Page 5 of Baking With A Ghost
I shoo Snowball into the sitting room, so she won't try to follow me down to the bakery, and take the inside stairwell down from the loft. It's an old stone stairwell, just like the outside of the millhouse and quite narrow. I'm a smaller guy across the shoulders, but a few good weeks spent at the gym might have me bulked up enough I'd have to take the outside entrance instead of my shortcut.
Stepping into the bright and shiny new industrial kitchen, a smile breaks on my face. This is my kitchen. My blood, literally, is in this place because I scraped my knuckles pulling up the old wood floor to put down the laminate that's there now. I'd have preferred ceramic tile, but I chose to cut costs and do the floor myself. I'm not very handy with home improvement stuff, but with YouTube videos, I was able to get it done and saved some big bucks on the remodel. There was plenty of sweat and tears to go along with the blood, too.
I'm not about to let an odd letter about a ghost rattle me. There's too much at stake here now. Everything I have is now invested in this place and I can't afford to go anywhere else. If the place does come with its own Casper, I'm just going to have to learn how to live with it. If I could live with a manipulative bastard like Carl, a ghost would be a walk in the park.
After it became evident my scum of an ex was only keeping me around to pay for all of his habits, I took a year to hide away all the extra money I could. I breathed an extra sigh of relief that I had never mentioned the small sum my aunt left me when she died seven years ago. He would no doubt have somehow manipulated me into giving him some of it. It was no longer a small amount, as I had invested it wisely with the purpose of using it for the future. The future was a vague and faraway place, an unknown length of time away, that we never think we'll reach when we're young. Initially I thought of retirement, but sometimes life throws you wacky pitches and you have to duck or swing. I chose to swing and I'm certain my aunt would approve.
"Okay, let's get today started."
My voice echoes in the empty bakery kitchen, and for a moment a pang of loneliness takes hold. It grips my heart and a blanket of sadness starts to cover me, but I shake it off, throwing that blanket in a box in the deepest corner of my mind, while slamming the lid shut.
"You've got this, John. You can handle this on your own. You don't need anyone else. No time for feeling sad."
Even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice, but the day will still go on and I'd rather be in a good place while I bake. I want people to taste the happiness in my product, not a lonely man in his 30's wishing things were different. Sure, it's dramatic to think like that, but the phrase "taste the love" is one I take seriously. Placing my phone on the charging dock, I connect to the bluetooth speakers and hit play on my work playlist. It's filled with dance songs to keep me and my mood moving. It also makes the day go faster.
Today I'm testing a new bread recipe. Placing my recipe book on the built-in holder on the stainless steel island, I flip open to the bread recipe I've been tinkering with for the last month. I had the idea one evening when I couldn’t sleep to create something that reminded me of my childhood. I had hoped I’d have it on the menu for opening day, but it’s not quite right. I'll experiment with one more batch today, before I start baking sweet goodies to fill up the cases for tomorrow’s Grand Opening.
Humming under my breath, I measure, mix and knead, before I place it in the proofing oven. Full body wiggles with my work out tunes have me shimmying over to the sinks and dropping off the dishes before beginning a batch of simple sugar cookies.
Fall is coming and kids - and adults- love shaped cookies. I have pumpkins, ghosts and a witch's cauldron cookie cutter, all of which I use, as I deftly cut several dozen and slide them into the oven. There's nothing better than the smell of baking cookies and bread. It's an aroma I always associate with love, because baking comes from your heart.At least that's what I believe.
When I used to teach home economics, and kids brought me their weird and wonderful creations to say thank you, I loved it more than anything. It meant they were thinking of me when they made it and that they had tried their best. All for me. I tasted every single thing, even the one that was so blackened I didn't know what it was. I made sure to let the student know sometimes carbon is good for the body, and they had done the consumer a health service. She was a shy girl and not overflowing with skills in the kitchen, but she made up for it with her enthusiasm to learn. A few burnt creations were all part of the process.
Checking my dough, I add a baste of butter across the top of the loaf and pop it in the oven. If the loaf doesn't come out right this time, I may have to abandon hope with this recipe.
Since I actually moved to a town named Hope, I really don't want to give up on the perfect bread recipe. Somehow it feels wrong if I do.
As I'm taking the cookies out of the oven, my music is interrupted with a phone call.
"Who would be calling me this early?" I mutter.
When I reach the phone to see who the caller is, I eagerly snatch it up, seeing my best friend’s name on display.
"Ivy! How are you!? Why are you calling so early?"
"Hey, Johnny. Nothing's wrong, and I know it's early, but I wanted to hear your voice before work today."
"Aww, I miss you, too. Is work okay?"
Ivy works at the same school I used to, and also where my ex still does. I never thought it was possible for someone to hate a person more than I hate him, but Ivy does, and it breaks my heart she still has to put up with him.
"It's fine, I still hate seeing that rat bastard's face, but I'll survive. How's the bread recipe coming along?"
Ivy has been my go-to on the ideas for the recipe for this bread. She's been great at suggesting flavours, and I know she's invested in the outcome.
"I have one baking right now. I'm hoping this is the winner. If it's not, I might just give up."
"My friend doesn't give up. You'll get this, John, you always do."
I sigh into the phone, gratitude for her support filling my heart.
"Thanks Ivy, I needed that. Hey, I need to ask you something."
"Of course Johnny, you can ask me anything. You know that."
Walking over to the window with phone in hand, I stare out at the little river that was once large enough to churn this mill wheel, making this mill house a force to be reckoned with before the days of dams and electricity. It's still beautiful, even when it's reduced to a steady flow that's barely up to your knees in places.
"Uh, do you believe in ghosts? Or anything like that really?"
