Page 9 of The Biker & the Baker

After standing for a few good minutes like that, Albert opened one of the three doors and got into another, even more spacious, but darker room. For a fleeting moment, Lawrence thought he saw a smile of satisfaction playing on the other’s lips, but, if it indeed was there, the unreadable expression overtook his facial features.

The inspection of the other two, smaller rooms, followed the same scenario: Albert went inside, Lawrence hot on his heels, stopped in the middle of them and examined the walls and floors inch by inch, like he wanted to engrave every little detail into his memory. Nothing from his posture or the look in his eyes was giving away what the man was thinking.

Lawrence cleared his throat, breaking the deafening silence. “So…is it to your liking or should we visit another? The building, I mean, as the location for the bakery,” he added, seeing the confusion on the other one’s face.

“Oh, sorry.” Albert hesitantly spoke, a barely visible blush coloring his cheeks. “I got so sucked up in my own thoughts I forgot there was someone else in the room.” He covered his face in embarrassment. “That sounded awful.”

“No, not at all.” Lawrence’s words were accompanied by a warm smile. “A penny for your thoughts.” He paused for a moment. “Unless you want to keep them private,” the guard added, afraid he went too far.

“Actually, it’s pretty stupid, so promise you won’t laugh.” Albert shook his head, then ran a hand over his face. “Right before you asked, I was thinking how in the name of chocolate cake did I leave Brian’s home without a measuring tape in my pocket.”

“Oh, no problem.” Lawrence waved his hand. “I’ll call Leon, he’ll bring you one, and whatever other tools you may need. He is our chief handyman, a hell of a good one. Also, the guy you should talk to about furniture, he loves woodworking.”

“Thanks for the tip, I appreciate it very much.” Albert visibly relaxed as he sensed the biker was genuinely interested in his problems, and also searched for solutions to them. “I kinda figured out the dimensions and what would go where, but the opinion of a woodworker or, even better, a handyman, would be gold.”

“Trust me, Leon is a pro, he has hands of gold and an amazing sense of time.” Lawrence smiled as he shook his head. “Had he went to college, the guy would have been a great architect or construction engineer. Or both.”

“Whoa,” Albert exclaimed, his voice laced with disbelief and excitement, “you made me really curious about meeting this fellow.” As he spoke, the man moved back into the central room.

“It will happen sooner than you think.” Lawrence grinned, pointing somewhere in front of him. “Do you see the black van across the street? That’s him.”

Albert nodded silently and started to examine the man who left the van and was heading straight to the building. The muscles on his chest and abdomen flexed under the tightly-fitted t-shirt, and, in combination with the strong, tattooed arms, created the image of a quite intimidating guy, one who wasn’t a very wise idea to cross. Or be near to, no matter what, the baker thought.

However, as Leon walked into the building and got closer to where he and Lawrence were standing, Albert’s opinion on him changed, as he could notice other details from the man’s appearance, especially the warmth and softness in his dark-brown, almost black eyes. His voice was also very pleasant, a bit raspy, with rich inflections, just like the one of the biker.

For about half an hour, Leon measured up and down the walls, according to Albert’s indications, noting all the dimensions down in a small notebook he kept in his overall’s pocket. Once that part of the job was done, the handyman started to ask the baker questions about what plans he had for the space, listening to his words with great attention.

From time to time, Leon intervened with a short, professional comment, or discreetly placed a suggestion in a calm voice. That made him very different from the contractors Albert collaborated with when he opened the first bakery, the man remembered. Knowing their services were needed, they treated him with superiority and arrogance.

Leon must have formed an image about what the baker wanted, because, after asking a few more questions, he stopped and, with short, precise moves, started to sketch on the notebook. As he drew the lines, he explained the concept to Albert, whose face became brighter as the sketch advanced.

He is like a child on Christmas Eve, Lawrence thought, seeing the excitement and enthusiasm shining in the baker’s eyes. The dullness from earlier was long gone, and now the man’s face reflected a multitude of emotions, in all the vibrant colors of the rainbow. It was like he became someone else, a completely different person.

Lost in his thoughts about Albert’s sudden, spectacular transformation, Lawrence wasn’t paying much attention to the other two men’s conversation, but the sound of giggles coming from them brought him back to reality. He listened for a few seconds, the subject of the conversation putting a big grin on his face.

Cookies, cupcakes, pies, and other sweets; that was what the two were talking about, much to Albert’s delight. He joined the discussion, fondly evoking the Saturday afternoons at his house, a time his mother reserved for baking his favorite sweettreats, muffins heavy with raisins and finely diced dried fruits, like apricots and figs.

Laughing softly, Leon told Albert how a big, brown paper bag filled with raisin and chocolate chip muffins brought his sons, Elias and Abernathy, into his life. The said baked goodies were also what made the two then-teens bond with the ones who later became their husbands and soulmates, Tarrin and Ira.

Lawrence knew the story and the kids; the day when Tarrin arrived, running away from his abusive adoptive brother he was guarding the gates, and also was part of the team who brought the boys held captive on the island of horrors back home. Elias was broken beyond repair, or so everyone thought, and Abernathy’s sanity hung by a thread.

Lawrence’s eyes met Albert’s, and he saw interest and curiosity there; the man wanted to find out everything there was to know about The Base, but didn’t dare ask, or that it simply wasn’t on top of his list of priorities. One day, after the bakery would be opened and running and its owner would settle into the new routine, the biker promised himself he’d tell him all the stories.

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After signing the rent contract with one Fergus Trevellyan-MacNamara, who seemed to be in charge with managing The Base’s properties, Albert wanted to move on to the next task on his to-do list, which was going to Brei-Ayn’s place and pack thekids’ stuff. However, a call from his sister-in-law changed his plans.

Her neighbors’ only child, a boy, who was also Chad and Monica’s best friend, was celebrating his birthday the next day, and he invited the kids to a sleepover after that. Albert wholeheartedly agreed, especially because he knew the parents very well; they were caring, affectionate, and open-minded, the kind of people his children felt completely safe around.

Besides, once Chad and Monica would come to live at The Base, they wouldn’t be visiting their best friend as often as they were used to. Of course, Albert didn’t intend to cut his children’s ties with the people they cared about; he still remembered the pain he felt when the one who raised him didn’t allow him to say goodbye to Brian and his parents, not even in writing.

After ending the call to his sister-in-law, Albert let out a long, heavy sigh as he plopped down in an armchair in his best friend’s living-room. There were still a few good hours until the librarian and his husband would come back from work, and the man didn’t know what to do with himself. I need to keep myself busy, he said to himself, leaving the armchair and going into the kitchen.

Albert went into the kitchen, opened the cupboards and pantry, a smile spreading on his face as he examined its contents. He felt an urge to bake something, and was delighted to discover that all the ingredients he needed, and then some, were there in sufficient amounts for more than one batch from each of the sweets he had in mind.

Cinnamon rolls, cupcakes, and strawberry jelly-filled croissants, in this order, Albert mentally chatted with himself as he put an apron on and started to collect the necessary ingredients and utensils. The man didn’t need the recipe to look over and see how much of each ingredient was necessary for any of the three kinds of sweets; he had been baking them for so long that he knew the amounts by heart.

As soon as Albert started to mix the batters, knead the doughs, and preparing the fillings, he entered into another dimension, a completely different world of softness, sweetness, and delicate aromas that tickled the nostrils and made the mouth water. Nothing, except the buzz of the mixer and the beep of the oven, didn’t disturb the peace baking induced him, and even those sounds were part of the harmony of the moment.

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