The Little Brooklyn Bakery Page 3

  When she opened a couple of cupboards to find ubiquitous Ikea china mugs and plates, she was unable to decide whether they were disappointing or reassuring. One half of her hoped that there’d be some exoticism – chic American branded crockery, proof that she’d flown 3,000 miles to be here. But the other half – the more dominant half, to be perfectly honest – was relieved by the sight of the familiar tall-bodied mugs and the chunky primary-colour plates. They said, See, not so far from home after all.

  With a nod of approval, she was about to turn when her eye caught sight of an unexpected door, tucked out of sight at the end of the run of units.

  ‘Oh, hello.’ She stepped through the door out onto the deck, immediately tipping her face up to let the warm sunshine dance on her skin. The sun burnt bright in a cloud-free sky. For a minute she stood there, letting the heat wash over her. The golden glow held her in a timeless embrace, giving her battered spirits an immediate boost.

  ‘I want to see the sunshine after the rain, I want to see bluebirds flying over …’ she hummed as she surveyed the bistro table and two chairs and the empty planter, which begged to be filled with herbs. She would speak to Wes, the mysterious herb man from last night. Musing whether to add a chilli plant in there as well, she turned to survey the backdrop landscape of rooftops and secret insights of backyards. You could see down into the neighbouring plots. Some held climbing frames and swings squeezed onto tiny lawns, while others held compact decks handsomely furnished with expensive-looking garden furniture. She came back to the refrain, ‘Sunshine after the rain,’ and swallowed back the lump, fighting against tears. OK, so it was going to take a while, a long time before she saw anything flying over mountains or otherwise, but one day she’d feel better. She cast a bitter look at the second bistro chair.

  With a sigh she went back into the kitchen. She needed to keep herself busy. There were lists to be made. If only she’d packed a bloody pen. She knew she was putting off the moment when she had to leave the apartment.

  And there, taped to the back of the door, was a large piece of greaseproof paper, a jagged tear down one side as if someone had grabbed the first thing at hand, with a note scribbled on it in what looked like bright-blue Sharpie pen.

  Welcome. Pop down to the café and say hi. First coffee is on me and I’ll throw in breakfast, because I didn’t get to the store for you. Your landlady Bella

  Coffee. Now the thought was in her head, her stomach growled. When was the last time she’d eaten a proper meal? She couldn’t stay here all day … actually, she probably could … but she needed stuff, towels and sheets. This gave her the perfect excuse to get going and stop being such a wuss.

  Grabbing her guide book and purse, she hastily packed everything she thought she might need and headed out.

  For a moment, she stood utterly entranced by the window display, which she’d completely missed the night before. A picture of Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady in her iconic black-and-white Ascot costume was suspended mid-air above what Sophie could only describe as the most magnificent display. Matching black-and-white decorated cupcakes arranged on two candelabra-style cake stands stood like ladies in waiting behind a five-tiered wedding cake, its elaborate icing and shape cleverly referencing the design of the hat. Underneath the picture was a quote:

  Nothing is impossible, the word itself says I’m Possible! Audrey Hepburn

  Reading it, Sophie gave a nod. She needed to start being more positive. Her can-do spirit seemed to have evaporated. With a professional eye, she studied the cakes, marvelling at the precision and creativity, until the door opened beside her and someone came out of the café, followed by a waft of coffee.

  Her stomach complained again and she grabbed the door as it started to close. The minute she stepped inside, she paused and closed her eyes, inhaling. What the sunshine upstairs had started, the familiar magic alchemic smell of butter and sugar, eggs and flour finished. She felt lighter, as if some invisible weight had dislodged itself from her shoulders, as she registered the soothing hint of vanilla, the richness of chocolate, the sharp citrus of lemon. The scents swirled around her, grounding her. She almost laughed out loud. Grounding her, really? But it was true, for the first time in two weeks, she felt a bit more like herself again. And then she spotted the notice above the counter. You’ve got 86,400 seconds today. Have you used one to smile?

  Taking the message to heart, she let her mouth relax into a broad grin, taking another discreet sniff. This almost felt like home and suddenly she wanted to be in the kitchen, mixing, stirring, tasting and baking.

  She opened her eyes and headed for the counter. Her eagerness felt rusty and unused. Now she was dying to see what was available, where all those delicious smells were coming from and what she could learn. She’d never been to America before, there was a whole new world of food to explore. Her eyes lit up. Oh yes, there surely was.

  ‘Good morning. How are you today? What can I get you?’ asked a petite redhead with a mass of curls bundled up in a bright-green scarf, wiping down the coffee machine.

  ‘Hi, I’m … very well, thank you. I’m Sophie. From upstairs.’

  ‘Sophie!’ The girl squealed, dropping her cloth and racing around the counter, and putting her hands on Sophie’s arms, surveying her with bright-eyed enthusiasm, rather like a great aunt who hadn’t seen her for years. ‘Hey! It’s so great to see you. I’m Bella. Your landlady. I’ve never been a landlady before. Is the apartment OK?’ She let go of Sophie and gesticulated eagerly, letting her hands take a share in the conversation. ‘Do you need anything? I’m sorry I didn’t get any groceries in. I think maybe I should have, I didn’t know but then we had a rush order and I just … well it’s always mad on a weekend. Welcome to Brooklyn.’

  Sophie laughed and held up her hands to fend off the rush of words and the semaphore fingers, and to reassure the other woman. ‘It’s all fine. The apartment’s lovely. And a nice man called Wes helped me carry my cases in. Even left me a pot of herbs.’

  ‘Ah yes, the luscious Wes,’ Bella’s mouth dipped slightly before she continued, ‘he’s a sweetie. And always pushing those herbs.’ She nodded towards the aluminium pots of lavender on the tables. ‘Phew, it was a rush to get it finished in time, but when Todd, he’s my cousin, said the magazine needed a short-term rental, I couldn’t turn it down. Now what can I get you? Are you horribly jet-lagged? Is it the middle of the night for you?’

  ‘No, it’s early afternoon but I’m trying not to think about it. Coffee would be lovely, thank you.’ Normally she was a die-hard tea drinker but she knew New Yorkers were fond of their coffee and she suspected getting a decent cup of tea would be a challenge.

  ‘Gee, I love your English accent, it’s so cute.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sophie had to beam back. It was impossible not to. Bella bounced around like an animated pixie caught in a whirlwind, her hazel eyes sharp with interest and intelligence.

  ‘How about something to eat? I made these lavender-and-vanilla cupcakes this morning, or there are carrot-and-cinnamon or orange-and-lemon.’

  ‘St Clements,’ said Sophie automatically.

  ‘St what?’

  ‘It’s cockney rhyming slang, orange-and-lemon flavours are sometimes called St Clements. It’s one of my favourites.’ For some reason she softly sang, ‘Oranges and lemons say the bells of St Clements.’

  ‘Aw, that is so cute. I’ve never heard that before.’ Her face took on a dreamy expression. ‘Cockneys. They’re in Mary Poppins. I could do a whole theme. Supacallaf‌ragilistic cakes.’

  ‘I love the window. Did you design that cake?’

  Bella beamed and Sophie swore the dusting of freckles on her nose danced too. ‘Sure did. You like?’

  ‘Love! It’s amazing. Those black-and-white frills and the sugar-paste feathers are so clever.’

  ‘Awesome. Thanks. Now you must be hungry, so what would you like? First one’s on the house.’

  ‘Mmm, they look delicious.’ Sophie’s stomach
grumbled obligingly as she examined the contents of the glass cabinet. One side was stacked with interesting-looking loaves, walnut-and-raisin, rye, five-grain, along with cheese-and-herb plaits and pumpkin-seed rolls, while the other had rows of beautifully decorated cupcakes, topped with pale cream frosting and sugar-paste flowers like Easter baskets, as well as several fruit-topped cheesecakes, a line of giant cookies, chunks of melted chocolate glistening, and a couple of full-sized cakes.

  ‘Do you make all of this?’

  ‘No, I don’t have time. The celebration and cupcakes are mine. And I live in hope that the wedding-cake side will take off. The cheesecakes come from the fabulous Maisie, who lives around the corner and bakes them while her kids are at school. She uses organic cream cheese from the family dairy upstate in Maine. They are to die for. And the breads and bagels are delivered in daily by a two-man team. Ed and Edie. Well, a man-and-woman team,’ she laughed, ‘their company is called Two Eds. And their slogan is When it comes to breads, two Eds are better.’

  Sophie groaned, ‘Oh my word. I just got even hungrier. And if the cakes in the window are anything to go by … you should have plenty of customers.’

  Bella pulled a face. ‘It gets a bit crazy in here at the weekends. And this week has been crazier than normal. I had two birthday parties, two hundred and fifty cupcakes to make and then ice and decorate with baseball players. I tell you, those little striped shirts are darn fiddly. But then, who doesn’t love a cupcake?’ She caught Sophie’s eye and winked.

  Sophie grinned back, ‘I love the sugar-paste flowers you’ve done,’ she pointed to the cupcakes on display. ‘They look such fun. I’d love to learn how to do those.’ She gave them a considering look. ‘I’m a cookery writer, so I do a lot of baking. Testing recipes.’

  ‘Really? Todd didn’t say what you do. That’s so cool. Maybe we can swap some ideas some time.’

  ‘That would be wonderful. There’s something about baking that …’ Sophie sniffed the air again, feeling a tiny bit better about being here.

  ‘Oh, I think I’m going to love you. Yes, there’s something about baking … it’s almost magical. I love seeing the customers. Coming up with new ideas. Watching their eyes light up. Cakes make people smile.’

  ‘These look gorgeous.’ Sophie peered down at the tray of cakes in front of her. ‘They must take hours.’

  ‘They do … but they’re worth it and every single one is hand-crafted with love,’ Bella beamed. ‘Although it’s hard work, but it’s my business. Well mine, the bank’s and my granddad’s. He owns the lease on the building.

  ‘Now, is there anything you need? It’s the first time I’ve let the apartment. The renovations were only finished ten days ago.’

  ‘Seriously, Bella, it’s all gorgeous. Everything.’ Sophie bit her lip, she didn’t want to mention the lack of bedding, as it really wasn’t Bella’s responsibility, but she had a feeling she’d make it hers.

  ‘Well, let me know if there’s anything you need.’

  ‘No, it’s great and I love the deck.’

  ‘Just watch out for the mossies. They’re nasty.’

  ‘Mossies? As in mosquitoes?’

  ‘Oh yeah. If you’re planning on sitting out there, get some citronella candles or a fan. Now, coffee? A latte, drip coffee, iced coffee, cappuccino, macchiato, flat white, Americano, espresso?’

  ‘Cappuccino, please. The last drink I had was on the plane. I’m gasping.’

  ‘Garsping,’ teased Bella, elongating the vowel. ‘Gee, your accent is so cute.’

  Sophie winced, glad she hadn’t asked for tea, and watched as the other girl set to work with quick efficiency, tapping out the old grounds, tamping down new, quickly twisting the silver filter into place while pouring milk into a jug with her other hand.

  ‘Take a seat and I’ll bring it over.’

  Sophie sat down at the only free table, a bistro set in the window, and took a good look around at the bakery. She loved the eclectic decoration and how it had been divided into specific areas, each one with its own distinct style where the sofa, chairs, cushions and throws took their inspiration from the wallpaper design in the wall panel nearest them.

  Towards the back there was a large archway and beyond it you could see the kitchen, the table still covered in flour and utensils as if the latest batch of goodies had just been finished.

  With a happy sigh, Sophie sat back in her chair. She already loved this place and Bella had given her such a warm, friendly welcome, suddenly she didn’t feel quite so far from home. She pulled out a notebook and her guide book, there was so much she needed to do but her head felt a bit too buzzy and cotton-woolly to get a proper grasp on what she should think about first. Jet-lag was a bummer.

  The underground map looked horribly confusing and she couldn’t figure out the names of any of the lines, there seemed to be so many different options. She glanced over at Bella, busy behind the counter, she’d ask her for some help. She could do this.

  Nerves shimmered as she looked through the window at the busy street. She was really here. London was several hours ahead and in the safety of the café she felt that perhaps if she took one day at a time, she could get through the next six months.

  It would be late afternoon in England. What would James be doing? Was he still with his wife, Anna?

  ‘Hey, I hear you’re Sophie.’

  With a jolt, she looked up to find a man looming over her, the sun streaming in through the window, outlining his shape but making it difficult to see his features. From the way he nodded over at Bella, who was gesticulating with those wild arms again, it was obvious the American girl had indicated who she was.

  Twisting a chair so that the back faced him, he swung his leg over the seat and sat down grinning at her.

  Immediately she was irked by his confidence, the casual attitude, so utterly sure of his welcome. She gave him a tight smile.

  ‘I’m Todd.’ He held out a steady hand which she had no option but to shake. His grip was firm and dry.

  She stiffened, wanting to move backwards. He exuded self-assurance which made her feel doubly inadequate, out of place and alien.

  ‘Bella’s my cousin. I found this place for you.’

  What did he want? A bloody medal?

  Politeness forced her to nod and say tightly, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No problem.’ He lifted his head as Bella approached with Sophie’s drink and cake. ‘Hey, Bella babes. Can I get an iced coffee?’

  ‘Hi Todd, what brings you this way so early?’ She put the coffee and cake in front of Sophie. ‘I thought you’d still be sleeping off last night’s party.’

  ‘Who said I’d been home yet?’

  ‘Stupid me, of course you haven’t.’

  She turned to Sophie. ‘This is my cousin, Todd McLennan. Party animal extraordinaire.’ She leaned down and gave him a hug. ‘So where was it happening last night? Or rather, should I ask who was it last night?’

  ‘You wound me.’ He put his hand over his heart, grinning at Sophie. ‘Don’t believe a word she says.’

  ‘Do believe everything I say. He’s bad news where women are concerned.’

  ‘Bella, Bella, Bella … you do me wrong.’ He sighed. ‘I never lie to them.’

  ‘True, but they always think they’ll be the one to reform you.’

  He shrugged and leaned over to dip his finger in the frosting of Sophie’s cake, winking at her as he did. ‘I can’t help it if they don’t listen.’

  Sophie narrowed her eyes as Bella slapped at his hand.

  ‘Keep your mitts off, that’s Sophie’s. She’s probably not had any breakfast yet.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, his mouth stretching into a wide smile, ‘neither have I.’

  ‘Have you even been home?’ asked Bella, shaking her head.

  ‘Yes, slept snug and tight in my own bed, if you have to ask. Now are you going to bring me a coffee or do I have to beg?’

  Sophie refrained from snorting, as if he’d
ever had to beg for anything in his life. Just looking at him, in his casual linen Ralph Lauren shirt and smart navy shorts, with expensive, if scuffed, loafers on his feet, you could tell this one led a charmed life. Almost as if he could read her disparaging thoughts, he gave her a charm-fuelled, dazzling, film-star smile.

  ‘So English, how are you finding Brooklyn?’ He leaned forward on the back of the chair, focusing all his attention on her as if he really wanted to know. She had the feeling it was a practised move, that came as easily to him as breathing.

  ‘It’s Sophie, and I’ve only just arrived, so I’ve not had a chance to find anything yet.’ Her words sounded stiff and starchy.

  He leaned forward and pulled her notes and map towards him. ‘Bergen Street. The F line 47th/50th.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Hell, she sounded even more prim and prissy.

  He simply grinned. ‘The route to work. That’s what you were looking up, weren’t you?’

  Was he some sort of mind reader? She frowned.

  ‘You’re doing the job swap with Brandi. I suggested Bella’s place when they let the other girl’s place go. Man, bad luck her breaking her leg, but lucky for you, I guess. Never thought they’d get someone to fill the post, that quickly. Were you second pick or something?’

  ‘Something,’ snapped Sophie with uncharacteristic sharpness, stung that everyone would think she was second choice, when she didn’t want to come in the first place.

  ‘Hey!’ He held up his hands in quick surrender. ‘I’m not suggesting you’re not as good.’ Unexpected sympathy brimmed in his eyes, as if he knew it was more complicated than that. ‘The subway can be a bit confusing for a first-timer. Bergen Street is a couple of blocks away. I could show you after coffee.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘We’re going to be co-workers.’

  ‘What? You work at CityZen?’

  ‘Sure do.’ His eyes twinkled wickedly and he raised his eyebrows in suggestive challenge, ‘I write the Man About Town column.’