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“About?”
“I’m worried about tomorrow.”
“Why?”
I adjusted my pillows behind my back and leaned against them. “Well, it’s just there is so much to do, and you don’t know any of it.”
“I can learn, Brooke.”
“I know. I guess I’d just feel better if you’d let me bring you up-to-date on what’s involved.” I shrugged.
“Okay.”
“Well first, Baking Crate orders, they are super important. They have to be done and ready to be shipped, and that is where the extra care comes in. They have to be put in a box and wrapped with The Crispy Biscuit paper, then placed securely into the Baking Crate boxes, and packed perfectly, so they are protected. They need to be labeled, and then Fred from the delivery company picks them up somewhere around ten. But they need to be done way before ten because once all that stuff is baked, you need to make sure that the counters are full for open, which is at eight. The kitchen staff for the diner, they know what to do. Greg has been here since my parents owned the place. He’s the chef, so you don’t need to worry about that side of things. He can take care of all that.”
“Okay, so bake, pack, get ready for shipment, and make sure the bakery cases are full for open. Got it.” He smiled.
“Well, I make it sound easy, but really there is much more to it than that.”
“Melinda is going to be there, right?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“Okay, so I’ll watch her. It will be fine.”
“She’ll be here, except on her days off. That is where you’ll need to know how to do everything on your own. You’ll need to know how to bake everything, and you’ll need to have excellent time management skills.”
“It will be fine,” he said, trying to assure me again, but I was still feeling uneasy.
“Look, I have an instruction booklet,” I said, reaching over to my nightstand and opening the drawer, pulling out a pink book.
“Looks like you’ve thought of everything.” He chuckled.
“That’s because it’s important.” I nodded, opening the book and flipping through the pages and pages of handwritten notes I’d made. “I had to come up with this, in case of an emergency. You know, a worst-case scenario sort of thing, and well, you’re here now…so…”
“Are you saying I’m a worst-case scenario?” Tristan asked, trying to meet my eyes.
I fought back tears as I met his eyes and nodded. I was not used to giving up control of something I’d worked so hard to build. I ran my hand over the cover of the pink notebook and let out a yawn.
“You’re exhausted, and I’d better get to sleep,” Tristan said, slipping the notebook from my hands. “My alarm goes off at four,” he mumbled as he got up off the edge of the bed and walked over to the door.
“Please, Tristan, don’t let me down.”
He said nothing. Instead, he pulled the door closed behind him, and shortly thereafter, the lights on the other side of the door went out. I slid down under the covers, then pulled them up around my neck and closed my eyes. I said a silent prayer that everything would work out for the best, but still somewhere deep inside of me, I was worried that this Christmas would be a total disaster.
Tristan
As I flipped through the pages of Brooke’s notebook, I realized just how far out of my element I was. It hadn’t mattered how many years had passed, she had always made me feel nervous, and now it was even worse. She had become highly successful. I’d checked her out on social media a few times over the last few days, and I’d checked out her Instagram account today and had gotten lost in watching some of her videos.
I was so impressed by her, by the care she took with everything she did. In every single video, she was smiling and happy, laughing. She even baked with a smile on her face, just like she had done in school. She truly had a love for what she did. I had just wanted notoriety.
I reached up and shut the light off at the end of the couch and placed the notebook down on the table. I put my arm behind my head and stared up at the ceiling. I knew that come tomorrow I would be insufferable. I wasn’t used to getting up before dawn. I was used to my life at the magazine, strolling into the office around eleven, latte or coffee in hand, and doing the bare minimum required of me every single day to continue providing myself a paycheck.
Although, as soon as I closed my eyes, I saw Brooke’s—worry lining her face as she sat on the couch tonight, and again only a few short minutes ago while I sat there assuring her everything would be fine when, in fact, I had no idea if it would be or not. I hadn’t picked up a spatula or turned a mixer on since school, which I hadn’t even finished. I had no idea what it was I’d gotten myself into, and judging from her notebook, it was way more than I’d bargained for. Then the worry crept in. I was going to let her down, just like I’d let everyone down in my entire family, and I hadn’t even started yet. I was going to make an already bad situation worse.
It felt as if I’d barely closed my eyes when the shrill ring of the alarm clock went off. I reached over and shut the noise off that rang through the room. I flung my arm over my eyes and prayed for death; it was way too early to get up. I felt sick to my stomach as I kicked the covers off myself, the cool air greeting me. I sat up and wiped my hand over my face, then I heard a noise from the bedroom. I listened again; sure I heard her moving around.
“Brooke?” I called.
