Chapter 1
Monday 20th of August 2016 at 9:24 A.M. – Bloomfield, Southeast Iowa.
Dear Diary,
Waking up on a sunny day, almost at the end of this year's summer vacation must've been one of the very best things ever. I had finished school, for good, in the beginning of June – 6th of June if I may be more specific. But there was no vacation, yet.
Opening a local bakery in the small town Bloomfield in southeast Iowa in the beginning of May was one of the most outstanding ideas that have ever come to hit me. In just four months it has become a famous place for young students, elders and families to step in and have a delicious slice of cake, a warm cup of coffee, tea, hot chocolate or anything cold to drink to the sweets we serve.
The name of the bakery was something me and my employees came to an agreement of. We call it 'The Sweet Spot'. Fun, right? Kids love it, elders spend hours in the bakery, playing chess and making small talks with the employees.
I'm the employer and business manager, Aubrey Gray. A twenty-two year-old girl – or shall I say woman? – that 1 month ago had made her one, big dream come true.
"I'm moving to France," I breath out a long breath as I throw my long, tanned legs out of my bed and stand up. Placing my hands on my hips, I make sure to keep the same positive smile plastered on my face just like any other day.
That's right. You read it. I am moving to France to open another bakery 'The Sweet Spot' just as the original one here in small Bloomfield.
My dream to do big and reach for the stars came to me 1 month ago when I was working my shift in the bakery. I was talking to the old lady Mrs. Potte when a man in a fancy navy blue suit walked through the little door, making the small bell that hung just above make a sound. That fancy man held my future in his hands, offering me a small and empty local in Paris. He said he'd pay it all – apartment, the place, tables, chairs, adornment, everything!
All I had to do was make sure my bags were packed in the end of August and then Au Revoir, Bloomfield and bonjour, Paris!
It's an offer I couldn't say no to, right? I mean, a one in a lifetime opportunity to open the same bakery in France? 'The Sweet Spot' was going to be popular in Paris, too. Just like it is here, in little Bloomfield, Iowa.
I skipped around my room, humming something from a movie I can't remember the name of as I looked around my closet for anything to wear. Everything was packed up in brown boxes – all my books, accessories, photo albums, school diplomas. The only thing left was all my clothes and small stuff like stuffed animals.
I picked out a pair of ripped high-waisted jeans and a nice, white top. Nothing too fancy. After stripping out of my pj's and putting on my clothes, I made my way to the bathroom for my morning routine of refreshment. Brushing my hair and teeth, using dental floss and practicing on my french whilst so.
"Bonjour, Comment allez-vous?" I try to say in my best french accent which probably would make the Frenchmen feel offended. That's how bad it sounded.
I heave a sigh. "It doesn't have to be perfect, though," I tilt my head a little to the side, playing with the hem of my top, scrunching my nose, "just good enough for them to understand, right?"
I clear my throat, "Je m'appelle Aubrey." I chew on my bottom lip, thinking back to French class with Ms. Brooks and the basic French she taught us. "S'il...vous plaît."
French class was always my favourite in school. It was fun, learning a foreign language. To learn how people in a different country greet each other, how they ask for something and how they treat one another. Also, French food – especially sweets – are the most delicious treats you could ever taste.
I once made my family go to this fancy French restaurant outside of Bloomfield, in another town nearby. The food, oh C'était délicieux!
See, I'm learning!
Giving myself two thumbs up, I walk out of the bathroom, fresh and French. I lead myself down the stairs of the house –a not so big house, but big enough to fit a family of four– and in to the kitchen where my family was.
My dad was sitting by the counter with a cup of coffee and the newspaper in his hand. Whilst one of my younger brothers –the youngest of them, Jesse– was pouring syrup on his piece of bread. Of course, dad was too busy reading about the towns scandals, –please, note the sarcasm– to watch what his son was doing with the syrup.
I shake my head, strolling up to Jesse and grabbing the syrup bottle in his hand.
"Hey," he said, giving me a look that told me he was not so happy of my actions, "I was using that, you know."
I roll my eyes, "Yeah, and look how that went." I gesture over the syrup he had managed to pour on the counter and the chair next to him. "I really hope you weren't aiming for the bread, 'cause, sorry to inform you but," I pat his head, scrunching my nose up, "ya missed."
He shoved my hand away, "Go to French or something."
"France." I correct him with a smirk tugging on my lip.
He groaned and jumped down from his stool, walking over to the fridge to find something else to smudge around with.
"Aubrey! I'm gonna kill you!" And that, my friends, that voice belongs to none other than Joey Gray, my other brother. He is two years older than Jesse and four years younger than me. I'm not good at math but I hope that made him seventeen, his age.
I heave a sigh as I pour some coffee in my mug. "Yes, Joey. We've heard that one before." I turn around and take a sip of the hot, delicious coffee and put my index finger in the air once he enters the kitchen, looking, God forbid, ready to kill. "But yesterday you managed to actually change it all a bit. From 'I'm gonna kill you' to 'I will strangle you'." I wink at him, taking another sip of my coffee.
He was furious. That, you could see on his forehead. The veins on his forehead were popping out, blue and red. Others may get scared or may get the creeps from seeing him like this, but not me. Honestly, living with a brother like Joey –the school's playboy– had taught me that boys his age that go from girl to girl, break hearts and act all cool about it, they are shitfaces. Jerkasses.
He takes in a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself down as he raises his right arm. My eyes move from his gaze to the pink lace bra in his hand. I choked on my coffee as I let out a laugh. And at that, dad looked up from behind his newspaper, eyes wide as he sees the scene in front of him.
"I've told you," Joey says through gritted teeth, "a million of times to keep your shit–"
"Joey," dad warns him.
"–out of my fucking–"
"Language, son!" Dad snapped at him.
"–room!" He didn't seem to care that he had just annoyed dad with his bad choice of synonyms.
I shrug, "Sorry, bro."
He stopped, blinked and cleared his throat, "Hm? 'Sorry, bro'?" He arched an eyebrow at me and I nodded.
"Yeah..."
"Sorry, bro?" He repeated, probably thinking that if he kept repeating it I would understand what was so hard for him to understand.
I put down the cup on the counter in front of me and heave a sigh, "Joey. Are you having trouble understanding english again?"
He groaned, "Just keep your shit out of my room, Aubrey!"
I wave my hands in front of me, dismissively. "Of course, brother. My pleasure."
He rolls his eyes and walks out of the kitchen, only to come back with a sour face and the pink lace bra still in his hand. I couldn't keep in the laugh –even if I actually really tried to– but instead of letting out a laugh and make poor Joey even more angry, I choked. Yup. Choked on my own breath. Just for my dear bad-tempered brother.
Holding one hand over my mouth, muffled noises coming from my mouth, I put out my other hand out to grab the bra. He didn't look happy, I get it, he found a bra in his room. But so what? It's not like we haven't found different girls walking around in only his T-shirts or jersey shirts every day.
Maybe not every day, but 4 days a week. At least.
Like, come on dude. Can't you keep it in your pants at least for one whole week? Desperate to get laid much? And then they say guys can manage without girls. Bullcrapshit.
"Thank you," I give him a smile, taking the bra in my hand.
He shook his head, trying to keep his words inside his mouth, knowing very well that if he cussed, dad wouldn't be too happy and little Joe would be punished.
I smile, sneakily, when he closes his eyes and walks out of the kitchen - once again. This time without actually coming back.
"So," dad finally spoke, turning the page of the newspaper in his hands, "how's packing going?"
I shrug -knowing very good that he wasn't noticing it-, "I'm almost finished. Just a few more things left to pack down in the boxes and then I'll be out of here."
He lifts his eyes from behind the newspaper and blinks, "it's not like we want you to leave, Aubrey."
"Says who?" Jesse chimes in, his head butried deep inside the fridge.
I roll my eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere, young man?" Dad asks him, an eyebrow raised.
Jesse peeks from behind the fridge door, pouting with his lower lip as if actually thinking about it. "Hm.." he drawls, "..no. No, dad, I don't think so."
"Oh, well," dad stood up and strolled towards Jesse. When he was standing next to the opened fridge door, he looked down, "in that case, leave."
Jesse sticks his head out, looking up at dad in pure confusion, "b-but I'm hungry."
Dad shrugs, "so?"
"Am I not allowed to eat?"
"No," he shook his head.
Jesse, clearly being confused, closed the fridge door and walked out of the kitchen, but, made sure to turn around and sneak a glance at dad whom was only watching his hungry and confused son make his way in to the livingroom.
I snorted, "and the award for best dad goes to you."
Dad lifts his chin and closes his eyes, a proud look on his face. "Thank you, Aubrey."
I roll my eyes and heave a sigh, slightly shaking my head as I turn around and keep taking long sips from my coffee.
"Look," dad says with a heavy breath, "I know you've always wanted to go to France, and now you can even make a living there. It's a dream of yours and I have always supported you, yes. But-"
"But, what?" I chim in. Raising my brow, I add, "If you do support me, why the sudden change of mind?"
He chuckles, fiddling with his fingers. "I'm a dad, Abbs. Of course I support your decisions. I have always and I will always do so. But," his eyes were heavy with longing and they were drowning in sadness, "you're my little princess."
I give him a small smile and walk up to him, hugging him sideways. "I love you, dad. I will always be your little princess."
He hugged back, making sure to make it a good and hard one as he broke my bones. "I love you, princess. I will just miss having you around. Only you know how to tame a beast."
He was so reffering to Joey. I'm 100% he was.
"Beast a.k.a Joey?" I smirk up at him.
He didn't try and deny it. He nodded and shrugged. "The boy is playing with fire."
"Yup," sighing, I let go of dad and claps my hands together, "but what are we supposed to do?"
"Been asking myself that for the past year."
After mom died early February two years ago, Joey had changed. He had been going through all the stages of greif we all went through but somehow he had gotten stuck in some bad bahviour after the stage accaptance. Of course, it was a hard time for all of us, but we managed to get through it . Joey just acts as if it never happened.
I let out a laugh and shake my head, "Funny." Looking down at the watch on my wrist I realize that I was late for work. "Oh, I have to hurry."
"Late again?"
I send him a glare, "yes. But it's not my faul–."
He shook his head and pointed to the door. "Go. Leave. Get your ass to work, young lady."
"Bye, dad," I smiled, shaking my head at him as I pick up the car keys from the counter and leave the house.
The day was indeed sunny. A warm breeze brushes past my face, leaving me to just stop in my tracks and breathe in. The wonderful smell of warmth, flowers and just the sight of the sun in the middle of the sky made goosebump reach my neck, making the hair there stand up. I walked over to the car while humming on a lullaby mom used to sing to us when we were younger. Opening the door i sat down and turned the engine on, backed the car out of the driveway and started driving in the direction of the small cafe.
Today was my last day of work before taking off and I had to make sure to tell my employeer, Bronwyn that she would be taking over the ship while I am away. It's not really a ship, of course, you know that. But it just...eh, you know what I mean, obviously. Anyway, since I will still be the manager of the café but not really being present, I need to hand over that role to someone I can entrust my greatest accomplish.
And Bronwyn was just that person. Not only is she my best employeer, but she has been there since day one and there is no other person to whom I would rather have handed over the reins to. Again, it's not a horse, it's just a saying you guys.
You guys are so easily deceived.
|| ⎒ ||
"Abbs..oh my God, no..." Bronwyn was too stunned at my proposal and was watching me as if I had gone insane. "I can't," she shakes her head, "I can't take on that responsibility, I can't even do half of what you've already done for this place."
I roll my eyes and heave out a sigh, "oh, come on, don't even–"
"I'm serious!" She cuts me off. Not cool, Bronwyn, wtf. "It'd even make more sense for you to hand over all of this to Mrs. Potte–"
"She's a 80 year old, retired customer." I add.
"–but me?!" She throws her hands up in the air and throws herself down on the chair behind her. Shaking her head and letting out a tired laugh she continues rambling on, "I'm beyond grateful that you even consider me, but Abbs, I–"
"Shut up!" I yell out, my ears not being able to listen to another word. I sit down next to her and grab ahold of her hands, looking at her with a reassuring smile. "I trust that I can give you the responsibility of keeping this amazing home of ours afloat while I try to build up one half as good as this one."
She smiles, "Thank you, Abbs. I don't know what to say."
"Say yes, Bron." I ask her in a more soothing tone. "I want you– no, let me rephrase that– I need you to help me out on this one." I squeeze her hands, "You've been here since the beginning, when we started from scratch. I trust you with my baby." Again, referring to the café.
For a second she just stares at me, her eyes screaming from either terror or maybe it's tranquility,not really sure. She then nods, "I'll do it."
I heave out a loud sigh and lean back against the chair. "You goof, my heart almost got stuck in my throat there." She laughs and I stand up, opening up my arms as if telling her to stand the hell up and hug me, which she does. I give a great, big squeeze around her shoulders. "I appreciate this, Bron. I won't forget you doing this for me."
She leans back and rolls her eyes, a smile tugging on her lips, "I'm amazing, aren't I?"
I scoff, "yeah, after fifteen minutes of whining and begging me to ask Mrs. Potte."
She laughs and points her index finger at me, "hey, that lady may be old, but she got enough energy to pour a cup of coffee once in a while."
I laugh and shrug, "oh, well, she isn't Bronwyn."
She lausgh dismissevly, then she let's out a sigh. "So, when are you leaving?" She asks.
A smile formed itself on my face as I let the reality sink in for a hot minute. France. Paris. Mine and moms dream. It's all happening. And soon, I'd be walking down the streets of the small and perfect roads of the beautiful city of love. All for you, mom.
"Tomorrow morning."
