. I can make them in my sleep now,” Gretta says.
“There’s something different about it,” Callan says. “I’m normally very good at tasting spice, but something in here is alluding me.”
Gretta laughs. “They are made with love and a secret ingredient that’s been passed down in our family for many generations.”
I’d give up every possession I own to know the secret ingredient. I’m sure every bakery in the world would be right here behind me in the quest. They don’t have it written down though. The knowledge is in their heads. They say paper can be stolen, but no one can rob the brain.
“It’s the best cannoli I’ve ever had. I fear I’ll never be able to eat one again after this,” Callan says. Again, he sounds genuine. I don’t think he’s blowing smoke.
“Thank you, darling young man,” Gretta says with a beautiful smile and flush to her cheeks. It seems Callan’s appeal reaches to the young and old. Fascinating. “It warms our hearts to see anyone appreciate the traditions and hard work put in by our family.”
We visit a little while longer before moving on. We’re silent as we walk down the street. Callan’s demeanor seems to shift. His phone is no longer out as he gazes around him, possibly seeing the beauty of Seaville like I do. This is impossible. We’ve barely gone anywhere. Maybe I have it all wrong. Instead of trying to scare him away, maybe I should be showing him the beauty of our piece of paradise tucked away in a crazy world.
Our next stop is the small library on the edge of town. It’s nothing compared to a big city library, but it’s special to me. There’s nothing in the world like the sweet smell of old books and the quiet hum of knowledge being absorbed. With the invention of the internet, libraries have lost their importance in our world, but whenever I walk inside one, the magic sparks from every corner.
There are so many stories to consume, so much knowledge to absorb. How can anyone in this world not appreciate a good book? I’m always shocked when I hear people say they don’t read. What is wrong with them? There’s a story for everyone, waiting for them to open the pages. In the worst moments of life, a person can open the cover of a book and get lost in another world, find hope, find happiness, find lust, and fnd danger.
There isn’t a whole lot to show Callan in this magical place, but soon our peace is shattered when one of our older citizens approaches on shuffling feet, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Uh oh, Mr. Carter is known to be cranky. I’m not sure if I should grab Callan and run or sit back and watch the show.
“We don’t need no big city people in our beautiful little town,” Mr. Carter says as he taps Callan right in the middle of his chest with his weathered finger.
