In the aftermath of her mother’s death, Nora had felt angry more than anything. So angry. Then grief would take over for a while, but then she always reverted to anger. And it had been like that ever since; she was angry most of the time, angry about what she had lost. The fact that she would never get to know her parents better, watch them grow old, share her life with them.
She shaped the loaves and left them to cold proof overnight. She tidied up, locked the door, and headed for the grocery store. She planned to buy herself some Brillat-Savarin, a soft cheese that was so creamy it simply oozed out, accompanied by a mellow red wine. She wanted to watch the party leaders’ debate, and at least one episode of the baking competition she had missed that fall, when Sweden’s most prominent bakers tackled classic cakes and pastries. As long as Henrik Eklund wasn’t one of the judges. Shit, maybe he was? No, she didn’t think so. She would probably fall asleep on the sofa anyway. Every evening for the last month she had promised herself a TV evening with charcuterie, cheese, wine, and the baking show, but she had always ended up working late or falling asleep over the cheese.
It was dark by now. The stores along the main street had just closed, but the restaurants were open, casting a warm glow over the sidewalks. Espresso House was still open, of course. They could afford to keep generous hours. The same applied to the hip bakery; it was impossible for her to compete.
She hadn’t managed to get ahold of the producer earlier, so she tried Elnaz instead. She hadn’t answered, but she’d sent a text promising to contact Nora later.
Had she sabotaged her chances? Would Henrik refuse to work with her? Why had she messed up so badly?
However, the meeting with Elnaz had gone well. They were about the same age, and she seemed to understand Nora’s reluctance. Maybe she was used to slightly difficult owners. She gave the impression of being good at dealing with people, while Henrik appeared to assume that everyone would be charmed by the fact that he had bothered to show up. He clearly didn’t understand that some people might not love having their business dissected by His Highness in a prime-time slot. As soon as he walked in, Nora sensed that he thought she ought to worship the ground he walked on and fall all over herself with gratitude that he was paying her poor little patisserie a visit.
In the grocery store she made a beeline for the deli section and chose the softest piece of Brillat-Savarin she could find.
“You know we have a special offer on cheese?” Maggan smiled at her from behind the counter. “And I’ve got that Spanish ham you like—it’s just come in.” She picked up the enormous Iberico ham and cut Nora a generous slice. Nora placed it on her tongue, closed her eyes, and reveled in the delicious umami flavor.
“I’ll take four ounces.”
As Maggan went back to the slicer, Nora’s thoughts returned to the meeting earlier that day. She couldn’t stop brooding about the way Henrik Eklund had strolled in, looking as if heownedthe place. Unbearably self-confident. She also had to admit that he was unbearably good-looking. Considerably more attractive in real life than on TV.Casually dressed in a checked shirt and blue jeans, he was quite capable of pulling off the lumberjack look, even if he was probably incapable of chopping wood, like the city boy he was. Not that Nora was particularly adept with an axe herself. In fact, she’d never used one.
His firm handshake was ... pleasant. And to be fair, he had introduced himself with his full name, as if she didn’t know who he was. Maybe that was a sign of a certain level of humility. And he had a nice smile—a smile she had seen many times on TV, in that commercial for flour, and in photos of red carpet events that appeared in the gossip magazines she read in the hair salon. She was struck by his white, even teeth behind that thick, dark beard.
Maybe she had been even more unbearable than him, come to think of it. She sighed and took out her phone. One missed call: Elnaz.
Maggan brought over the ham slices and wrapped the package in stiff paper.
“I’ll take two ounces of the truffle salami too,” Nora said. “I just need to make a quick call.” She gave Maggan an apologetic look and moved away. Elnaz answered immediately. The hum of voices could be heard in the background.
“Hi, Nora. Wait a second, I’ll go somewhere quieter. There you go, that’s better.”
“Hi, I just wanted to say that the meeting with Henrik didn’t go too well ... And I’d like to apologize. If there’s any doubt about my desire to participate in the show, I can assure you that I really want to do it.” She did her best to sound enthusiastic.
“That’s great, thank you. But what happened during the meeting? I spoke to Henrik a little while ago, and he didn’t mention anything.”
Shit, had she said too much?
“Oh, okay, good, I was afraid I’d given him the impression that I didn’t want to do it.”
“But you do? Or have you changed your mind for some reason?” Not surprisingly, Elnaz sounded confused.
Nora took a deep breath. “I definitely want to do it. Henrik and I just had a bit of a misunderstanding, so I wanted to be clear and let you know that Idowant to be in the show.”
“Great. I’ve spoken to the producer, and we need to get started pretty soon—next week, in fact.”
“Next week?”
“Yes, both Henrik and I will be recordingChristmas with the Eklundsin a couple of weeks, so there will be a break then, but we need to get going right away if we’re going to fit it all in.”
Next week! Nora’s entire body screamed in protest. She just wanted to bake her bread and cakes, make cookies, and chat with her customers. But then she reminded herself that the patisserie’s entire future was at stake.
“Next week is fine.”
“Excellent. I’ll sort out the contracts—there’s a confidentiality agreement, rights, and so on. We’ll book you in for a lunch so that we can go through everything and get your signature, okay?”
“Absolutely. Sounds good.”
“The producer will be in touch. I’m really looking forward to this, Nora. You’re going to be great on TV. Have a nice evening!”
Nora slipped her phone into her pocket and returned to the deli counter, where Maggan was weighing the little plastic box of salami. She sealed the lid with a sticker and handed it over. Then she smiled.
