The doughnuts sizzled as June lowered them into the grease. This was her favorite time of the day: the making. The quiet before the door started opening with faces and voices. She was up before the sun most days, but she was alright with that. Her mind wandered as her hands, knowing and skilled, kept up with her routine. It was, after all of these years, nearly automatic.
She thought of the first time she’d seen the bakery, when she first came to live with her grandparents in a speck of a town that you could hardly place on a map. Main Street boasted buildings dating back to Colonial America, as only small hamlets in New England could. After work she’d slip out the back door and down the alley, cutting across just a few blocks to the creaky home she still lived in with her grandparents.
Her routine was part of her, and so was this place; it was her grandparent’s legacy. June knew it would be hers one day, had known it since the first time she’d seen this pace. The memory came quickly, the flour floating in the soft morning light like pixie dust as her grandfather knelt beside her. He spoke close to her ear, so as not to break the magic. “This all belongs to you, mon précieuse,” he whispered.
She loved this place from that moment until this one.
Finishing her work at the fryer, and knowing the morning would begin for the rest of the world shortly, she set out to the rest of her routine. She placed cafe chairs, polished the counter, and set out loaves of fresh bread. Turning on the coffee to brew and placing a fresh tray of pastries, she smiled.
The magic of the bakery always made her smile.
During the morning rush,she greeted regular customers, brewed more coffee; June was pleased to notice the new muffin recipe she had tried was selling well. Making her way back to the kitchen, she ticked off inventory, made lists, and prepared for lunch. The panini options she’d added to the menu were a crowd favorite. And why shouldn’t they be? She cringed to think of anyone sitting down for a microwaved lunch.
Gathering ingredients from the storeroom shelves, she poked her hand past a bag of dried currants. Grabbing what she believed to be a package of sun dried tomatoes, she pulled her hand back, puzzled.
“I’ve never seen you before,” she thought.