“It’s her recipe but it’s all in the touch.”
Harley hopped up on the counter and reached, once again, for Teagan’s coffee mug. This time succeeding and taking two sips before Teagan caught on.
“This is a counter. That is a chair. And each one of those buns took an hour and a half to rise. So, if you touch one more, I’ll—”
“What? Shoot my eye out?”
Harley reached behind her and grabbed the coffee beans from the cupboard, then leaned over to fill the machine—all from her perch on the counter. When she reached for a third roll, Teagan smacked her hand with the spatula.
“Ow.”
“Sorry, your hand was in my way,” Teagan said tartly. “And since when do you get up before noon?”
“Since I turned five and learned how to cook my own breakfast,” her sister said as if that were normal. Teagan never knew when she was joking, so she kept her mouth shut. “And I thought I’d help you get ready for the farmer’s market before my yoga class.” Which explained the yoga mat by the back door.
“You hate baking.”
Harley shrugged. “I prefer my yeast from the tap and in a bar full of laughing and spirited people, but I don’t mind pitching in. Think of it as my way of saying thanks for not kicking me to the curb.” Theyetwas implied.
“The farmer’s market opens at nine. I’ve already made twenty loaves of Coppia Ferrarese.” An Italian sourdough whose double-twisted loaf was characterized by its golden color and distinctive malt undertones.
Brought over from Italy by her great-grandmother, the mother, or starter dough, had been in her family for over a hundred years. It was the most valuable thing Teagan owned. And the only thing left of Bread N Butter, the bread company Nonna Rose and her twin sister, Iris, had started in the sixties.
What began as a way for the ladies to keep the pantry stocked while their husbands were stationed in the South Pacific quickly grew from their two-bedroom house into a storefront downtown where they spent over fifty years making traditional Italian breads for the townspeople of Pacific Cove. Until Teagan convinced them to retire so she could open a second store in Seattle. Where she lost everything Rose and Iris had built.
Today’s farmer’s market marked the rebirth, the phoenix rising from the ashes. She would rebuild Rose’s legacy in the same way that Nonna Rose and Zia Iris had begun. And nothing would make Rose happier than for her two granddaughters to share this moment.
And in Nonna Rose’s memory, she’d make Harley feel welcome, at least until next week when she moved back to Los Angeles. She didn’t want Rose to pay her an afterlife visit to talk about the importance of sisterhood.
“I made Nonna’s basil focaccia yesterday.” She’d stayed up all night finishing the loaves. “That was the last batch of brioche buns. All that’s left are the Parmesan rolls. They are in three stages. Some in the oven, some ready for the oven, and some ready to be dusted with the cheese mix. Can you handle that?”
“You bet,” Harley said with about as much confidence as a freshman at a senior party.
“Be sure because I need to be there at eight with enough product to look as if I’m an actual professional, and I don’t have extras.”
“I’ve totally got this.”
Part of Teagan, the older sister part, wanted to give Harley a chance, maybe even rekindle some of the fun times they’d had in this very kitchen. But the part of Teagan that had been disappointed time and again by the people closest to her waved the red flag. The last time she’d let Harley crash at her place, her sister took Frank to a comedy show—at a casino. Frank cut out at intermission and blew enough money to sink the company.
First step in helping a recovering addict: Avoid tempting situations. Second step in helping a recovered addict: Refer to step one. Her sister literally drove Frank to a casino and vanished to the bathroom. Not that Teagan was blaming Harley. Frank was the only one responsible for his decisions and the subsequent disasters he left behind, but she was disappointed in the role Harley had played.
The last thing Teagan needed was Hurricane Harley blowing through her kitchen. Her car, her bedroom, her bathroom, pretty much any room Harley vacated always looked as if a natural disaster had struck. But Teagan was between a rock and a hurricane. The odds of her finishing in time to set up at the farmer’s market were slim to none. Plus, she still had a batch of dough waiting to be kneaded and baked.
“Can you follow directions and a simple recipe?”
“I wiped and washed after I went. Does that count?”
“Don’t make me regret this.”
With a sarcastic salute, Harley pulled on an apron. Teagan wasn’t trying to be a hard-ass, she just had a method—a tested, trusty, and foolproof method. She was a clean and orderly baker; Harley was the exact opposite.
“We clean as we go and no spontaneous additions to the recipe.”
“Yes, boss.”
She directed Harley to the mixing bowl, while Teagan started placing the filled rolls on trays. And for a while everything seemed to be going well. They worked around each other, moving in harmony. It was the first time in forever that Teagan and Harley had coexisted in the same universe without chaos. In fact, Harley had a fun and goodhearted personality that really drew the twins to her. And before long, the girls had abandoned the hanging deathtrap and all four Bianchi females were in the kitchen baking.
Teagan took in the precious moment and thought how Rose and Iris would have approved. It was reminiscent of the summers when Harley stayed with them, when three generations of Bianchi women would sing and dance around the kitchen.
