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“Morning,” I heard Melinda call.
“I know she came over here,” I heard Tristan say.
“Perhaps she’s in her office. I’ll go check.”
I wiped my eyes. Had he really done all that? I wiped my cheeks again and grabbed a couple of bottles from the shelf that I’d need and placed them in the small basket I’d tied to the front of my scooter and made my way out into the kitchen. “Morning,” I called.
The three of us got right to work, and I watched as Tristan grabbed my notebook and went about following another one of the recipes I’d written out. He first calculated the amount of ingredients he needed and went about his work as if he’d worked with me for years. Melinda looked at me quizzially. I shrugged. I’d not told her about the blowup I’d had, nor had I told her about the incident with Baking Crate. I’d just kept that to myself. I didn’t want her to feel like it was her fault.
Soon we were open. Cici and Melinda waited on tables for the breakfast rush, while Tristan and I worked side-by-side baking everything. When it would get busy, he’d take time going out to the counter and serving customers. I watched through the small window in the door and was surprised to see him smiling and joking with the customers. It was as if something had changed overnight, and I was living in some alternate universe.
I’d just popped the last of the cookies on the trays for the display cases and had to take a seat; my foot was throbbing, even though I’d done nothing but rest it on my scooter. I poured a mug of apple cider and had just sat down and placed my booted foot on the chair in front of me when Tristan came back in.
“It’s finally settling down out there,” he said, coming over and leaning against the table.
“Yeah, it normally slows after the breakfast rush, thankfully. In here is a different story, however. Seventy-five packages to go out today.”
“Seventy-five? I thought it was sixty-five,” Tristan replied.
“Well, I’m replacing the ten to the people who complained. It was the only way to get them to remove the strikes from my account.” I shrugged. “My foot is killing me,” I said, reaching down and rubbing the outside of the boot as if it were going to help.
“You just rest. I’ll pack them up.”
I watched as he moved over to the packing table and began setting up boxes. Then he moved the orders, one by one, and placed them down in front of each of the boxes as I’d instructed. He placed each of the items neatly inside the boxes, arranging them exactly how I’d instructed, then he wrapped each tray and placed it inside the boxes, closing them and placing my Crispy Biscuit sticker exactly how I’d of done it. I watched as he placed each of the boxes of cookies inside the Baking Crate boxes, shoving packing paper around my smaller boxes, adding more of the crinkle paper to make sure they were packed securely before sealing the boxes shut and placing the labels on them.
I was so surprised that he was taking this seriously I had to check my forehead to see if I had a fever. Then I picked up my mug and took a sip and continued watching him. I was floored to watch him in action. He actually could do a good job if he put his mind to it, I thought to myself. I finished my apple cider and had gotten up once the pain medication had taken effect and helped finish packing the last of the orders.
Soon we were laughing and talking, instead of fighting, and it was as if we’d always gotten along. Together we loaded all boxes onto the cart just in time to see Fred pull in.
“Just in time,” I said, excited that we’d pulled it off.
“Yep, just in time,” he said, meeting my eyes.
I softly smiled at him. “Thank you,” I whispered, trying not to get choked up.
He had no idea how much it meant to me that he’d actually cared enough to take what I’d said seriously, but he had done it. I had to stop a couple of times as we worked together to help load the orders. I watched with how he interacted with Fred, speaking as if they too were old friends. They talked, joked, and Tristan even offered to help Fred with a chore at his place. As I handed one of the last two boxes to Fred, he stopped and cleared his throat.
“Brooke, Ava wanted to know if you’d gotten your Christmas tree yet?”
I shook my head. “No, unfortunately, I haven’t. I probably won’t be having the ladies over for the holiday party either. With this foot like this, I’m barely able to get around.” I smiled, trying to hide my disappointment.
“Oh, my dear, Ava will be disappointed, but I know she will understand. She always loves getting out with you girls.”
Ava had been my mother’s best friend growing up. I’d often invited her over during the holidays, since my own mother was off on her own adventures. She loved sitting and looking at my tree and every year she begged me for decorating tips. However, with all these changes, it didn’t even feel like Christmas.
“Let her know I’ll have her over for coffee and some sinful desserts though. It just won’t be with the usual atmosphere.” As the words left my mouth, I saw Tristan out the corner of my eyes watching me, an odd look on his face.
Fred loaded the last two boxes in the back of the van and gave me a hug, then shook hands with Tristan, firming up the plans they’d made. Then he made his way to the driver’s seat, climbed in, and waved good-bye, pulling out of the driveway.
“Well, that was a super productive day,” Tristan said, looking around at the mess we had yet to clean up.
“Yes, it was,” I answered.
Cici and Melinda came into the kitchen, both of them giggling to themselves, and took a look around at the mess.
“Everything all closed up?” I questioned.
“Yep,” they said in unison, moving over to the sinks where they began washing things.
