Page 48 of Building What's Meant to Be

“I’ve never thought of it that way. Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Will you learn from your mistakes?”

“Definitely. Yeah. The last few days have been one long lesson.”

She pats me on the arm. “Good. I think you’ll do fine.”

Rhondy didn’t give me a long lecture, proffer a threat if I do something wrong, or make me feel like one of the ants trailing along the sidewalk. But I want to prove to her that I can do this. Maybe to myself too and that I’m not an adult lady child.

I follow her inside. A bar with stools lines one bank of windows and several tables dot the other side. Facing the rear wall are two display cases. One contains chocolate candies and baked goods fill the other. The register sits in the middle. On one wall is a beverage station and on the other, a mural with two hearts painted to look like wings with the Sweethearts logo on top.

“Mae designed that.” Visitors and fans of the Designed to Last show, of which Rhondy explains there are many, like to take their photos in front of the mural.

My rough start with Aiden’s sister aside, every detail of this place was considered with love and care. From the coordinating pink, gold, and white polka-dotted cups to the pink straws, to the wax bags. The string and ribbon for tying pastry boxes, the fabric on the chairs, to the menu for a girly girl like me—who appreciates a good eye for design and attention to detail—is in heaven.

Rhondy waits on a few customers—all of whom order a coffee to go plus a pastry or muffin. I watch her easy and friendly manner with people. The way she makes them feel at home. Their smiles in return.

I’ve never been on this side of the counter before, but know very well what makes me have a pleasant experience at anestablishment. A little bubble of excited confidence rises in me. I think I can do this.

Next, Rhondy shows me behind the counter where drawers below the display cases hold supplies. She goes over the register and then opens a binder with all the opening and closing procedures.

“Christina made this, including an FAQ in the back.”

“Looks like I have some reading to do.”

Rhondy’s laugh is like bells. Like music. I imagine the first time her husband heard it, he fell in love. The first time her son heard it, he knew he was loved.

After a couple more customers come in, one for an assortment of baked goods for a Bible study and the other for a gift for his sweetheart, we head through the double swinging doors containing a pair of heart-shaped windows that lead to the kitchen.

I have to take a deep breath because now I’m out of my depth. There are stainless steel shelves, tables, and lots of buckets and bowls. Tubs of things labeled with ingredients, tools that I’ve never before seen, and another binder filled with recipes have me lingering by the door while Rhondy gives me a crash course in running a bakery café.

“You’ll be here with us first thing so I can open up at the Starlight. One of the ladybosses will take over in the late morning. The only times we’ll have you bake is if we have a big order or if we’re low on something and for some reason one of the others can’t get to it. I’m the master chocolatier, so don’t worry about making that.” She winks. “But do worry about eating it. One of the job perks is you will get plenty of samples.”

We return to the front.

I swallow but not because I’m concerned about my chocolate habit. No, this room is an all-things baked goods paradise. A wonderland. There should be bars around the display cases...notthat I’d steal. I’ve already been behind bars, but the only thing I really know how to do when it comes to bakery-cafes is to be a customer. How to serve? Not in my wheelhouse. My feet remain glued to the floor by the door, but I want to be able to do this.

“Any questions?”

I shake my head but a little squeak escapes.

Rhondy claps me on the back and says, “You’ll do fine.”

Thing is, I want to do better than fine. My entire adult life, I’ve been “Faking it ‘til I make it.” The truth is, I never made it. Not in Tinseltown, Nashville, or New York City. I was always the extra. The friend of convenience. The body in the room.

For once, I want to succeed. To be good at something. If that something is working at a bakery, fine. But I don’t want to settle for anything less than being the best bakery girl this town has ever seen.

Rhondy squints at me like she knows what I’m thinking. With a smile and nod, she greets a customer. I follow suit and do my best to shadow her.

However, all too soon, she passes me an apron with pink, gold, and black polka dots against white fabric.

“Welcome, to the family, Tinsley. We’re glad you’re here.” She walks toward the door.

Doubts and fears burn in my mind while the rest of me breaks out in a glacial sweat. I can’t do this. Can I do this? I go back and forth rapid fire.

Before Rhondy exits, I sweep in front of her, blocking the door. She meets my gaze but instead of questions, I see confidence. I feel it too.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around her in a hug. A hug that I feel like I’ve needed to give for a few days now. I settle into it with this veritable stranger, but she hugs me back like this is perfectly normal. Welcome and wanted. Like we’re old friends. Relatives even.

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