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The newest coffee shop just outside the centre of town was heaven for any caffeine addict, cake fiend, or book lover. Novels lined the shelves that were staggered along the walls, from dusty old hardbacks to the latest editions of the newest paperbacks, and the cosy café was never without the delectable aroma of rich coffee grounds that hovered above the display of cakes and cookies, fresh out of the oven that morning. When Coofee had opened almost three years ago, it had become a fast favourite for people who liked a little something different, served with a smile. The food on offer changed daily, and the specials board always proudly displayed an inventive drink or a quirky cookie.
Today, Gaia McFee had felt like making her specialty, which happened to be both the simplest item on the menu and the one that the majority of the patrons favoured. As she opened the oven door, the overwhelming scent of hot cookie dough hit her with a blast of heat and she smiled at the sight of thick, soft-centred cookies scattered out on the tray. A mitt on each hand, she pulled it out and set it down on the kitchen table. In fifteen minutes, when they were a little cooler, she would arrange them on a platter to sell at the counter. Until then, she had a cake to decorate.
Ever since she was a child, Gaia had wanted to cook. She had spent her weekends baking with her mother, her childhood filled with recipe books that delighted her with every concoction from a simple Victoria sponge to the many intricacies of a full roast dinner, and that fascination had never left. Her mother had taught her everything, filling her mind with cookbooks and family recipes, scribbled on scraps of paper that had been haphazardly tucked away between random pages like a little surprise. Those were the memories she cherished: memories of whisking up a mess when she was four; of baking cupcakes for her friends when she was eight; of pouring her heart into the first cake she made after her mother's funeral.
After her mother's death, Gaia had tried to salvage those shreds of her legacy. She had saved every scrap she could find, filing them away in a keepsake box that had survived the twenty-one years since she had lost the woman who had given her everything, and she had vowed to honour her mother's talents in the kitchen.
As she bridged the gap between her late twenties and her mid-thirties, that passion had been given space to thrive. It hadn't been an easy road: after a futile degree followed by seven years working in a job she detested, it was only when she was a few months shy of her thirtieth birthday that she had taken the plunge with her boyfriend, Evan, and Coofee had become their baby.
Now, that boyfriend was her husband and two actual children had followed the birth of their coffee shop.
As Gaia swirled a few drops of red food colouring into a bowl of thick buttercream, folding in the colour with a spatula, she kept one eye on the clock. Five to three. She was a little behind schedule, usually preferring to be back behind the counter with fresh goods by the hour, but starting her own business and family had taught her that things rarely ran on time, and that was ok. At three twenty, she would slip out of her apron and take her handbag from the hook on the back of the door, and Evan would be alone for forty-five minutes. That was how it had been for two years now, once they had found a schedule that worked, fitting together the puzzle pieces of their lives, and Gaia saw no reason for anything to change.
