I gazed at the door through which she’d left, my mind whirling.
26 JJ
An order of fifty éclairs of many colors and flavors accompanied me into Le Grand Boulangerie in the middle of Jackson City. The warm smell of yeast and sugar filled my nose.
Two men stood behind the counter of the eclectic shop decorated with lights, mason jars, and pastries. One of them let out a cry when he saw me.
“Those must be the éclairs!” Grant squealed with a flap of his hand. “Our final test. Get over here, J-man. Let’s see them.”
I gently slid the box toward them.
“The conquering hero returns,” Immanuel drawled.
Immanuel and Grant, newlywed owners of the bakery, opened the éclairs. Of the two, Immanuel was the pickiest. He had a sharp nose, a broad face, and a constant five o’clock shadow. His personality was as prickly as his appearance, but he reminded me so much of my dad that we’d ended up friends.
Grant was sunshine to Immanuel’s sharpness. He smiled constantly, and his moonbeam-blond hair only heightened the effect.
Immanuel inspected the éclairs visually first. He twisted the box to the left, then right. Peered up close, then stepped back. Grant tried to reach for one, and Immanuel slapped his hand away.
“Uniform,” Immanuel said with a quick glance at me. “Impressively so. Choux pastry is hard to predict and get right. Particularly at altitude.”
The two batches in the garbage back at Adventura proved him right. Not that I was going to volunteer that detail.
“I like the color and the frosting,” Immanuel continued. “Your piping skills have come a long way. Sufficiently so, I think.”
“Buttercream and I have become good friends,” I said.
A ghost of a smile appeared on Immanuel’s face. He gestured to Grant, who snatched the first éclair he could reach and took a bite. A raspberry vanilla-bean curd lay thick inside, with a subtle layer of chocolate frosting piped on the top. Grant chewed, hesitated, then melted to the floor.
“Well,” Immanuel drawled, “I think you pass.”
From the ground, Grant mumbled something dramatically unintelligible. I agreed with him, if I did say so myself. They were delicious éclairs.
Immanuel waved a hand over the box. His gluten intolerance prevented him from tasting them. “Perfect, as always. It was our final recipe for you to try.”
“And what updates do you have on the build-out?”
Immanuel tilted his head toward the back wall, which was made of old brick and crumbling in the right places. Behind it lay their normal baking area. Ovens. Rolling counters. Barrels of flour. They had enough space to keep their store stocked, but not much else. They often sold out of their most popular desserts—éclairs among them.
“The city rejected our plans for expansion in the back,” Immanuel said. “We’re looking with a realtor to find other options. The warehouse on the other side of town is more than we could afford . . . right now.”
His gaze met mine with a subtle hint of challenge. I knew exactly why.
“Then expanding into catering with my help will be a good stepping stone,” I said.
He nodded. Immanuel was never really enthused about anything. Grant, on the other hand, popped up again with a bright smile.
“I’m confident that we can move on to the first phase of our plan,” Immanuel said, “which means we’re officially ready to hire you—starting today.”
“Today?”
He nodded. “We’ll notify our customers interested in catering that we’re offering bulk orders and wedding catering for baked goods only. We’ll provide shipments of supplies to Adventura, since your health inspection document is already on file from the summer.”
Well, no putting this off anymore, I thought. Mark had to know about my idea. Immanuel studied me as Grant reached for the éclairs with a piece of tissue paper and arranged them in the display case.
“Everything okay?” Immanuel drawled. “You’ve received your brother’s approval to use the kitchen at your summer camp to fulfill catering orders for us, correct?”
“It’ll be fine.”
Immanuel eyed me. “Because if not, we have a backup. Darlene down in Territory is ready anytime. We’d prefer you, of course, because there’s less travel time for the pastries but—”
“Not necessary. I’ll sign right now to prove it.”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “Very well. I had my attorney draw up the contract last week, just in case. Let me grab it. It details compensation based on order price and lasts for a year.”
While Immanuel went to the back, Grant took his place with a broad smile. We chatted for a few minutes about ski traffic and what was selling the most. Before I’d really recovered my composure, Immanuel returned, slid the contract across the table, and handed me a pen.
For a full five seconds, I stared at the words on the page without comprehending them.
This was not what I’d expected from this trip. A signed contract today? Of course, why not? In their eyes, it was all ready to go. I’d successfully baked and transported all their recipes to their satisfaction. Both of us were confident in my work, and they stood to benefit as much as I did.
Except Mark knew nothing about it.
“Everything good?” Immanuel asked as I fiddled with the pen cap.
My eyes scoured the words, moving quickly. Everything was as simple and straightforward as we’d discussed. It basically guaranteed my availability for the next year, that I’d keep the kitchen up to all health code standards or assume liability myself, and never share their recipes. They’d have supplies delivered so I wouldn’t have to keep running to the grocery store on their behalf.
How this would work in the summer at Adventura, I had no idea. There were a lot of things I didn’t know. But if I didn’t do it, the opportunity would go to their backup person. This was too perfectly convenient to my climbing lifestyle to give up.
So I signed it.
Once I finished, Immanuel pulled the contract back. Then he
