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“I am!” all three of them say at the same time.
Chapter Four
Abby
“Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” I grumble as my alarm blares beside my head. I reach over and grab my phone with a groan.
4:45.
This is going to be rough.
I roll out of bed (literally), go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, throw on some quick makeup, and head downstairs.
The bakery is already rolling. Trish is whipping around the place, checking on ovens, and working at a gazillion stations at once. Her spirit animal must be an octopus because she looks like she has eight arms. In the time it takes me to yawn, she’s thrown spices into a bowl, taken a tray of bread loaves out of the oven, mixed another bowl, and washed three dishes. She’s amazing.
I don’t even know how to start, so I just throw an apron on and start washing the dirty dishes in the sink.
A weird guy who’s about my age shuffles over with his mouth open. He has greasy black hair and thick round glasses that make his eyes look all buggy. I can already tell he wasn’t the most popular kid in high school. “Are you Abby?”
“Yeah,” I say with a chipper smile. “That’s me!”
“Do you like movie theories?”
“What?”
“Movie theories,” he repeats like it’s going to make any difference the second time I hear it.
What the hell is this guy even talking about? It’s 5:02 in the morning, my body is screaming at me to lay on the counter and close my eyes, and this guy is talking to me about movie theories? Is there coffee anywhere?
I’m looking around as he gets comfortable beside me. He leans on the sink and pushes his glasses up his nose with his index finger.
“I run a forum,” he says. “It’s called Movie Theories That Will Blow Your Mind. Ever heard of it?”
“Um, no.”
He seems shocked by that. “Really? Because we have over two thousand and one hundred members.”
“Must have missed it,” I say with a nervous laugh. “Should I start my training, or…”
“Sometimes we do TV theories, but we mostly stick to movies.”
“Uh-huh,” I mutter as I look past him at Trish. She’s flying around the front like the Tasmanian Devil. She’s busy pulling out a tray of buns with one hand while stirring a bowl with another. They smell sooo good.
“Scott, are you talking about those damn movie theories again?” Trish hollers when she sees him talking to me.
“No,” Scott answers.
“Leave poor Abby alone,” she says as she comes over and shoos him away. He returns to his station in the back.
“That’s my nephew,” she whispers. “I owed my sister a favor. You can just ignore him. Anyway, I’ll be with you in a second. Great job with the dishes. Love that initiative!”
I smile as she heads back to the front.
I go as fast as I can and get half of them done by the time Trish comes over, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Alright, Miss Reynolds. Let’s learn how to make blueberry Danishes.”
I’m all ears as she pulls out a bunch of ingredients. She’s barely started and I’m already lost. She’s moving so fast.
“And you’ll need to separate the egg yolks,” she says with her voice racing as she cracks an egg and then lets it slide through her fingers. She tosses the yellow part into the big bowl and saves the white part in another bowl. I didn’t even know you could do that. “Lemon juice, vanilla, and then mix it up until it’s nice and smooth.”
She waits for me.
“Oh!” I say when I realize she wants me to do it. I look around for a spoon or something to mix it with. I don’t see any spoons so I grab a ladle.
“What is that?” Trish says, staring at me like she got some of that lemon juice in her mouth. “Use the electric mixer or we’ll be here all day.”
“Oh. Right.”
I take way too long to put the little twirly thingies into the machine and then to look around and find a plug. Trish loses her patience and grabs it from me. She sets it up in two seconds flat and then hands it back.
I put it in the bowl, push the button, and half the ingredients fly onto the counter. Scott chuckles from where he’s spying on us at his station. Geez, even the weird nephew is laughing at me…
“Turn it on outside of the bowl and slowly put it in,” Trish says as she scoops up the ingredients with her hands and puts them back in the bowl. “Now, watch carefully.”
I’m trying to focus on her hands which are moving in a blur.
Roll the puff pastry, I tell myself as she’s flying around the space. Trim the edges, brush it with egg white, make a pastry nest by folding in the corners, put the blueberry filling inside.
