Page 12 of Thorns and Ashes
“I don’t think you need my help with that,” I snort. “But no, if I did that, then I wouldn’t be getting the next month’s worth of coffee for free.” I stand as I take a slow sip of the fresh coffee she so sweetlyslammeddown. The heat settles in my chest as I step toward her, watching the way she doesn’t back down. “Perhaps by the end of the month, you’ll have learned to make a pot all on your own.”
“Or I can just keep making terrible coffee and hope that it keeps you away,” she fires back.
“Guess we’ll have to find out.” With that, I walk away, nodding goodbye to Ainsley as I walk out the door.
Chapter Three
Tris
“You know that jerk-face?” I ask Ainsley, genuinely shocked, after Levi storms out, and I return behind the counter to deal with the crime scene I left earlier. Seriously, I murdered these poor croissants.RIP,I think to myself as I toss out the last one that somehow managed to wedge itself between the cooler and the espresso stand. It’s a tighter squeeze than when a girl I know tried to fit her size-six finger into a size-two engagement ring from her clueless, now ex-fiancé. Like, how?!
“Levi?” Ainsley asks me, turning her head to the side.
“Yeah, I guess that’s what Tom called him,” I say, throwing a hand up toward the direction of the door. “Although I can think of several other names that seem more fitting at the moment.”
Ainsley laughs. “Oh boy. Guess you found the one hornet’s nest you shouldn’t’ve kicked.”
“The wha—?” I cut myself off. Nope, not even going to ask what that means. I’m pretty sure I’m starting to speak Ainsley. “Yeah, well. I don’t know what his problem is.” I violently scrub away the dried-up syrup off the counter while reliving the whole interaction.
“He’s probably still hurtin’ after everything that happened.” Her face transforms into one filled with a soft sadness.
I’m about to ask her what she means by that when a pink-haired girl walks up to the register. She’s so short. With her curly pink hair and big blue eyes, she reminds me of one of the Bratz dolls I collected growing up. Before Ainsley greets her andbecomes busy, I remember there was something else I wanted to ask her.
“Hey, real quick!” I point to the kitchen in the back, where we bake all of the fresh pastries and food... Well, whereshebakes all the fresh pastries and food. “I noticed a bag of organic flour in the back, kind of off to the side. I was thinking maybe I could use it to make a sort of vegan organic pastry for some of our customers.” Also, for me, considering if I eat one more pastry, I’m going to need a new pair of jeans, which I really can’t afford at the moment.
“Umm.” Ainsley looks at me with the most concerning expression, like I’m asking if it’s okay to juggle knives, before pinching her lips together. She turns away, eyes flicking to the pink-haired girl waiting patiently at the register. I know that look. She’s buying herself time, calculating the odds of this blowing up in our faces, and probably trying to come up with a gentle, Ainsley-approved way to tell me absolutely not.
But something shifts. Her shoulders drop, the tension leaving her like she’s already accepted whatever chaos I’m about to unleash. She turns back to me with a resigned sigh.
“Okay.”
For a second, I just blink at her.Okay?That’s... new.
She steps up to greet the woman at the register, and I have to physically shake off my surprise at being told I’m allowed to touch the oven again, after what happened last time.Long story.Traumatic for everyone involved. Especially the fire alarm and a charred pair of oven mitts that will never see the light of day again.
I make sure everything out front is stocked and in place before slipping into the back, excitement flickering through the exhaustion as I tighten my apron. “Alright. Creating a new recipe that’s never been attempted before by a person who’s never successfully baked a thing in her life... What could go wrong?”
With that little burst of self-positive reinforcement, I get started. After a quick Google search, which turns into three because apparently there area lotof ways to replace eggs in vegan baking, I finally have a general idea of what I’m doing.
I’m not even vegan, but Idoknow that slapping a fancy word like “plant-based” or “vegan” on something usually means you can upcharge, which means more money, which means Ainsley might stop hovering over my shoulder like I’m a toddler with a lighter. It’s been four months, and yet she still barely leaves me alone for longer than her half-hour break.
I’m surprised something useful from my Marketing Strategy 101 class has resurfaced in my brain. I guess I showed up that day. Must’ve been an off week, one where I wasn’t bouncing between here, Fiji, and Milan, pretending to study while drinking cocktails out of coconuts and shopping at the fashion capital of the world.
But hey, if past-me accidentally learned something, present-me is absolutely going to use it. I scan the shelves lining the back wall, stacked with mismatched bowls and chipped ceramics that somehow work together, moving carefully so I don’t rattle anything. The last thing I need is Ainsley hearing me and running back here because she’s changed her mind. When I finally spot the right-sized bowls, I ease them down like they’re the last of the season’s Louis Vuitton tote. Once everything is laid out in front of me across the large, dark wood and steel prep table, I mix the ingredients, deciding that bananas are the way to go for the egg replacement.
“This isn’t so hard.” I stir a few more times before placing them onto the baking tray meticulously. I don’t need any extra messes. As I place the batter on the tray, an idea hits me, and I smile as I mold them into hearts. “Perfect!” I set a timer and head back to the front, excited and ready to work.
Around a half-hour later, it’s finally time to pull my heart-shaped Organic-Vegan-Banana-Biscuits out of the oven. And this time, I actually remember to put an oven mitt on before touching the tray. I don’t need any more burns like the monster blister I earned this morning wrestling with those stupid croissants. I take a look at my hand, where one finger is bright red and definitely going to take a few days to heal. Man, I hate those things.
I slide the tray onto the prep table and stare down at them with a ridiculous sense of accomplishment. They look... awesome. Like, shockingly awesome. For the first time in months, a feeling I barely recognize stirs inside me.
I’mhappy.
Over biscuits.
Organic. Vegan. Banana. Biscuits.
Who even am I right now?
