Chapter Three
“The secret to a good shortbread is the rice flour.”
I stared down at the bowl in front of me that as it filled with the aforementioned flour. Agnes had me sieving for all I was worth as she stood watch. We had spent all morning preparing shortbread cookies, which she assured me would be the perfect “first footers” for the Hogmanay tradition. At the blank look on my face, Agnes explained that the first foot set in a house would indicate what kind of fortune the family could expect.
According to tradition, the most desirable first footer was a dark-haired man who would be bringing coal, salt, shortbread cookies, a loaf of black bun, which turned out to be fruit cake, and a wee dram of whiskey. Ideally, all the items would be of the best quality to ensure a prosperous new year, which was a boon for Agnes as she had a reputation for producing only the finest traditional shortbread for towns around.
So far, the New Year was being kind to Me, Myself, and Pie, and I was happy to be a part of it. It was exciting to be amid the hubbub surround the festivities, even more so to be learning the proper way to bake and create Scottish treats from someone as experienced as Agnes—and in Scotland, no less.
I’d been rolling up my sleeves ready to get to work when I noticed Agnes had gone quiet.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, trying to understand her sudden change in energy. She’d been so chatty and happy only seconds before, but now she was silent and looked smaller somehow.
Agnes shook her head. “I bet it sounds like a bunch of hocus pocus to you, eh?” she asked with a shy look in her eyes I hadn’t seen before. She was, I could see, taking care with her words, and I hoped it wasn’t from my reaction the previous day to her news that fairies spoke to her.
“Well…” I began, trying to choose my words with equal care.
Agnes’s blue eyes slid to the side and she bit her lip, fingers worrying the hem of her sweater. “I know I sound like a crazy old coot to ye.”
My stomach dropped and my cheeks burned with embarrassment. Yes, it wasodd,but that didn’t mean I wanted Agnes to worry that I thought she was crazy. I could only blame my ignorance and the effects of jet lag for how poorly I’d handled her talk of fairies the day before. Agnes was a sweet and kind woman who had taken a chance on an apprentice who hadn’t so much as left her home before now, and she deserved better from me. I didn’t care if she wanted me to sit with her and have a tea party with a whole pack of Highland fairies. I would do it, and I would do it with a smile.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, coming to stand beside her. “I didn’t know how to take yesterday. No one I’ve known has ever talked about fairies.”
Agnes looked at me in surprise. “Really?”
I nodded. “You’re the first.”
“That’s a shame.”
“I know.” I placed a hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to make you think I thought you were crazy.”
“A lot of people do around here, but it’s okay,” she told me, giving me one of her sunny smiles. “I know better.”
“I believe you.”
“Do ye, now?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. I could see she was doubtful, but I was heartened by the smile on her face. Maybe she knew that I didn’t, not truly at least, but pretending was easier than running the risk of Agnes holding herself back from me again. The happy woman smiling at me right now was the one I wanted to keep around, so I nodded.
“If you do, then so do I. We have to present a unified front to the public, right?”
She hummed in agreement and tossed an apron at me. “What about the matchmaking, then?” Agnes asked, tying her own apron on.
I made a face. “Let’s not get out of hand, Agnes.”
“All right, all right.” Agnes waved her hands with a merry laugh as she began bustling around the bakery kitchen. “You’ll come ‘round one way or another,” she told me with a confident voice and a knowing look which had me wondering if she knew something I didn’t.
After that, the morning passed by in a pleasant blur of new faces as the townsfolk came to meet Agnes’s new apprentice, or, as I was fast becoming known, the American lass. I couldn’t name more than one or two of the people who had come by for a pie or cookie. It was more social interaction than I had enjoyed in years. My life at home had consisted of interacting with my family or potential clients. The world of Me, Myself, and Pie was in direct opposition to the well-ordered interactions I was used to—it was chaos which had me scurrying about with orders in my hand and flour on my shoes, but I found I loved it. Agnes was there to guide me every step of the way, and she did so with a smile and a kind word.
After things died down, Agnes took me to the back so we could wage war on the slew of orders which had come in, chiefly those for shortbread, and it was there, with heads bowed over leavened dough and sifted flour, that Callum found us.
“Baking takes time and patience...and sometimes things go wrong. Dinna fash yerself,” Agnes told me with a little pat on my back. My first batch of shortbread hadn’t quite turned out right, and I was doing my best not to take it too hard. I was a born overachiever, and even if I was new to working in a bakery, I wanted to do my best. Raw-in-the-middle shortbread was not what I had hoped for.
I blew out a sigh. “I thought I sifted enough flour.”
“Might need more butter,” Callum’s deep voice sounded, making us both jump.
“Och aye!” Agnes spun around, hands to her chest and a frown on her face. “Are you trying to send me to an early grave? Ye numptie!”
Callum rolled his eyes. “Dramatic as always, Auntie.” He snatched up a cookie from a tray we had set to cool, and took a bite. “I knocked and called bu’ the pair of ye were gabbing like hens. Not my fault you didn’t hear me.”
