You’re making assumptions about me because you think you can just look at me and see exactly what I am, but you can’t. I’m strong and I’m determined. I’m a hard worker and I’ve dealt with enough life to be certain I won’t buckle underneath stress. We can both make money on this business. I will promise you a percentage of my profits.”
Something about her persistent optimism made him feel mean. “And you’re so confident that your little bakery is going to make a profit on the main street of a nothing town where any number of businesses on that main street struggle to break even in their first five years of business?”
It was weird to hear that come out of his mouth. Weird to remember that at one time he’d been something else. Something different.
Different than a loner up at the top of the mountain?
It was difficult to remember life before that. Before days spent in this cabin, getting up when it suited him, putting in a hard day of labor before collapsing back in bed. Some days he allowed himself the time to ride his horse. Another echo from another time. This, though, this was part of a life long gone. But somewhere, inside of him, apparently dwelled a developer. He hadn’t really missed him.
“I’m telling you, I have an idea. It will be primarily sweets, but I would also like to make fresh meals to go.”
“Seems like splitting your focus.”
“Maybe. But the more something can be convenient, particularly right in Gold Valley, the better. Oftentimes to get a variety of food people need to go into Tolowa, and that’s forty-five minutes away. The more they can shop local, the better. If they can make a stop for a treat, and also pick up a convenient, healthy meal, I think they will. And there’s plenty of single men in town who would like a home-cooked meal.”
“Okay. So you’re proposing what? There’s a bakery counter and then...”
“The fridge. With to go meals.”
“What else?” He didn’t know why he was indulging this, and he was out of practice at reading his own motivations. Because one thing about being by yourself, having your life taken down to the studs, was that you didn’t have to.
He ate when he needed to, drank when he felt like it. Moved with the sun if he needed to, or didn’t if he was tired early, or not tired at all.
It didn’t matter. And because it didn’t matter, he didn’t have to engage in any internal dialogues about his intent.
He was curious about it now, though, and lacked the inner vocabulary to sort through it.
“I make bread. There will be a bread rack.”
“All right. Well, I guess that’s not the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
He was struck by the absurdity of it all. That he would be standing there on his front porch, talking to this little creature still plaintively holding a tray of cookies.
“But really,” she said. “You should try my cookies. And then, you might agree with me.”
“I’ve had any number of cookies in my lifetime, Iris. What makes you think yours are so special?”
Color mounted in her cheeks, and he searched the recesses of himself and it dawned on him that there were definitely two meanings to something like that.
“Just try them,” she said, quiet, but insistent. She was a strange thing. But by no means as timid or plain as he’d first imagined.
“Did you walk?” he asked, suddenly realizing there was no vehicle in sight.
“From a ways back,” she said. “There’s a tree in the road.”
There hadn’t been a tree the last time he’d been down. But that had been a couple of weeks.
“And if I try one of your cookies, will you leave?”
“Depends.”
“You’re trespassing,” he said. “I could call the police.”
“Sure. But my sister is the police. So, I’m not sure how far that would get you.”
“They say you can’t negotiate with terrorists, but apparently here you can’t negotiate with terrorists or little brunettes bringing cookies? Because you have the police in your pocket.”
“In this instance, yes. I do.”
He reached out, and picked up one of the cookies. It looked like it was chocolate chip. Standard cookie fare. Big mistake. If you were going to come all the way up the mountain and try to impress a man with your baking, you had to get beyond the basics.
Unless she put cyanide in it.
Entirely possible.
The thought of that didn’t really...faze him.
He popped the cookie into his mouth whole, and chewed.
And had to