it up was worth exactly zilch. Except for making cake, where it turned out to be very useful. That, plus her natural artistry, helped her land the job with Evelyn.
Of course, making one-off cakes in her small kitchen was way different from the large-scale production of a professional kitchen. Evelyn had carried her for years, patiently teaching her how to bake commercially, showing her how a real business was run, supporting her flexible work schedule so she could care for Andy, and giving her a place in the community. Thanks to Evelyn’s deep roots, many of the folks in Eastbridge welcomed Jane and Andy with open arms. After everything Evelyn had done, she was glad to do some of the heavy lifting.
A few sharp raps—a familiar pattern—sounded on the back door.
“You get Sterling,” Jane said, wiping her hands on a clean towel. “I’ll get his pastry.”
She walked into the front room. Stephanie Ingle, the twenty-one-year-old who ran their front counter on days when she wasn’t taking classes at Fairfield University, was already there.
“Hey, Steph,” Jane called in greeting, and smiled. Steph’s strawberry-blond milkmaid braids made her look even sweeter than she was, and given that she was pretty darn sweet already, it was a tall order.
“Morning, Jane. Was that Sterling’s knock I heard at the back door?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay,” Steph said, pulling out an apple strudel—Sterling’s favorite—from the display case and popping it in a wax paper bag. She handed it to Jane. “I can’t believe he still hasn’t proposed,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “He’s been coming to talk to Evelyn every day for over a year. I don’t know what he’s waiting for. It’s not like they’re getting any younger.”
“You can’t rush love,” Jane said. And she would know. She’d rushed it, and look where it had gotten her—married to the wrong man.
The worst man.
At least she’d been able to get a divorce. “And you know as well as I do there are other issues at play.” Namely Augusta White, his seventy-five-year-old mother, who was dead set against her precious son marrying beneath him.
“Seems ridiculous, if you ask me,” Steph said. “In Sociology, we’ve been studying about class structure and society. Few people care about the oligarchy anymore. It’s all fame and merit nowadays.”
“I wish that were true,” Jane said, but deep in her heart, she knew it wasn’t. Sterling’s ancestors had come over on the
Mayflower,
and the Whites owned property not just in Eastbridge but in San Diego and Bermuda as well. They were rich, connected, and powerful—and everyone in town knew it. Evelyn, on the other hand, was from a big Italian family with nothing to recommend her but her can-do attitude.
Steph just shrugged and began to reorganize the raisin buns. “It’s crazy that it’s not.”
“Oh, Steph,” was all she could say. She tried to remember what kinds of idealistic things she’d thought when she was as young as Steph, but she couldn’t remember. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
She went back to the kitchen, making sure to clear her throat loudly before entering.
“Miss Jane,” Sterling said as soon as she walked in. “How are you this fine morning?” He was holding Evelyn’s hand—a new development—and he didn’t pull away. And Jane noted that while he spoke as politely as ever, he kept his eyes fixed on Evelyn. Her boss’s face was a bit more flushed than usual, and her eyes had an extra sparkle.
“How are you doing, Sterling?” Jane said. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Sterling just asked me to dinner,” Evelyn said, her soft smile making her look almost girlish.
“That’s great!” Jane said. This was the first time that Evelyn and Sterling would be getting together outside of the bakery. She turned to Sterling. “Where are you taking her?”
Sterling laughed. “I like that you have such loyal protectors, Evelyn. I thought
Of course, making one-off cakes in her small kitchen was way different from the large-scale production of a professional kitchen. Evelyn had carried her for years, patiently teaching her how to bake commercially, showing her how a real business was run, supporting her flexible work schedule so she could care for Andy, and giving her a place in the community. Thanks to Evelyn’s deep roots, many of the folks in Eastbridge welcomed Jane and Andy with open arms. After everything Evelyn had done, she was glad to do some of the heavy lifting.
A few sharp raps—a familiar pattern—sounded on the back door.
“You get Sterling,” Jane said, wiping her hands on a clean towel. “I’ll get his pastry.”
She walked into the front room. Stephanie Ingle, the twenty-one-year-old who ran their front counter on days when she wasn’t taking classes at Fairfield University, was already there.
“Hey, Steph,” Jane called in greeting, and smiled. Steph’s strawberry-blond milkmaid braids made her look even sweeter than she was, and given that she was pretty darn sweet already, it was a tall order.
“Morning, Jane. Was that Sterling’s knock I heard at the back door?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay,” Steph said, pulling out an apple strudel—Sterling’s favorite—from the display case and popping it in a wax paper bag. She handed it to Jane. “I can’t believe he still hasn’t proposed,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “He’s been coming to talk to Evelyn every day for over a year. I don’t know what he’s waiting for. It’s not like they’re getting any younger.”
“You can’t rush love,” Jane said. And she would know. She’d rushed it, and look where it had gotten her—married to the wrong man.
The worst man.
At least she’d been able to get a divorce. “And you know as well as I do there are other issues at play.” Namely Augusta White, his seventy-five-year-old mother, who was dead set against her precious son marrying beneath him.
“Seems ridiculous, if you ask me,” Steph said. “In Sociology, we’ve been studying about class structure and society. Few people care about the oligarchy anymore. It’s all fame and merit nowadays.”
“I wish that were true,” Jane said, but deep in her heart, she knew it wasn’t. Sterling’s ancestors had come over on the
Mayflower,
and the Whites owned property not just in Eastbridge but in San Diego and Bermuda as well. They were rich, connected, and powerful—and everyone in town knew it. Evelyn, on the other hand, was from a big Italian family with nothing to recommend her but her can-do attitude.
Steph just shrugged and began to reorganize the raisin buns. “It’s crazy that it’s not.”
“Oh, Steph,” was all she could say. She tried to remember what kinds of idealistic things she’d thought when she was as young as Steph, but she couldn’t remember. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
She went back to the kitchen, making sure to clear her throat loudly before entering.
“Miss Jane,” Sterling said as soon as she walked in. “How are you this fine morning?” He was holding Evelyn’s hand—a new development—and he didn’t pull away. And Jane noted that while he spoke as politely as ever, he kept his eyes fixed on Evelyn. Her boss’s face was a bit more flushed than usual, and her eyes had an extra sparkle.
“How are you doing, Sterling?” Jane said. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Sterling just asked me to dinner,” Evelyn said, her soft smile making her look almost girlish.
“That’s great!” Jane said. This was the first time that Evelyn and Sterling would be getting together outside of the bakery. She turned to Sterling. “Where are you taking her?”
Sterling laughed. “I like that you have such loyal protectors, Evelyn. I thought
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