Stepping inside, I was greeted by the usual quiet. But instead of feeling like a weight on my shoulders, it felt like an opportunity to think about everything that happened today.
I tossed my keys onto the table and kicked off my boots before heading to bed. As I lay there in the dark, thoughts of Beth drifted through my mind—her laughter, her smile, even that kiss on my cheek.
How I wanted to turn my head.
How I wanted to see what she tasted like…
For the first time in a long while, there was something to look forward to tomorrow. And that feeling—however small—was enough to carry me through until morning.
Chapter11
Beth
The next morning, I arrived at the bakery with a bounce in my step. It was four in the morning, early enough to relish the quiet before the rush. Christmas lights twinkled around the windows, casting a warm glow on the snow-dusted sidewalk outside. I loved these moments—the peace before the chaos, the chance to gather my thoughts.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of flour and sugar. The cozy warmth of the bakery wrapped around me like a hug. I flipped on the lights, illuminating the rows of cookie cutters and mixing bowls waiting for action. I hung my coat on its peg and tied my apron around my waist, ready to start baking.
My hands moved on autopilot as I mixed dough and measured out ingredients. Kneading, rolling, cutting—each movement felt like a small piece of home. But even in this comforting routine, my thoughts kept drifting back to Daryl.
There was something about him that gnawed at me. His rough exterior didn't match the brief glimpses of vulnerability I'd seen in his eyes. Why couldn't I stop thinking about him? Maybe it was his guarded nature that intrigued me, or perhaps it was that fleeting moment when he'd overheard me singing. I'd caught a glimpse of surprise on his face, almost like he saw me differently for just a second.
I shook my head and focused on cutting out gingerbread men. They lined up neatly on the baking sheet, waiting their turn in the oven. As I worked, snippets of lyrics floated through my mind—words I'd never had the courage to share with anyone.
The smell of cinnamon and cloves filled the air as cookies baked to golden perfection. I pulled out a tray and set it aside to cool, then started another batch. My gaze wandered to the old guitar propped up in Daryl's garage. How long had it been since he played? What kind of music did he like? The questions buzzed in my mind like bees.
I dusted powdered sugar over a batch of cookies and smiled to myself. Maybe Ellie was right; maybe I could crack his shell one way or another.
As dawn approached and light began filtering through the bakery windows, I hummed softly to myself—a tune I'd been working on for weeks but never finished. The morning rush would start soon enough, but for now, I savored these quiet moments and let my mind wander where it wanted.
Once the dough was ready, I rolled it out on the floured countertop, enjoying the tactile sensation of the smooth, pliable surface beneath my fingers. I cut out more gingerbread men and placed them on a baking sheet, arranging them neatly in rows.
Wiping my hands on my apron, I glanced at the wall calendar. A smile tugged at my lips when I saw today's date circled in bright red ink. It was open mic night at the café, one of my favorite events. There was something magical about listening to people pour their hearts out through music and lyrics. Each song told a story, revealing pieces of their soul.
I loved how open mic nights brought people together. Strangers became friends as they shared their passion for music. Some were shy, their voices trembling as they took the stage for the first time. Others were confident performers, their melodies captivating the audience from the first note.
As I prepared another tray of cookies, I hummed softly to myself, lost in my own world of music and baking. The café would soon be bustling with customers, each one bringing their own stories and songs to share.
Tonight's open mic promised to be special. I felt it in my bones—the energy in the air, the excitement building inside me. Maybe I'd even work up the courage to sing one of my own songs someday. But for now, I was content to listen and support others as they bared their souls on stage.
The timer dinged, pulling me back to reality. I carefully removed the first batch of cookies from the oven and set them on a cooling rack. The aroma was irresistible, filling every corner of the bakery with holiday cheer.
I glanced at the clock and knew it was time to start getting ready for the day ahead. Customers would be arriving soon, eager for their morning coffee and freshly baked treats. And later tonight, they'd return for an evening of music and camaraderie.
As I tidied up my workspace and prepared for the morning rush, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen tonight. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking or maybe it was that undeniable sense of possibility that always accompanied these events.
Either way, I couldn't wait to see what stories and songs would unfold.
A half hour before open mic night, Ellie waltzed into the café, arms full of books and a well-worn notebook. She plopped down at the counter, sighing dramatically.
"Really?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Homework?"
"The dungeon dragon has assigned his class extra credit but not extra credit," Ellie remarked dryly, flipping open her notebook with a flourish.
"What does that even mean?" I asked, bewildered.
"Dunno." She shrugged, doodling absentmindedly in the margins. "All I know is he's a Scrooge who really needs to get laid. But enough of this grinch talk. You doing open mic night tonight?"
I hesitated, arranging some freshly baked cookies on a platter. "I don't know," I murmured. "Maybe."
