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Her destination was a two-story beige brick building directly across the square from The Yummy Cowboy Diner. A sign embedded in the facade above the second-story windows said,E.F. Forster & Sons, 1913. Swags of red, white, and blue striped bunting hung over all the windows, including the large plate-glass store windows on the ground floor, and a large American flag flew beside the front door.
A large sign advertisedJenna’s Java & Bakery - Locally Owned & Operated - Fresh Daily - All Natural.
Mom and Grandma Abigail had both raved about Jenna’s pastries. Jenna and Summer had been friends all throughout middle school and high school. A few months after graduation, Jenna had married her longtime boyfriend, moved away from Snowberry Springs, and lost contact. By that time, Summer was in California, attending the Culinary Institute of America.
Now Jenna was back, and making a name for herself with coffee and sweet treats.
Summer entered the caféand found the interior was bright and modern while still maintaining rustic charm. Which was more than she could say about The Yummy Cowboy Diner, whose current decor epitomized everything that sucked about the 1970s.
A large blackboard hung from the ceiling behind the register. It advertised salads, soups, and sandwiches in addition to a long list of coffee drinks. On either side of the register, clean, lighted display cases held a large selection of tempting pastries.
This could work, thought Summer. Whoever had baked these had to be a trained pastry chef. All of the cookies, éclairs, croissants, tartlets, Danishes, and pastel-colored macarons looked uniform, attractive, and utterly scrumptious. A set of shelves behind the counter held loaves of bread in all sizes and shapes, including the baguettes she sought.
“Hi there,” the young man working behind the counter greeted her with a smile. His gaze landed on her chef’s coat, and his eyes widened a fraction. “…Ms. Snowberry. How may I help you?”
“I’ll take one of everything from the second shelf on down.” She indicated the pastry selection, omitting the cookies on the top shelf. They looked great, but she needed to know if the upscale items tasted as good as they looked. “For here. Oh, and a baguette to go, please.”
“Uh, sure,” said the young man, clearly taken by surprise. Summer had to commend him for remembering to ask, “And would you like a cappuccino or latte to go with your order?”
“A latte would be great, thank you,” she said. “Double shot, whole milk, one pump of vanilla syrup, please.”
“You got it.” He grabbed two white lunch plates from a stack on the backbar, and swiftly filled them with pastries. “No cookies?”
“Not today. Just the pastries.”
While he began making her latte, Summer took the plates and found a table. The cafe was deserted at the moment, probably because it was halfway between breakfast and lunch.
She began sampling the pastries, and had to suppress a moan of pleasure. They were perfect—buttery, flaky, flavorful but not sickeningly sweet.
“How are the pastries?” The young man came around the counter and set her latte down on the table. He pointed at the glazed rectangle of flaky puff pastry sandwiching a thick layer of vanilla crème pâtissière. “The Napoleon is my favorite.”
“It’s all wonderful,” Summer said around a mouthful of éclair. She swallowed and said, “I was wondering if I could talk to Jenna about a dessert catering opportunity.”
“I’ll go get her right away!” He vanished through a door at the back of the café.
A minute later, a woman Summer’s age came in. She wore a flour-dusted, butter-stained apron over a black t-shirt. Her long black hair was pulled into a ponytail that stuck out from a baseball cap with her bakery’s name. “Summer! I heard you were back.”
“Thanks. And it’s great to see you, Jenna. How are you?” Summer rose to exchange hugs with her old friend.
“Doing pretty well,” Jenna replied. “I was so sorry to hear about your grandpa. He’s the one who let me set up here, rent-free, for the first six months, and loaned me the money to buy all of the bakery equipment and furniture I needed. He said the huckleberry turnovers I brought him sealed the deal.”
Summer chuckled. “He always did have a big sweet tooth. And how’s Luis doing?”
Jenna’s face fell. “We got divorced last year. He had another woman.”
“Oh no!” Summer couldn’t hide her shock. Jenna and Luis were supposed to be one of those forever couples who celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary together.
“I told him I’d give him another chance, but he had to choose: me or her. He choseher.” Jenna’s expression twisted.
“I’m so sorry.”
Jenna shrugged. “So, I took the twins and moved back home.” She pulled out the chair opposite Summer and sat. “Vince,mijo, could you pull me a latte, too?”
“Sure thing, Tia Jenna!” Vince replied.
“Hm, let me think…what else is new?” Jenna mused. “Did you hear that Evie is running the Tony Carter & Son Garage? It’s called E.V. Carter Automotive now.”
“Good for her!” exclaimed Summer. She’d always liked Emmaline Violet Carter, who hated both her first and middle names, and went by “Evie,” for her initials. “She always loved cars, but last I heard, Mr. Carter was dead-set against letting her work as a mechanic. What changed?”
