Page 32 of Sweet Rucking Temptation
"Well," I say, reluctantly pushing off from the door, "I should let you work your magic. Got some training to crush myself."
12
LIV
I wipe my floury hands on my apron and survey the bustling café, the morning rush in full swing. The clinking of cups and saucers mingles with the hum of conversation, creating a familiar symphony that usually energizes me. But today, it all feels... off. Like a recipe with a crucial ingredient missing.
"One flat white and a custard-filled bombolone, please!" calls out Maia, my most cheerful barista.
"Coming right up!" I respond automatically, my hands moving through the motions while my mind wanders.
When did this happen? I wonder, steaming milk with practiced efficiency, the hiss of the machine louder than my thoughts. When did my café, once a dream I worked so hard to build, start feeling like a burden rather than a joy?
I pipe custard into a golden bombolone, the motions automatic, but there’s no heart in it. The delicate pastry, once a symbol of everything I loved about baking, now just feels like another thing on an endless to-do list.
The recent review—it still stings. I try not to let it consume me, but it’s hard not to. It feels like the one thing that sums upall my self-doubt. The café isn’t just about baking anymore; it’s about competition. Winning that competition will give me the financial independence I crave, the reputation I need, but I can’t shake this nagging feeling that I’m not enough.
Every day, I put in hours that never seem to add up. Every customer that walks out unsatisfied makes me question my abilities. I thought I had something special, but now… now it feels like I’m drowning in a sea ofnot good enough.
"Liv, mia cara!" A familiar voice cuts through my melancholy, and I look up to see Nonna Sofia bustling through the door, bringing with her the scent of rosemary and sunlight.
"Nonna!" I exclaim, my spirits lifting despite myself. "What brings you here so early?"
She makes her way to the counter, shooing away a regular who tries to give up his seat. "Ah, can't an old woman visit her favorite granddaughter without an interrogation?" she says, her eyes twinkling.
I lean across the counter to kiss her cheek, inhaling the comforting scent of her lavender perfume. "Of course, Nonna. It's always wonderful to see you."
She scrutinizes my face, her brow furrowing. "Hmmm. You look like over proofed dough, mia cara. All puffed up with worry and about to collapse."
I laugh. "Only you could make that sound affectionate, Nonna."
"Tell me, what's troubling you?" she asks, reaching out to pat my hand. "Your eyes are missing their usual sparkle."
I hesitate, glancing around at the busy café. "It's nothing, really. Just... feeling a bit overwhelmed lately."
Nonna Sofia clicks her tongue. "Ah, I see. You've forgotten the most important ingredient in any recipe."
"What's that?" I ask, curious despite myself.
She leans in conspiratorially. "Joy, mia cara. The joy of creation. Remember when you were little, and you'd stand on a stool to help me knead bread? Your little face would light up with every punch and fold."
The memory warms me, and I feel a smile tugging at my lips. "I remember. You'd let me shape my own little loaf, and I'd be so proud, even if it came out lopsided."
"Exactly!" Nonna exclaims. "Baking isn't just about the perfect rise or the precise measurements. It's about the love you pour into every creation. You've lost that, haven't you?"
I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I think I have, Nonna. Everything's become so... routine. I used to get excited about trying new flavors, creating special pastries for holidays. Now it all just feels like work."
Nonna Sofia's eyes soften. "Ah, mia cara. Remember, even the simplest dough needs time to rest and rise. Perhaps it's time for you to do the same."
I glance around the busy café, feeling a familiar surge of responsibility. "But how can I? There's always so much to do."
"The world won't end if you take a moment to breathe, Liv," Nonna says gently. "Sometimes, to rediscover our passion, we need to step back and remember why we fell in love with it in the first place."
Her words settle over me like a warm blanket, and I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders. "You're right, Nonna. As always."
She pats my hand again. "Of course I am. Now, how about you take a little break and we'll have a coffee together? I'll even let you make me one of those fancy lattes with the pretty pictures on top."
I laugh, already reaching for a cup. "Coming right up, Nonna. And... thank you."
