Jacob seemed to have used his quota of words, and Emily jumped in. “We don’t really know what we want. We were hoping you might have some ideas.”
Robin flipped open her sketchbook where she’d noted a few pages last night in preparation for this meeting.
“What about something like this, except adapted for cupcakes? And maybe in green?” She showed them a sketch of a delicate lace pattern in black. The design wrapped around a cake and over the top, but she could pipe a portion of it onto each cupcake to make a cohesive look. “It could mirror your dress a little.”
Emily shook her head. “I like that, but it doesn’t quite feel right.”
“Okay, no problem. How about this one?” The next page held a sketch of simple flowers, which could be piped in various colors. “I could make these in shades of green and blue, maybe a teal or purple, whichever way you would lean.”
“I like these.” Emily pointed at three of the tiny flowers.
With a few quick strokes, Robin drew out how the cupcakes could look. A smooth fondant top with a perfect flower perched on one corner of the frosting.
Emily clapped her hands. “I love it. It’s perfect. I have another idea. I have a spare piece of lace from my dress. I don’t know why, but it came in a bag on the same hanger. I’ll drop that by and you can use it for arranging the cupcakes. If we do these flowers and the fondant in the same blue and green shades as the lace, that could tie things together.”
The concept sounded…interesting…but Robin was willing to give it a go.
Jacob and Emily ate the rest of the cupcake samples with Emily chattering on about all the details. When they finished after an hour or so, Robin stood and thanked them for coming in. She walked them to the door and locked it behind the engaged couple.
Outside, clouds crowded out the afternoon sun dipping low in the sky. She stood for a minute admiring the glow of the sun along the bottom edges of the low-hanging clouds. A few snowflakes still floated down to the ground.
One cake figured out. Now she could dream about the Adamses’ cake. She needed something that would pop, something to wow the photographer.
If she could only get her cake into that magazine. Then she could enter theLa Patisseriecontest. And then she could work her way back to Paris. Maybe she’d go to San Francisco first, reacquaint herself with some of her old culinary school friends.
Suddenly she remembered the design she’d sketched a few days before. The perfect idea took shape in her mind. A marble effect in jewel tones. She’d substitute the reds and purples for emerald, aqua, and some sort of deep blue. Three tall layers for a round cake. The bottom could be a swirling design. The middle should be white so she could easily add in a stylizedHappy 55th Anniversarymessage in gold along the side. The top layer would stand above the others on a pedestal with sparklers popping out to give it even more height.
Sparklers were quickly becoming her signature.
If she used a twelve-inch cake on the bottom, topped with a nine-inch and then a six, that should be perfect for their hundred expected guests. She imagined it in a potential table setting, using accents of gold and silver.
She hummed a hymn as she made her way into the kitchen to prepare poolishes, the starters which would add a depth of flavor to the next day’s bread. She lifted a few mixing bowls off the shelf and moved them to the island, then measured out enough water for each poolish, using a digital scale for an accurate measurement.
Doing a dance twirl, Robin pirouetted to the supply shelf and reached for the yeast container. The box felt light. That was weird. She shook it. Then opened it, and the pit of her stomach dropped.
Empty.
That couldn’t be right. An order had come in on Friday. She rummaged through the shelf. Everything was in its place as usual in her very tidy workspace. No yeast.
Forcing down the bile rising in her throat, she booted up the computer. Surely there was some error. She just needed to check her online order. A few minutes later the evidence was in front of her in black and white.
She’d forgotten to order yeast.
She dropped her head into her hands. How could a competent person forget to order the one thing most essential to running a bread bakery? Answer: she’d been too distracted with these stupid cakes and Sammy and just…everything.
She raised her head and looked at the clock. The single grocery store in town would still be open. Maybe she’d get lucky and they would have what she needed.
She tugged on her coat and gloves and then jogged the city block to the store, slip-sliding on the newly formed ice on the sidewalks.
In the baking aisle, she looked at the three minuscule sleeves of yeast they had on the shelf. These would last her, like, half a day.
She grabbed the packets. Better than nothing.
A quick check of her watch confirmed that shemightbe able to make it to Duluth before the Diner Depot, the store where they ordered all their yeast, closed. They didn’t keep late hours on a Sunday.
As she slip-stumbled back to the bakery, a man got on a bike in front of Wild Harbor. Sammy, she realized, a pang of regret pinging her heart. She wanted to call to him, to apologize. Or at least get back to the friendship they had.
Too bad she was leaving.
