Page 13 of Tacos & Toboggans
What a day that had been. I was extremely glad to put the hospital in my rearview mirror. The day had started fine until my first case took twice as long as it should have, putting me far behind schedule. That led to short tempers among staff and patients. I made up for lost time by skipping lunch, but I had just finished the last surgery, and it was almost six p.m. It was time for a hot meal. I should go home, but there wasn’t any food there. At least not any food that I wanted to eat. I’d eaten enough frozen dinners for two lifetimes and couldn’t stomach another. Canned soup was an option, but it wouldn’t do anything for my hangry attitude, and a frozen pizza took too long to prepare. Tonight was a diner night if I’d ever seen one.
It didn't hurt that I might see Jaelyn. Was that smart? No, it wasn't, but I never claimed to be a smart man. It had been a week since I’d seen her, but something told me I would have to start going to the diner in the morning, as she didn’t seem to work many nights. That was unfortunate since I rarely had time in the morning to linger over breakfast. I could always stop in for coffee and a cinnamon roll on my clinic days.
The walk to the diner would do me some good. I needed fresh air after spending the entire day in the operating room. As we moved into late October, the nights were colder, eventhough the days still hovered in the sixties. I wasn’t a fan of the heat, so I looked forward to the first freeze, which didn’t seem to be happening any time soon, no matter how I wished it would. My previous job was in Denver, so I always looked forward to cold days and snow, though skiing was never my thing. On the bright side, I’d have far fewer skiing injuries come through my doors in Bells Pass than I did in Denver.
As I passed the bakery, I noticed the light was on and someone was moving near the bakery case. That person was the woman I had been thinking about nonstop for days. Before I could walk past, she noticed me standing there. She waved, so I waved back. At almost forty years old, it still surprised me how well I excelled at making situations awkward. Jaelyn hurried to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open, motioning me in.
“Hey, Major. Long time no see, stranger!”
“Hi, Jaelyn. Work has been extremely busy, and I’ve stopped in a few times for dinner, but you weren’t working.”
“I work mostly morning shifts now that I’m helping out with the food truck,” she admitted. “Why are you so busy at work? Did the knee replacement population hear there was a new doctor in town and decide they wanted to check you out?”
“Ha,” I said, shaking my finger at her. My cheeks were heating because she wasn’t completely wrong about that. However, that population was rarely younger than their mid-sixties, and therefore not suitable dating material for a guy my age. The woman I wanted to date was standing before me now, even if I’d never ask her out. Well, I might ask her out, but I should refer to my earlier statement about not being a smart man. “We’re trying to clear up the backlog of cases that Dr. Holstien left when he retired.” Time to move on from that subject. “I didn’t know you worked at the bakery too.”
“Oh, I don’t.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” I joked, to which she smiled.
“That’s fair,” she chuckled. “I had a free minute, so I decided to make my famous or not-so-famous, if you don’t know me, sombrero de bruja cookies.”
“Let me see, sombrero means hat, and Bruja means witch? Witch hat cookies?”
“Sí,” she said with a smile. “Would you like to try one?”
“Did I do six surgeries today?”
“Well, I don’t know. Did you do six surgeries today?” Her laughter was followed by a palms-out shrug.
“Unfortunately, I did. So yes, I would like to try one of your Sombrero de Bruja cookies.”
She reached into the case and pulled out the cutest cookie I had seen in a long time. “You’re not allergic to nuts?”
“Nope.” She handed it over, and I glanced at it quickly. “Is this made from a tortilla?” I didn’t wait for an answer as I bit into the flaky, delectable treat, only to be surprised by the hazelnut spread at its center, which melded perfectly with the cinnamon and sugar topping.
“They’re like cut-out cookies, but with tortillas,” she explained. “I use cookie cutters to cut them, add the spread, cover them with another tortilla shape, and bake them. Then, when fresh out of the oven, I sprinkle them with cinnamon and sugar. I also make murciélago volador cookies.”
“You lost me on that one, beautiful.”
Her face flushed pink before she spoke, and that was when I realized what I’d said. I would not apologize for it. She is beautiful. Today, her long, wavy brown hair was tied back with a ribbon at the nape of her neck, and for the first time, I could picture what it would look like if it were to fall around her shoulders, unencumbered by the braided confines. Her brown eyes still took center stage, but now they shone with happiness that hadn’t been there just a few moments before. If telling her she was beautiful stole the sadness from her eyes for even a moment, I’d do it twenty times a day.
“Murciélago volador is Spanish for a bat. Like a flying bat.” She waved her arms in the air for a moment, and it was one of the cutest things I’d seen in a long time. “Basically, I make bat and witch cookies for Halloween. The kids love them, and moms feel better about them since they have less sugar than traditional sugar cookies. If I have a free minute, I try to put some in the case each week during October.”
“I can see why they love them. I’m not a huge fan of cookies, but I would buy these by the dozen. Did your friends make the tortillas at the tree farm?”
“Oh, no. These are just tortillas from our supplier. They could make them, but the Spanish Rooster has kept them busy. Probably propped up by you and you alone.”
“How do you know I’ve been buying The Spanish Rooster? You’re never there when I am.”
“I have spies everywhere,” she teased, motioning me behind the case and deeper into the bakery. “Time to pull the last batch out before they burn,” she explained as she grabbed a mitt and pulled out several trays of cookies, sliding them onto a rack. “I have to sneak my baking in before the real bakers show up to do their work.”
Rather than speak, I stood and watched her pull the pans down and shake cinnamon and sugar across the cookies. The scent wafted toward me until my belly rumbled, causing her lips to turn up in a grin. Without saying a word, she handed me another cookie and slid the pan back onto the rack. “It sounds like you need a Spanish Rooster as we speak.”
“We were so busy today that I had to skip lunch to catch up on the cases,” I explained. “I was just headed to the diner to get something to eat when I noticed you inside the bakery.”
“Well, a man cannot live on cookies alone,” she said. “Let’s head down and fix you a big plate of schnitzel and potato salad.”
“Schnitzel and potato salad?” I asked. “I can’t say I’m a fine connoisseur of either.”
