1
Percy
“Why is this happening now?” I slammed the oven door hard enough to hopefully destroy it. Then, the insurance would be forced to replace it. Sadly, it never broke any more than it already was. I was an unlucky son-of-a-bitch.
“Not staying hot again?” Tammy Sue groaned as she carefully measured flour into a large bowl. “Did you kick it? I swear it was fine fifteen minutes ago.”
“It never works for me. Every time I try, I just hurt my toe.”
“Here, let me.” Tammy dropped the measuring cup onto the large island and walked around it to stand by me. Somehow, flour was in her hair, trailing off her with every step like it was actually smoking.
“We can’t go on like this. It breaks – I call – and the insurance says it has to be unfixable. They call Bennie, who gets it working again – then it breaks a week later. I just can’t!” I threw a small fit and actually stamped my foot.
“It’s a vicious circle, Perce,” she giggled as she slammed the toe of her combat boot into the side of the oven. “Try it now if you’re done throwing your little gay tantrum.”
“That can’t be safe.” I sighed as I walked over and turned the knob.
“I’m sure it’s not – but it seems to work.”
“It does not work. It’s a menace.” I stuck my hand in the open oven door. “Ok, it worked, for now.”
She smacked my ass hard. “Don’t be such a prissy pants. Just because you went to some fancy-ass school in Paris doesn’t get rid of the fact that you’re just a small-town boy from California. Remember that.”
“It wasn’t some… Well, yeah, I guess it was. But I went to The École Parisian Pâtisserie, Tammy Sue. I graduated and worked my way up to head pastry chef in a…“
“Michelin Star restaurant at one of the greatest hotels in Europe,” she mocked me in a near-perfect imitation. “Yes, honey, trust me, I know. You mention it at least once a day.”
“Do I?” I smirked.
“You do.”
“I’m a fucking Hallmark cliché.”
She giggled and picked up the rolling pin. “You didn’t have to come home, you know.”
“Maybe?” I walked back over and started kneading my pie dough gently.
“I’m glad you did. I missed the shit out of you, and Facetime was not filling the void – but no, you definitely did not have to. You chose to.” She punched her dough and started rolling her sugar cookies out.
“I mean… I grew up here.” I mumbled.
“Just because your parents retired and were going to sell the place didn’t mean you had to drop your fabulous life and buy this money pit just to keep it in the family.”
“I couldn’t bear not to try to… And my life was not fabulous. I worked twelve-hour shifts and fell into bed every night so exhausted that I could barely sleep.”
She giggled. “So, it’s exactly the same as it is here?”
“Hardly. I didn’t have to worry about paying the fucking bills. All I had to do was create perfect desserts for the rich and pompous.”
“Yet, you still miss it.” She picked up one of her cutters and started pushing it into the dough.
“I would have missed this place more. I couldn’t have stood someone taking that sign down, you know. Don’t Go Bakin’ My Heart’s been a part of this town for years. If someone had, God forbid, turned it into anything else, it would have broken my heart.” I pressed my dough into the small pie tins for my tarts.
“Well, Bette and Joe are happy that you came home. I know it meant a lot to them.” She cut into the dough again.
“How the hell did they do this for over forty years? I mean, this town is so small that having a bakery like this place is… Come on, it’s fucking insane. But they did it. And now…”
“You’re struggling. Hell, I guess we’re struggling, hon. But we’re doing it. Maybe what this place needs is a bit of a change, you know. You kept their menu and added a few foo-foo pastries, but… This place and the stuff your parents baked are them—not you, babe. Make it your own.”
