Chantilly, early April
The culmination of all her dreams stared her in the face.
Robin stood in the paltry glow of morning. Sunlight struggled through the windows at Bakery LaVigne in Chantilly, France. She wrapped her arms around herself as she surveyed the store.
In the month she’d lived here, she’d streamlined the kitchen, added a small seating area indoors, and changed the menu to better suit her strengths. The public area of the bakery was black trim and white walls, with black-and-white checked floors. The dining space had two white tables with three black, bistro-style chairs each.
In an act of whimsy, she’d hung a small painting of a fox near the cash register. She’d found the painting in an outdoor market on the Seine in Paris. Her grandparents had encouraged her to grab on to this opportunity to move back to France, and she was grateful to them. Though she had a small apartment over the bakery here in Chantilly, she spent most of her free time on her days off wandering the streets of Paris. From her apartment, she could catch a train and be at the Eiffel Tower in an hour.
Damien, the clerk, handed her a small espresso cup. “We have a brief lull. Perhaps you want to take your coffee on the patio.” His French accent turned “the” into “zee.”
The door to the kitchen opened, and a hint of cinnamon swirled out on the heels of Jackie, the pastry chef. Robin closed her eyes and imagined being in Grandma Elaine’s kitchen, watching Grandpa Jim roll out his famous cinnamon raisin walnut loaf.
She threw back the espresso in one long gulp. “I’d rather get back in the kitchen. The Gerards will be in for their order soon.”
Keeping her hands busy kept her mind from wandering. At least that was the theory. In practice she found herself daydreaming about a pair of green eyes and the man behind them. Some of Sammy’s last words haunted her.I hoped you would be happy with a life in Deep Haven.
Except what was wrong with wanting big things? Wanting to shine bright?
You won’t find what you’re looking for chasing a mountaintop experience all the time.Sammy again. His comment prodded an ache in her heart. Was that really what this was? An attempt to live a life that wasn’t sustainable?
She mixed up a final batch of fondant to finish the Gerards’ cake. After rolling it out, she cut the remaining shapes and added them to the top of the cake.
She took a step back to look it over. Perfection. The modest two-tier cake resembled an English garden. Tiny shrubs ringed even tinier flowers. She’d even planted a miniature fountain in the middle. Flowers and greenery tumbled down the sides. Moving as quickly as a sloth, Robin and Damien boxed up the order. Through the plastic window on the top of the box, Robin saw that the cake remained unharmed. She carried it through to the display in the front of the bakery.
The bell jingled. “Bonjour,” the customer said. “I am here for my cake.”
“Welcome, Ms. Gerard.” Robin went around the counter to greet her customer. “I have it right here.”
“Please, call me Zoe. We’re practically the same age.” Zoe peered inside the plastic window. “Magnificent! You have created exactly what I asked for.” She spun to Robin, took both hands into her own, and then pressed a kiss on each of Robin’s cheeks. “You are a rock star. I will tell all my friends about you. This is going straight to social media.” And that wasn’t nothing. Zoe’s social media following numbered in the hundred thousands.
Robin’s cheeks warmed. She gave a little shrug. “It’s what I do.”
“And you do it so well,” Zoe said. “I wish I had this much talent.” Zoe left the bakery, cradling her cake like a stack of fine china.
Praise, recognition of her talent, a life abroad. It was all she’d ever dreamed about.
Why did it feel so hollow?
“Damien, I will go sit on the patio after all.” She pushed out the door and sat in one of the wrought iron bistro chairs to the right of the entrance. The cool, damp metal gave her a shiver. Overhead, the weak sun sailed through a pale blue sky, its rays doing nothing to warm her heart.
A clattering on the cobbles caught her attention. She shielded her eyes from the sunlight. She caught a glimpse of white-blonde hair. “Elise?” Her friend came into view.
“Robin! I am so glad to see you!”
She jumped up and gave her friend a squeeze. “What are you doing here?” The two friends had been in contact multiple times since Robin’s move, but they’d never had the opportunity to meet up.
“I had to come and see you and your bakery,” Elise said. “So when I had an unexpected morning off, I couldn’t wait another minute.” Elise twirled her around. “Look at you! You are very French today.”
Robin glanced down at her clothes. Her slim black jeans, dark turtleneck, and canvas shoes did look very petit bourgeois. The apron on top cemented the outfit as bakery chic.
She put her hands on her hips and struck a pose. “I’m trying to look the part. Let me show you around.” Robin looped her arm through Elise’s and took her into the bakery.
She introduced her to Damien and Jackie, the chef. Then she pointed out all the little improvements she’d made to the space and had her taste a fig jam tart piping hot from the oven. Elise oohed and aahed in all the right places. Pausing in front of the little fox painting, she asked, “And this?”
“I found that in Paris.” Robin’s voice broke. She brushed a tear from her eye.
“Ah, I understand.” Elise laid a hand on Robin’s shoulder. “Show me your apartment and we can talk all about it.”
