Meet Your Baker (20 page)

I didn’t even notice Mia in the throng of hungry guests in line for sandwiches. A couple of people had purchased box lunches and were eating them, standing next to the door. Outside, our metal bistro tables, coated in a thin layer of ash, sat empty.

When I raced to bus tables, I bumped into Mia who was waiting at the back of the line that snaked between tables.

“Hey, Mia, I heard the news. So glad they let you go.” I waved to a customer at a nearby table requesting service. “Gotta run, but I want to talk to you when you have a sec. I’ll be back.”

Her mousy hair spiraled in all directions, her cheekbones, looked sunken, and her skin matched the gray skies outside.

I stopped. “Mia, are you okay?”

Tears fell from her owllike brown eyes, a size too big for her petite head.

Shoot. I froze for a moment and surveyed the room. A two-person table opened up. I grabbed Mia by the arm and forced her into the empty chair. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

I hurried to the table that was flagging me down. They wanted refills on their coffee. I glanced at Mia as she wiped her nose with a napkin, held up my finger to let her know not to move, and squeezed between the line at the counter to grab a carafe of Andy’s cold brew and a pitcher of ice.

“You got this for a minute?” I asked Andy, who squirted house-made caramel sauce into the bottom of two empty cups with one hand and poured shots of espresso over ice with the other.

“No problem, boss. I’m on fire.” He laughed. “The whole town is, right?”

“Thanks.” I snatched a couple paper cups from his stack.

I refilled the waiting customers’ coffee mugs and wove through the bustling section of tables to Mia.

“Here.” I dropped ice in a cup and poured cold brew over it. “Have some coffee. It’ll help.”

She tried to smile. Her delicate lips folded into a frown and tears dripped from her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” She sniffed. “You must think I’m a mess. I mean, I am, but I don’t know why I can’t stop crying.”

“It’s okay.” I handed her another napkin from the stack on the corner of the table. “Trust me, I know about being a mess.”

She dabbed her eyes. “You? You’re Juliet Capshaw. You have a charmed life. Everyone around here talks about it. It’s like everything you touch turns to gold.”

“Ha!” I threw my head back and laughed. “Mia, I promise you, nothing I touch turns to gold. Quite the opposite. Let’s start over.” I extended my hand. “Call me Jules.”

Mia wiped her nose with the napkin and started to reach for my hand. She stopped and crumpled the napkin on the table. “What’s wrong with me? I almost did it again. First with jam, now with…” She tittered. “Snot.”

She shook her head. “Okay, Jules, I won’t shake your hand with my snotty mess, but thanks for being so nice. I’m so embarrassed.”

“What do you have to be embarrassed about?”

She tugged another napkin from the stack and twisted it in her hands. “Everything.” She eyed Andy working at the bar. “I shouldn’t have asked him to let me stay that night, but I didn’t know what else to do. Everything changed. If it weren’t for Nancy…”

I poured myself a cup of cold brew and waited. The iced coffee was refreshing and infused with chocolate and nutty flavor.

Mia looked around the room. “Am I taking too much of your time?”

“No, no, not at all. Go on.”

“Did Andy tell you that Nancy hired me to ghostwrite her memoir?”

I nodded.

“I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t like her from the moment I met her, but I didn’t have a choice. It’s just me and my mom. Money’s been pretty tight. I really need the extra cash.”

Mia’s mom works in OSF’s props department. I remember the props department most vividly from my brief acting days. As a kid I thought it was like a mad scientist’s workshop with drawers full of fake plastic eyeballs, colorful buttons, and lifelike snakes. Mia’s mom took me and the other child actors on tours of the warehouse, letting us fight with foam swords. I don’t remember hearing anything about Mia’s father.

“I know the feeling.”

She gave me a shy smile and continued. “Nancy offered me five thousand dollars to document her life. That’s a lot of money. I couldn’t turn her down.”

“Did she plan on selling this memoir? I mean, don’t you have to be someone pretty famous to get a book deal for your life story?”

“She said she did, but now I don’t think so. I don’t think she ever planned to sell it, I think the whole reason she wanted me to work on the project was to stir up trouble.”

“That sounds about right.”

Mia picked up her coffee but didn’t take a drink. She absentmindedly swirled the ice in the glass. “At first I thought it was going to be okay. At least the writing part. She was awful, demanding that I follow her around and ‘document’ everything she did.”

“What did she do that would require documentation?”

“Nothing. She went to every play. Complained about the actors, fought with everyone—Lance, Caroline, me. That night, at Midnight Club, she fired me in front of everyone.”

“I know, I heard. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Mia’s eyes darted around the room and she pushed herself even closer to the table, so much so that it looked like her stomach was touching the edge. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“Her firing me was a big show. I know why she chose me to write her fake book.”

My toes tapped under the table. “Why?”

“Because she wanted to ruin my life.” Mia sighed. “I thought it was a happy accident that a struggling creative writing student like me landed a paying job. In fact, she told me that one of my professors recommended me. I’ve asked around. That was a total lie.”

I tried to stop tapping my feet. Good thing the floor is concrete; otherwise everyone would think we were having an earthquake.

“It was all part of her master plan. She chose me on purpose. A nasty trick. She knew what I’d discover while working on her
story
.”

“What?” I could barely contain my curiosity.

Mia dropped her voice. “She wanted me to find out who my father is.”

“I don’t understand?”

“Neither did I. It’s always been Mom and me. Mom told me that my father had passed through town. They met at a bar and had a one-night stand. She didn’t even know his last name. I was okay with that. She’s a great mom, you know?”

Smiling, I agreed. “Yeah, I know how it is to be a mom-and-daughter team.”

I glanced toward the kitchen where Mom stood peeling apples. The bakeshop smelled of cinnamon and sourdough bread. Mom had created this warm, welcoming space. Torte’s like a living, breathing incarnation of her personality. Watching her made me all the more committed to making sure we got things shipshape before I left.

Mia started ripping her napkin into small pieces. “At least you knew who your dad was. I’d never tell Mom this, but each season I watch the crowd, wondering if maybe my dad was one of them. What if he’s one of the tourists who comes back every year? Would I recognize him? Would he recognize me?”

I felt bad for Mia. Her mousy personality made more sense.

“Not knowing was better.”

“I don’t get it. How did Nancy know who your father is, if your mom doesn’t?”

“That’s the thing.” Tears welled in Mia’s eyes. “Mom did know. She lied to me.”

Mia held my gaze. “Richard Lord is my father.”

Chapter Thirty

Of course. The pregnant woman in the photo with Richard, Lance, and Nancy was Mia’s mom.

“Richard Lord?” I yelped.

Mia begged me to keep quiet with her eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that so loud, but Richard Lord?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe it.”

Richard Lord is Mia’s father?
The two could not be more opposite. Picturing the boisterous, demanding Richard Lord as timid, mousy Mia’s father made my head spin.

“How did Nancy know? She’s only been in town for a couple months.”

Mia shook her head. “No, that’s another lie. She and Richard hooked up years ago when she worked for the company one summer. I don’t know how she found out. Maybe he confessed?

“I can’t believe that I’ve been searching for my dad and all this time he was right here. Why would Mom lie to me?” She ripped the napkin to shreds.

“Have you asked her?”

“No, I haven’t had a chance and I don’t even know how. I’m so mad right now.”

“She must have her reasons, Mia.” I reached across the table and patted her arm.

“Maybe. But what about Richard? Does he even know? Has he known all these years and ignored me? That’s why I stayed that night. I found out right before Midnight Club. When Nancy came in, drunk and stumbling, I wanted to kill her. I really did, Jules.”

“You weren’t the only one.”

“I didn’t though. Like I told the Professor, I needed some space to clear my head. I couldn’t go home and face Mom. Not then. I asked Andy if I could stay. I know I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry if I caused trouble for him and for you.”

“It’s okay.”

She swept the paper shreds into a pile on the middle of the table.

“What are you going to do?”

“I guess I’m going to have to talk to Mom.”

“That sounds like a good first step.”

“I guess. I don’t know how I’m going to do it though.”

“Tell her what you told me. She’s your mom, Mia. That’s what she’s there for.”

I could hear the hypocrisy in my words. I wondered why I hadn’t taken my own advice.

I squeezed her hand. “Good luck. You’ll be okay. Let me know how it goes.”

She thanked me and pushed her chair from the table. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached into her purse. “Here’s your key.”

I took it and grabbed her hand. “Hey, wait, before you go. There are a couple things I’m curious about. Why did you have jam all over your hands the other morning? And is Andy really your boyfriend?”

Mia scooped the remains of the napkin in her hand and blushed. “No, I wish. He’s so cute, but I think he likes someone else.” She stood. “I owe you for the jam. I ate the jar that morning.”

“What?”

She tossed the napkin shreds in the garbage. “I’m a nervous eater.” She looked sheepish.

“Don’t worry about it. That one’s on us.” I waved as she exited.

Noise from chatting customers and clanging plates whizzed around me. I sat, almost stunned for a moment. Richard Lord was Mia’s dad and Nancy intentionally set Mia up to discover this information. Why? What did Richard know? Had he kept Mia a secret all these years? Was that information worth killing for?

I stacked our coffee cups and balanced them as I returned to the kitchen. The lunch rush passed. Stranded out-of-towners lingered over afternoon coffee and pastries. I ordered Stephanie to bus tables while Andy held down the counter.

Mom suggested we double our prep efforts for tomorrow. The forecast called for continued smoky conditions.

She started on pastry fillings and I creamed butter and sugar for a dark chocolate cookie dough. We’d refrigerate anything we could overnight and pop them in the convection ovens first thing in the morning. Cookie and cake batter, pudding and pastry fillings, can be left for the night, but bread and any rising dough would have to wait until morning.

I filled her in on what I’d learned from Mia.

“What a shame.” She reduced fresh blueberries on the stove. “Poor Mia. I can understand why she feels hurt, but Anna has always been fiercely private.”

“I don’t remember much about her, other than that she used to let us play with the props.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, she’s a lovely woman. A real beauty in her day.” She looked pensive as she stirred the berries. “Kind, too. I’ve always wondered if there might be more to the story. She guarded Mia. If her father had really been someone passing through town, it seemed strange that she held her so tightly, but we can never know what motivates someone else, can we?”

My dough had reached what I call chocolate density—a deep, dark color and thick, rich consistency. “I feel bad for Mia.”

“She’ll be okay. Knowing is the biggest hurdle. Imagine wondering for all these years. Even if she’s stuck with Richard Lord, it’s always better to know. Isn’t it?”

The last question she directed at me. We hadn’t finished our conversation about Carlos and we both knew it.

Mom cooled the blueberry sauce and began slicing chunks of pineapple. “Have I ever told you what my mom used to say about love?”

“I don’t think so.”

She licked her finger and continued. “My mom used to say, before I met your father, that it’s not about meeting the right guy—there are hundreds, thousands, of right guys in the world—it’s figuring out the right one for you.”

She dropped pineapple chunks in a saucepan and sprinkled sugar over the top. “I didn’t understand what she meant until I met your father. I had dated a couple other guys, pretty seriously, before your dad. What I’ve come to understand is that someone can be absolutely wonderful and yet be absolutely wrong for you.”

“We’re not talking about Mia anymore, are we?”

Mom measured a teaspoon of vanilla and stirred it into her pineapple sauce. The tangy, sweet fruit smelled ripe and like a Tahitian island.

“Are you saying that Carlos is wrong for me?”

“No, honey. I’m saying you have to figure out who’s
right
for you. Maybe it’s Carlos. Maybe it’s not. Either way he can still be a good guy.”

I didn’t answer. I blended chunks of dried cherries into the chocolate dough.

Was Mom trying to find a gentle way of telling me she didn’t think Carlos was right for me? Could she be right?

Chapter Thirty-one

After we finished tomorrow’s prep work. Mom sped through the closing routine. She sent Stephanie and Andy home with a reminder to cover their mouths and not to dawdle outside.

“I have to take off, honey,” she said, tossing a towel with bleach in the sink. “It’s my book club tonight. Are you okay to close up?”

“Yeah, of course, go.”

She hesitated. “Do you want to join me?”

“No, thanks. I’m gonna finish up a few things around here. I have a couple recipes tossing around in my head I want to try.”