Chapter One
They say that love is the answer. After years of searching for answers about my future and where I was meant to be, I was inclined to believe that statement. My world had expanded dramatically since my husband Carlos had arrived in Ashland. Following a two-year separation we had finally reconciled, and there wasn’t a day that I woke up without a giddy feeling in my stomach. It was almost too good to be true. The pessimist in me worried that something was going to go terribly wrong. All of my dreams had come to fruition. Carlos was in Ashland and managing our growing boutique winery, Uva. Things at our family bakeshop, Torte, were running seamlessly and we had recently opened a seasonal walk-up ice-cream shop, Scoops, where we served luscious hand-churned concretes made with fresh local berries and drizzled with dark chocolate and dulce de leche. As if that wasn’t enough to keep me occupied, Carlos and I were settling into my childhood home, making it our own by installing an outdoor oven and hummingbird feeders in the backyard and hanging collections of photos from our travels together.
What more could I want? I asked myself as I turned onto the plaza. A lazy spring had given way to a busy summer. It was nearing the end of June, which meant that Ashland’s idyllic downtown was bursting with activity. Tourists had arrived to take in shows at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival; kids lounged in Lithia Park, soaking up the warm sun and a well-deserved break from their studies; adventure lovers waited in line at the outdoor store to take advantage of the region’s abundant outdoor opportunities from rafting on the Rogue River to hiking Grizzly Peak. The eager buzz of activity brought a smile to my face as I walked into Torte.
The bakeshop sat at the corner of the plaza across from the Lithia bubblers, offering my team and our loyal customers a perfect view of all the action. Our bright red and teal awning, outdoor tables, and window display complete with strings of rainbow bunting, papier-mâché Popsicles, and colorful beach balls gave the space a welcoming vibe. A symphony of delectable flavors greeted me as I stepped inside. Andy and Sequoia, our two top-notch baristas, slung shots of espresso behind the coffee counter. We had positioned our state-of-the-art shiny fire-engine red La Pavoni Italian espresso machine next to the exposed brick wall so that our baristas could chat with customers while grinding beans or frothing milk.
The long wooden bar transitioned into the pastry case where a line of people waited for one of our summer berry tarts, mango cream buns, or roasted red pepper and turkey sausage breakfast sandwiches oozing with melted manchego cheese. Rosa, who had taken on the role of a woman of many trades, punched orders into our point-of-sale system and doled out chocolate croissants and slices of cinnamon coffee cake. She floated between pastry counter and kitchen most days and was willing to lend a hand wherever needed.
As was typical, the booths by the front windows were occupied. The same was true for our patio seating—picnic tables with matching bright teal and red sun umbrellas. Finding a spot to linger during the busy season required having an eagle eye. Fortunately we had expanded our seating options with comfy couches and chairs downstairs and additional bistro tables along Ashland Creek on the backside of the building.
I paused to hold the front door open for a woman balancing a plate of pastries and a steaming mug of coffee. She scanned the busy dining room. I recognized the familiar look.
“I believe that table outside is just leaving.” I pointed behind us. “If you want to grab it, I’ll have someone come out and wipe it down for you.”
“Thank you.” She shot me a relieved smile before hurrying outside to snag the table.
I adjusted the stack of mail beneath my arm and continued inside.
“Hey boss,” Andy said with a wave as he deftly poured two shots of espresso over a scoop of ice cream. “Is that the mail?”
I had stopped by the post office on my way back to the bakeshop after delivering a box of bread and cookies to Scoops. “It is, and there just might be something in this stack with your name on it.” I grinned as I handed him a large envelope.
“It came! It finally came?” Andy’s boyish face broke out into a wide smile that almost immediately turned into a worried scowl. “I don’t know, though. I’m too nervous. I don’t know if I want to look. No. No. I can’t look. I can’t do it.” He clenched his teeth and thrust the envelope to me. “Maybe you should open it.”
“No way.” I pushed the envelope back across the counter.
He placed a drink order on the bar and waited for a customer to take her affagato and iced latte before picking up the envelope again. “Ahhhh. Look at my hands.” He held out his trembling fingers. Andy was in his early twenties with broad, muscular shoulders, sandy hair, and height that he was finally beginning to grow into. He had taken on the role of head barista and had been invaluable in getting Scoops up and running. I wasn’t used to seeing him rattled.
His fingers quaked. “I don’t even know if I can open it with my hands shaking like this. I’m dying to know what’s inside, but then again, what if it’s bad news? It might be bad news, Jules, and I’m not sure if I can handle that right now. I’ve practiced for months for this. If I don’t open the envelope then it’s not a no, right?”
“But what if it’s a yes? You would never know.” I tapped the envelope. “There’s one easy way to find out.”
“Okay.” Andy sighed, then ripped the envelope open.
Sequoia and I waited, watching his face for any indication of whether the news was good or bad while he scanned the contents.
Andy read the letter with serious intent. After a minute his smile evaporated.
A sinking sensation swirled in my stomach, and not just because I had already consumed copious amounts of coffee.
Oh no! He worked so hard for this. I had been sure that he would be selected, I hadn’t even considered the alternative. I pressed my lips together.
“Well, read it yourself, boss.” He bent his head forward, hunched his shoulders, and offered me the paper. “It’s not good news.”
Sequoia put her hand on his forearm. “Sorry, Andy. You should have had it. You’re the best barista I’ve ever worked with, and you know that is high praise coming from me.”
“I know.” He let out another heavy sigh.
I couldn’t believe it. How had they not chosen Andy? Sequoia was right; he was the best barista I’d ever had the pleasure to call a colleague—and not only in Ashland and the surrounding Rogue Valley. I’d worked with many baristas in my years at sea, and no one had natural talent like Andy. He didn’t have to spend hours laboring over ratios or recipes. His creative palate guided him. I knew without a doubt that one of the reasons for Torte’s success was due to Andy. Locals and tourists returned again and again for his whimsical creations like his chunky monkey coffee, a banana chocolate blended coffee shake, or a simple Americano with his exquisitely blended custom roasts.
I glanced at the paper. It took less than a second to realize that Andy was messing with us. The first word on the page was “Congratulations!”
“Andy!” I swatted him with the paper.
“What?” Sequoia stared at me with wide emerald eyes.
“Look.” I handed her the paper. “He’s been selected! Andy’s in!”
Andy gave us a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I had to mess with you, at least for a minute. Blame Carlos. He’s constantly telling us to add more play into our work.”
Copyright © 2021 by Katherine Dyer-Seeley.
