Page 26 of The Ruse of Romancing
“I didn’t realize that was something you could just give someone,” I said, humor lacing my voice as I watched her, curious to see what was going to happen next.
“Oh, you can. Trust me. Wash your hands and grab an apron,” she waved to where some aprons hung on a hook on the wall. “I’m going to grab Carl.”
I walked to the sink and turned on the water as Joane disappeared into what I could only assume was a walk-in pantry. Figuring we’d be doing something in the kitchen, I slipped Poppy’s bracelet off my wrist and felt guilty over the instant relief at no longer having it pressed against my skin. I had promised the universe I’d wear the bracelet, but I was not a bracelet person. Maybe the next time Poppy wanted to help me with crystals, I’d request something more subtle and less distracting for a writer who was staring at her hands all day, like a simple pendant necklace or a keychain I could keep in my pocket.
“Joane,” I called, as I scrubbed my hands, “you still haven’t told mewhoCarl is.”
I couldn’t decide if the fact that we were going to be working in the kitchen was reassuring as I selected an apron from Joane’s impressive collection. These aprons were not the tidy, branded pink aprons I’d come to associate with Sugar and Sea Bakery. Instead, they were a hodge podge of colors and styles that I instantly fell in love with, guessing each apron had a story. Ipicked a purple and white apron with pockets and frills that looked like it belonged in a Doris Day movie and slipped it on over my clothes.
“This,” Joane said, as she stepped back into the kitchen holding a glass jar containing a bubbling, cream-colored sludge, “is Carl. He’s the best sourdough starter in all of Oregon and the secret to my amazing baking.”
Suddenly all of Joane’s comments about Carl made sense, and a relieved giggle bubbled past my lips. I wasn’t joining a cult today after all, though Joane was making some pretty serious assumptions about my baking ability if she was gifting me part of her prized sourdough starter.
I snapped a quick photo of the jar, sending it to Avery to assuage her worries before returning the phone to my pocket and giving Joane my full attention.
Joane set the jar on the counter, caressing it for a moment before turning to me with an eager grin. “I’m going to teach you how to use Carl. You’re going to do sourdough!”
“Joane, that’s so kind, but I can’t! I only cook for survival. I’ve never made bread before, let alone sourdough,” I said, thinking of my meal from the night before. “Noodles and jarred sauce is about as fancy as I get.”
She waved away my concerns before washing her own hands and donning a frock apron made from cow-print fabric that had pink piping along the edges.
“You can absolutely do sourdough! I’m going to walk you through all the steps tonight so that you’ll be ready to bake a loaf tomorrow. But don’t worry, I already have dough going, so you’ll be able to bake a loaf tonight too.” She waved to a glass bowl that I hadn’t noticed tucked away into a corner of the kitchen. “Sourdough takes time and patience, but there’s nothing like making your own fresh sourdough bread. Also, working thedough can be therapeutic. I can’t tell you the number of problems I’ve worked through while kneading Carl.”
As she talked, Joane walked around the kitchen pulling out various gadgets and ingredients. Some of the items I’d never seen before, including a device that had rounded metal loops on the end of a wooden handle and some scraping tools.
“Since we’re just making one loaf, I’ll talk you through what I do when I’m baking at home. Now, do you know if your rental has a Danish dough whisk?” She brandished the tool with the rounded metal at me.
I shook my head.
“Don’t worry, you can borrow my extra and I’ll add it to the list of things you’ll need to buy when you return to Utah.” She declared, her eyes sparkling as she added the whisk to the pile of tools we’d supposedly be using as we worked. “Now get over here so we can start. Carl doesn’t bite, I promise.”
I stepped forward apprehensively, certain this was going to end in disaster, but at the same time recognizing it couldn’t hurt anything. I’d tried just about everything to get my writing juices flowing again. Why not making sourdough?
Chapter 13
Mason
Therewasamajor,gaping flaw in my master plan to befriend Dani. I had no way of accidentally running into her in town without someone blowing my cover.
I’d been all ready to casually run into her at the bakery or bookstore or grocery store. I probably could have even figured out a way to make the thrift store work, but when I’d spotted her through the window of Sugar and Sea, I’d realized there was no way for me to interact with Dani without Joane seeing me. And I knew better than to think Joane would help with my deception.
The struggle followed me home and continued to nag my thoughts as I talked to the internet company (who wouldn’t be able to send anyone out until Wednesday) and as I attempted to work on Spencer’s commission (which was a terrible idea when I was so distracted). The problem haunted me up until the moment my grandparents knocked on the door of the duplex before letting themselves in.
I’d lost track of the number of times I’d asked them not to walk in, though knocking was at least progress. And I couldn’t get too frustrated with them. They did make it possible for me to live on the Oregon coast rent free. I just worried that if I wasn’t able to start making a livable wage with my designing, my days on the Oregon coast were numbered, lasting only as long as my grandparents wanted to continue owning the duplex.
I was just grateful they had yet to walk in while I was entertaining any of my female guests. It was better for everyone that they hadn’t met any of my tourist flings. Well, any of them except for one. I’d introduced them to Rebecca, before I knew better than to let a summer tourist into my life and heart. It was a mistake I wouldn’t be repeating.
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked as I pushed up from the couch where I’d been aimlessly drawing shapes on my tablet, trying to find a solution to my Dani problem.
I hurried to grab Grandma’s arm to help her to a seat. Grandpa shuffled in behind her. They both wore blue shirts and matching smiles. The fact that my grandparents wore matching outfits most days had been a source of much entertainment for me and my brother Grey throughout most of our childhood. I’d have to see if I could sneak a picture to send to him before they left. I’d also point out that their white hair was starting to look more and more similar, Grandma’s hair seeming to get shorter every time I saw her.
Grandma pulled me into a brief, surprisingly firm hug before releasing me and settling onto the couch. She’d fallen a few days ago, giving us all a scare, though she claimed to be fine despite a slight limp. Grandpa assured me he was watching her like a hawk and had promised to call me if anything else happened, but I still worried. Grandma’s fall had brought home the fact that my grandparents were getting older in a way I wasn’t fully prepared to grapple with.
What would I do when they were no longer here, stopping in without warning and cheering on my art?
“You cut your hair,” Grandma said, giving me a cheeky smile that reassured me she was fine in ways her words never could. “It’s about time you listened to me.”
“You finally wore me down,” I said with a wink, sitting in the armchair across from her. Grandpa settled next to Grandma on the couch, interlacing his gnarled fingers with hers.
