Love is What You Bake of it Read online

  “And what if I never get married? Do you want to be stuck with me forever?” Kally crossed her arms in challenge. “That old world thinking doesn’t apply anymore.”

  “You should want to get married one day,” Melina said. “Find the right man. A good man.” She snapped her head around and glared at her husband. “Not a Greek man. They’re impossible!”

  “Vre, Melina,” George groaned. “What are you teaching the girls?”

  The squeak and clack of the fence gate halted the bickering. “We’re here!” a cheerful voice called out. Mia was the first to rise from her seat to greet her godparents at the door. Thalia and Markos were her mother’s cousins. Thalia’s mother, Rhea, who stood alongside them, gave refuge to Melina and her mother when they left Kalamata. Melina and Thalia had been raised more as sisters than as cousins.

  “Efthymia, hronia polla, vaptistiki mou!” Thalia said, kissing her goddaughter fondly on one cheek, then the other.

  “Thank you, Noná.”

  Thalia stuffed a twenty-dollar bill in Mia’s palm.

  Mia laughed. “I’m not a little girl anymore. You don’t have to do this.”

  Thalia winked. “It’s tradition.”

  Melina walked over and took Rhea by the elbow, seating her next to her own mother.

  “Krystina, put down that contraption and clear the dishes from the table,” George demanded.

  Krystina looked up from the screen of her iPhone. “Okay, but only if Theo helps.”

  “I’m not asking you,” he demanded.

  “Theo will help your father clean the grill,” Melina said, trying to appease her daughter.

  Krystina muttered something under her breath and Kally jumped to her feet. “Mia and I will help you, Krys.” Kally coaxed her sister to her feet.

  Inside the kitchen, Kally was loading the dishwasher as Mia and Krystina carried desserts and dishware back and forth.

  “Mom,” Kally began when her mother came in carrying a tray of empty glasses. She closed the door to the dishwasher and pressed the start button. “You know you’re not doing Theo any favors by letting him get away with doing nothing.”

  She rinsed out the sink and turned to look at her mother. Melina was placing the cake Kally had brought on a glass pedestal—red velvet with fresh raspberry filling covered with dark chocolate ganache.

  “He knows you love him, right? Just as much as the rest of us. So stop compensating or he’ll turn out just like Dad.”

  Melina’s face went sour. “By like your father you mean a grumpy, inconsiderate, self-centered pain in the ass?”

  Both women burst into laughter.

  “Tell me how you really feel, Mom! And you wonder why I have no interest in marriage?”

  “Oh, koukla, I hope that isn’t true. Men today are not like your father. He has old ideas.”

  “Yeah, well, some of the new ideas aren’t so fantastic either.”

  “It only takes one good man to come along,” Melina said. “I was on The Facebook. Did you know that there’s a group called Greek Singles? Why don’t you give it a try?”

  Kally bit her lips together to stifle a smirk. “First of all, it’s just Facebook, not The Facebook. Second, no. And third, don’t even think about it.”

  One good man indeed! Kally knew exactly where to find one of those. The only place they existed was in the pages of a good romance novel. And she was heading home to indulge in that fantasy very soon.

  “Manifesting is a lot like making a cake. The things needed are supplied by you, the mixing is done by your mind and the baking is done in the oven of the universe.” Stephen Richards

  Chapter 2

  Kally

  The Coffee Klatch was an aptly named establishment. It didn’t take too long from the day of its grand opening to become a spot where patrons felt at home to linger for extended periods of time, conversing with friends while sharing a decadent pastry or enjoying a leisurely afternoon coffee. The café attracted an eclectic assortment of regular customers and their presence added to the essence and spirit of the café.

  Milton and Spyro, a pair of octogenarians she recognized from church, came every day to discuss the state of the world and argue over politics while drinking strong Greek coffee and nibbling on sweet baklava.

  Mr. and Mrs. Lawson were once-a-week regulars. They arrived every Saturday morning at nine a.m., seating themselves at a table by the large window. Mr. Lawson was British, his wife, French. A transfer from his company brought him to New York. Kally would have thought they’d prefer to live in the city, but they enjoyed the serenity of the North Shore and its proximity to both the trendy East End of Long Island and the sophistication of Manhattan.

  Four different book clubs convened during the course of the month, as well as a trivia game night, and even a knitting circle. By hosting these evening events, Kally made use of the space wisely, helping to cover her overheads in hopes of breaking even in her first year. But she had surpassed that expectation. Her ingenuity, creativity, and talent creating mouth-watering pastry and warm, comforting beverages, as well as the inviting atmosphere, afforded her a tidy little profit.

  Early Tuesday morning, Kally walked the short distance from her home to the café. Today, as she stepped up onto the curb, the toe of her shoe hit a piece of metal debris. Bending down, she noticed a battered license plate littering the sidewalk. Her first thought was to throw it away, but right before she placed it in the trashcan, she thought better of it. What if it had been stolen? Or what if it accidentally dropped from a passing car? Pulling a few tissues from her bag, she wrapped up the filthy piece of metal. She’d hold onto it until she had a moment to call the authorities.

  Kally preferred to begin each workday in solace. The staff would trickle in slowly, assisting her with the baking and the daily routine of opening. But she relished in that first hour or two when there was no one in her space except the voices coming from her earbuds.

  Kally jolted when her best friend, Egypt, snuck up behind her, pulling on one of the earbuds to listen for herself. “What is it today? Show tunes? Mozart? Or one of those audiobooks you get lost in?”

  “Don’t scare me like that.”

  “Definitely a romance then. You get so absorbed in them, you don’t know what’s happening around you,” Egypt continued. “What would you like me to work on?” she asked, securing around her waist an apron embellished with the café logo.

  Kally wiped her hands on her own signature apron. She had a collection of them. Egypt could usually read Kally’s mood from what was written across her chest. Today, she had on an ivory apron with black ruffles. A pink cupcake dripping with frosting hovered above the words, ‘Sometimes you just need to eat a cupcake with icing and get over it!’

  “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  “No.” Kally looked at her friend as though she was one card shy a full deck. “What are you talking about?”

  “That.” Egypt pointed to the writing scrawled on her apron. “Your apparent mood of the day.” Pursing her lips, she waited for an answer.

  “Oh, that. I had dinner at my parents’ home.” Kally let out a tiny groan. “Same old same old. My dad telling me I should have never moved out. Dad arguing with Mom. Dad letting Theo get away with murder. Mom wanting to get me on ‘The Facebook’ to join a singles page.”

  “The Facebook?” Egypt giggled.

  “Anyway, these are the scones of the day.” Kally handed her a large tray. “Dried cherry pistachio. Slip those into the oven for me while I finish the Tres Leches Cakes.”

  Egypt placed three large sheet pans into the commercial oven. Looking for a pair of oven mitts, she noticed the license plate resting on a folding chair in the corner.

  “What’s this doing here?”

  “I found it outside the café door. I called the police station to come and pick it up. I wasn’t sure if it was lost or stolen.”

  Two hours later, The Coffee Klatch was buzzing with activity. Luis, the baking assistan
t she had pulled from the local community college culinary program, was in the kitchen whisking eggs, two servers were waiting on tables and Kally and Egypt were manning the to-go counter near the front door.

  By the time the morning rush had died down, Kally’s mop of pinned-up curls had fallen out in random spots, her apron was covered with coffee splatters and her face was dotted with powdered sugar. Before she had a moment to change her apron and freshen up, a police officer walked in, presumably to retrieve the errant license plate.

  Egypt came up behind Kally and clamped a hand over her shoulder. “Holy cappuccino. That is one hot macchiato sent down from heaven by one of your Greek Gods.”

  Kally looked up to see what Egypt, who was now digging her nails into Kally’s skin, was making such a fuss over.

  From the corner of her eye, she had seen the blue uniform enter, so had promptly bent down to pull the license plate out from under the counter. But she hadn’t bothered to pay attention to which village officer it was that had come by. She knew most of them from the neighborhood and quite a few would stop by for some coffee while on their break.

  It wasn’t until Egypt’s nails had practically drawn blood while she whispered breathy squeals in her ear that she looked up to see an unfamiliar face—a face that looked like it belonged on the pages of a magazine or flashing across a movie screen. He exuded an air of wealth and power and her first impression was that the small-town uniform seemed out of place on such a man. Kally pried Egypt’s hand from her shoulder and made her way over to the edge of the counter.

  “Hello, officer. I believe you’re here for this.” Kally handed him the mangled metal. One of his fingers inadvertently grazed hers as he took the license plate. A stab of nerves shot through her as their eyes met and she immediately looked away. Steeling herself, she lifted her eyes back up to him, nodding resolutely. She had done her civic duty and it was best she got back to work. If only her feet didn’t feel as though they were cemented to the ground.

  Kally wasn’t short at five foot-six inches, but the constable towered over her by at least seven more.

  “We ran the plate number you read to the dispatcher and the car belonging to this plate was stolen, so thank you for calling it in,” the officer said, his voice deep and velvety, despite his professional manner.

  “I’m glad I could help.” Yes, Kally told herself. He was a good-looking man—thick, dark hair, the kind a woman wants to run her hands through—toned from what she could tell under that uniform—eyes the color of rich chestnuts. He’s probably the best she’s seen in well, years. But so what? It meant nothing to her. Nothing, she convinced herself as her heart began to thunder in her chest. Looks are superficial. He could be a creep. Doubt it. Or an axe murderer. Ridiculous. He could have a wife and nine children. Now that’s more like it.

  “Hi, I’m Egypt.” Her friend walked right smack into his personal space and offered her hand. “And this is my very best friend and proprietor of this amazing establishment, Kally.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, ladies.” He pulled his hand from Egypt’s hold, easily looking over her petite frame to address Kally. “Great place you have.”

  “Are you new around here?” Egypt asked. “I’ve never seen you before and I know just about everyone.”

  “I grew up here but I’ve been gone a long time.”

  “That’s enough interrogation,” Kally admonished. “Don’t mind her, it’s just that we pretty much know all the village police.”

  He didn’t comment further and Kally noticed he hadn’t even offered his name when Egypt introduced herself. His conceit and rudeness would make it easy to overlook his outward appearance. She observed him as he assessed the shop. He was either a sun worshipper or one of those naturally tanned humans who had flawless, glowing skin. His hair was as dark as the midnight sky, straight but thick and styled too fashionably for a local government worker.

  He eyed the pastries and confections arranged under decorative glass domed cake stands. “I know of one young lady who would love it here.”

  Egypt’s smile faded.

  “Be sure to bring her by then,” Kally said with a genuine smile. One point in his favor for complimenting my place. “Can I offer you a coffee and a scone on your way out?”

  “Are you out of cupcakes?”

  “No, not at all. Is that what you want?”

  “No, but it seems you’re pushing them today.”

  Kally crinkled her forehead. “Am I?”

  He pointed to her apron and smirked. “I’ll get over it if you will. Whatever that is,” he added with a wry smile. “Thanks again,” he said, and without another word, he walked out the door.

  “Well, isn’t he a bit of an ass,” Kally grumbled.

  “If you mean to say you’d like to bite his ass, I’m with you, girl!”

  “Egypt! Seriously. Don’t you think it’s rude he didn’t tell you his name when you introduced yourself?”

  “Is that what you’re picking on?” Egypt scolded. “You’ll find any excuse to shoot down a man. This one is perfect for you. It was like he fell out of the sky as a gift to you!”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Me? When was the last time you went on a date?”

  Luis, Kally’s baking assistant, pushed his way through the kitchen doors. “At least not since I’ve been here.”

  “The two of you need to stop ganging up on me. I’m perfectly happy with my life as it is. Besides, you heard him. He has a woman he’s going to bring here.”

  “There is that,” Egypt said, sounding deflated.

  “If he ever steps foot in here again, that is. What was with you?” Kally asked Egypt. “You’re usually Ms. Confident and play it cool around men. I thought those green eyes of yours were going to bug out of your head. You looked like a grade school girl with a crush on her teacher.”

  “When was the last time someone who looked like that stepped into here?”

  “She has a point,” Luis agreed.

  “Not you too?” Kally groaned.

  “I wish!” Luis exclaimed. “I’d hop on that train!”

  Egypt greeted a customer at the take-out counter. As she brushed by Kally to make a cappuccino, she threw over her shoulder, “By the way, his name is Max.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Egypt rolled her eyes. “It was written on his nametag.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Kally headed to work at the crack of dawn. She’d had a sleepless night and baking always took her mind off whatever was keeping her awake. That Max person had gotten under her skin. There was something about him that kept him in the forefront of her mind. One minute he seemed friendly and the next he got all … professional and formal. When he teased her about the quote on her apron, she wasn’t sure how to take him.

  Kally didn’t know why she should even care. This Max, who never had the courtesy to tell her his name, meant nothing to her. Yet she had tossed and turned all night thinking of the moment when his chestnut-colored eyes met hers.

  Kally tied a clean apron around her waist. Today it read, ‘Give me coffee and no one gets hurt.’ That pretty much said it all. Later, she would change her apron with a saying more appropriate for the romance book club gathering that evening.

  * * *

  Book club night had turned out to be a great success. Kally started it not only for her love of discussing her favorite novels, but also as another way to gain exposure and much needed revenue for her café. She moderated the romance and classic literature clubs and Egypt took on the other two—mystery/thriller and fantasy/paranormal.

  Kally pondered on her relationship with Egypt as she prepared ingredients for a large tray of baklava. There wasn’t anyone more opposite than she, but they had been friends since the sixth grade when Egypt transferred into her school mid-year. Her parents, both doctors, had worked all over the country before taking permanent positions at Stony Brook University Hospital. Egypt was outspoken and extroverted, wherea
s Kally was practical and more reserved. Egypt was a free spirit meanwhile Kally felt more comfortable staying in her own lane. Kally envied, in a healthy way, Egypt’s exotic beauty—light mocha skin, almond-shaped eyes the color of jade and golden-brown ringlets in a style that only she and Halle Berry could pull off. Kally’s own curls were her nemesis. It was her life’s struggle to keep them frizz-free in the Long Island climate.

  After Kally ran the walnuts through the food processor, she melted large chunks of butter over a low heat while adding cinnamon to the chopped nuts. Finding a rhythm in pace with the soothing, classical music she chose on Spotify, Kally began to assemble the pastry. A wide, natural bristled brush, dripping with butter, coated the first paper thin sheet of phyllo. To Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata,’ her hands danced repeatedly from the stack of phyllo to the pan and finally to the butter. In time to Chopin’s ‘Raindrops,’ Kally spread the first layer of walnuts over the top of the buttered pastry sheets. And just like that, her mood had shifted from exhausted and irritated to energized and content.

  By the time Luis walked in, she had already made a tray of revani, four dozen hazelnut macarons and a Cuban Tres Leches cake to serve with the book club’s monthly selection, Next Year in Havana.

  “The queen of the Nile is here to grace your presence!” Egypt flung her hands up in the air as she made her grand entrance, all five foot-two inches of her.

  “You’re in a good mood,” Kally laughed.

  “And you,” Egypt frowned, grabbing hold of Kally’s apron bib to read the inscription, “are not.”

  “I wasn’t, but I am now. Baking soothes my soul.”

  “Honey, it’s not your soul that needs soothing,” Luis said. “It’s your—”

  “That’s enough!” If Kally let him continue with one of his crude comments, Egypt would’ve jumped right in. Not that she minded a joke or two but she knew this one would be at her expense and she’d heard enough for one week.