Well, her design, anyway. This was a near identical copy of the cake she’d made for the eightieth birthday party.
The snake.
He’d stolen her idea. But how? She’d baked and decorated that cake outside of working hours. Victor couldn’t have known about it.
Oh no. She must have left her sketchbook of ideas behind when she fled the bakery. She scanned the article. It was a standard fluff piece about Victor and le Château du Gâteau. The interviewer’s last line was the icing on the cake:
Full disclosure, I learned of Chef LaVigne and his bakery when my sister, Monique, started working there before the end of last year. I’m glad she introduced me to le Château du Gâteau. With cake creations like these, Victor will be one to watch.
“Robin? Still there?” Elise’s voice cut through her distraction.
Robin closed the internet browser and took the phone off speaker mode. “Sorry. Still here. I can’t believe he stole my design.” Her shoulders tightened.
“Really? You can’t believe that the man who took credit for your hard work and then threatened to blacklist you wouldn’t also steal from you?”
Okay, Elise had a point. “I thought…well, I don’t know what I thought.” But then she remembered a time she had labored for hours over a special order, and when the client came to pick up the pastries, Victor had received all their thanks and praise without mentioning her. He’d waved it off later by saying they hadn’t given him a chance to point out her efforts. “I guess he does have a pattern for undermining my work.”
“I’ll say. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought you should know.”
“Thanks, Elise. I appreciate it.”
They exchanged promises to talk again soon and signed off.
She opened her phone again and navigated to the photo of Victor looking smug, holding her cake. She had to show the world what she could do. No more letting anyone steal her ideas and make her feel like a failure and a screwup.
Scrolling farther down the page she spotted an advertisement forLa Patisserie’s annual Distinctive Bakes America competition in New York City. Each year, hundreds of pastry chefs were nominated by magazines all over the world to enter their best works into the contest. Winning a contest like that would be a dream come true. She read the fine print. Each contestant would be invited to compete based on photos alone. They were nominated for entry by the magazine’s photographers. She imagined what she could do if she had that prize on her baking résumé.
Except, she had a business to run and bills she didn’t know how to pay. Her eyes landed on the accounting spreadsheet on the computer in front of her.
What if the two things didn’t have to compete? Cakes had a much higher return on investment than bread did. She remembered what Megan said about people needing high-end cakes in Deep Haven. If she put a little of her meager savings into supplies, she could probably pay off the plumbing bill in a couple of weeks.
Maybe she wouldn’t be able to enter the contest, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t bake cakes to help pay the bills around here.
Putting the phone away, she searched the bakery for ingredients that would work for cake. The flour would be tricky, since she preferred a finer flour, but she could work with the all-purpose stuff they had for their cinnamon rolls. She looked around at the kitchen. Hmm. The only mixer was the huge Hobart in the corner. Holding up to a hundred pounds of dough, the behemoth worked wonders for batches of bread dough, not so much for a single cake. Hand mixing would have to do. She made a mental note to buy a smaller stand mixer for the countertop, then tried not to sigh. More expense.
Finding cocoa powder and baking chocolate gave her the idea for a cake filled with chocolate ganache. Good thing she had three recipes memorized. Dumping ingredients into a bowl and whisking them together, she decided on a basic chocolate cake, which paired nicely with the ganache filling.
When the mix was ready, she slid the pan into the oven. While it baked, she drew out a plan for decorations.
A few hours, several customers, and zero mishaps later, she had a beautiful chocolate cake filled with chocolate ganache and decorated with a chessboard theme, ready for an eager customer. She snapped a few photos of it for her records, then put it on a cake stand in the display case in the front of the store. Maybe she’d bake up a few cupcakes and put those in next to the sticky buns. It couldn’t hurt to add a pop of color to the display area.
The front door chimed as a couple walked in, a breath of cold air preceding them.
“Oh! It smells divine in here!” The woman pulled off her gloves and stuffed them in a pocket.
“Hello,” Robin said. She checked the clock. Almost three. One of her employees, Wendy Matthews, would be here soon to finish out the day and close up. A wave of relief washed over her. She’d been up since four a.m. baking bread, then finishing the cake. “What can I wrap up for you?”
The couple, who looked to be in their early thirties, both wore navy, puffy jackets and gray scarves.
“We’re here for a few loaves of French bread,” the man said, approaching the till.
“And some chocolate chip muffins, if you have them,” the woman added.
“Coming right up.” Robin busied herself wrapping up their order.
The woman wandered over to the cake on display. “This is so pretty! I didn’t know you did cakes here.”
“Thank you! It’s a new thing. We’re thinking about adding them to the menu.” Hopefully Grandma could forgive her.
