Devil's Food Cake [✓]

13 | pastries

—6 months ago—

The sun had peaked out from the trees as I strolled through one of the leafy green squares, on my way to the bakery, and I'd sat down for a bit to read a chapter in a fantasy novel I was digging.

Occasionally, my attention would be diverted by the kids splashing about in the fountain and their parents standing at the sidelines making sure they didn't get up to any mischief.

I was an only child. I had no idea what it felt like to have siblings, but I knew that when I met the right guy I'd definitely make sure any child of mine had a sibling, because, at times, it had been lonely.

My friends and cousins had thought that was pretty crazy, because their siblings drove them crazy most of time. That was understandable. Even so, it would have been cool if my mother gave birth a second time. She wasn't going through another pregnancy again when the first time had been painful as it was.

As I shut my book and stuffed it into my bag, sunshine-yellow to match with my dress, I strolled through the green, heading in the direction of my father's bakery with a spring in my step, waving at a few familiar faces — two construction workers that I'd chatted to.

When I finally arrived at the bakery, I saw there was a new face at the counter. He was a dark haired guy who looked as though he might have been in his late teens to early twenties. We had a lot of those types pass through over the years.

As he juggled the orders, he looked stressed out, even though my colleagues Sophia and Robert were there manning the counter. When he saw me, Robert, smiled at me, before he went back to serving a customer.

The new guy also glanced in my direction and I smiled instinctively at him; he looked like he needed the support. The guy forgot that he was supposed to be listening to a customer because he just stared at me and an intrigued smile hovered around his mouth.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as I saw the frustrated customer, a disgruntled looking man in a Hawaiian print shirt snap his fingers at him. The new guy snapped to attention. Apologised to the customer. Set about making his drink.

Yet...

He couldn't resist aiming a quick grin my way!

I mouthed a 'sorry' to him. I saw him stare at the coffee machine with dread as he tried to remember the correct combination of buttons to press to get the beast working.

Heading towards my father's office at the back, I knocked on the door. When I heard no answer from the other side, I opened it. He wasn't in there.

However, I saw that he'd been doing some paperwork as there were a few sheets scattered on the desk along with a few bundles. On the glossy surface, a few framed photographs took pride of place of my mother and I.

Before I left, I wiped the dust that had gathered on the glass with a tissue. There was one of my parents, much younger, in their twenties in front of the newly opened shop which had my name 'Candice' written in a simple elegant script at the top.

My dad was clean shaven, so he looked like a totally different man to how he looked today with his beard. On his shoulders was a five year old girl dressed in a red dress with stars. My mother looked like she was incredibly proud of him - I could tell by the admiring smile on her face. My dad was an inspiration to me; someone who'd effectively started from very little to set up his own business.

Because of sheer persistence and grit, Jeremy Carroll, a postman's son from Lancashire had left school when he was fifteen. Education hadn't been for him; from a young age, he had a passion for food and my grandmother Geraldine would tell me stories about how, from a young age, he'd cut short his playtime with the village children to watch her cook. Much to his father Fred's chagrin, he'd always wanted to help his mother in the kitchen preparing dishes and memorising the instructions in her cookery books.