Chapter 17: Jackson

“So why did you never go to culinary school?” Jackson asked Andi as the two worked on a batch of Andi's chocolate croissants that night after the shop was closed.

"Well," she started. She gently rolled the soft dough into an almost perfect rectangle. "My family was never really in support of the whole baking thing. My dad wanted me to get a business degree. Something stable. Something steady. And I think my mom just wanted me to get married and have a bunch of kids. Neither one of them ever really entertained the possibility that I might want to just do my own thing. That's why I haven't told them about the bakery. They're going to be livid.”

Jackson could understand the feeling of going against other people's expectations—or other people's advice as the case was more recently for him. “Don't you think they'll be happy for you when they see you successful?”

“I hope so,” she said.

Jackson watched in fascination as she took a large slab of butter that she had pounded out into a rectangle earlier and placed it on top of the dough. She then delicately folded the dough like an envelope and then began the process of rolling it out again.

“Why do you do it like that?” he asked. Zack had taken culinary classes, but never attempted a croissant at the coffee shop. “Why not just mix the dough and the butter together from the beginning?”

“This creates layers. This is how you get all those flaky buttery layers in a croissant. If you just put the butter into the dough, you'll get a nice buttery roll, but you won't get a flaky croissant. They take a really long time, but they are so worth the effort. And the recipe itself is really simple. I promise you can do this.”

Jackson shook his head adamantly. “No. I'm telling you: this is not my forte.”

“I have to be honest. I'm not sure how much of the town you're fooling with this lie. Why not just tell them what's up?” Andi asked.

“Because,” he sighed. “They warned me about Zack. They all told me that going into business with him was a bad idea. And now, I'm looking at possibly losing this place. I just can't confess that to them. I can't tell them that not only were they right, but it's so much worse than they warned me about. Not to mention, if I told everyone about the money, they would hate him. They would want to go after him. And I know that I probably should. I just don't have the heart. I know it seems like the opposite is true, but he really isn't a bad guy. He's mixed up. He's flaky. And he had a difficult upbringing. He was like my brother for a while. I just can't stand to see everyone turn on him like that. No matter what he did to me, I'll always just have a soft spot in my heart for him. I can't help it. I've just got to find a way to fix this myself.”

“I can understand that,” Andi said. “It's not exactly like that with Tim. But I'm probably not as mad at him as I should be.”

“Do you think you'll take him back when all the dust settles?” Jackson asked. He meant to think it more than he meant to actually say it. But now it was out there, and he couldn't take it back.

“No,” Andi said calmly. “Not because I'm angry. But because I realize we just don't fit. We don't even want the same things out of life. Honestly, he hates the idea of this bakery even more than my parents do. He's done nothing but try to talk me out of it since day one. So, the fact that he even pretends like he's supportive of it now just goes to show that he's willing to manipulate me and say what he thinks I want to hear just to get me back. But what I really don't understand is why. Like, is it really just the money? Because if we really fit, he never would have cheated on me. And I'm not even sure this was the first time. It's like, now that I've seen this I can't unsee it. You know?”

"I do. Some bells just can't be un-rung,” he said sadly.

“If Zack comes back, do you think you'll let him back into the business?” Andi asked.

“I'd like to say no. But to be honest, it'll really just depend on how desperate I am. If it's too late by the time he comes back, then I guess it'll be easy to move on. But if he were to come back in time to help me right the ship—I don't know. I don't want to. It doesn't feel like the right thing to do. But like I said before—”

"Soft spot, " Andi said with a smile that held no judgment.

“Part of me just wishes I could find a different business partner,” he said. He was mostly thinking aloud. “If I could find somebody that could bake like you, and who wanted to live in a little town like Cherry Creek, I'd be set."

Andi bit her lip and nodded quietly. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Maybe that felt weird or like he was asking her. He needed to change the subject, so things didn't get awkward. “When you say these things take a really long time... how long are we talking? Because honestly, I could go for a croissant right about now."

“Hold your horses there, cowboy,” Andi said. “These won't even be ready to put into the oven until tomorrow morning.”

“Aw, bummer,” he said. “I was hoping to taste test.” A ding came from the small timer on the prep table.

“Don't despair,” Andi said—she was beaming. “There are still plenty of things you can taste test.”

She walked over to the oven, wielding two oven mitts, and produced two full trays of gingerbread cookies. She slid them into the cooling racks and the aroma of ginger, cinnamon, and nutmeg filled the air of the kitchen.

***

A couple of hours later, Jackson was once again amazed at how much Andi accomplished in such a short time. Despite his insistence, Andi won out, and did manage to teach him a pretty easy scone recipe. If all else failed, he thought he could handle that one. Maybe.

They were sitting down, having one more cup of coffee while the scones and some cookies cooled on the baker’s racks. He was bone tired but didn’t want to leave her by herself. Not because he didn’t trust her—he just wanted to make the most of his time with her, really.

“Tell me about this dream bakery of yours,” he said as she snagged another broken gingerbread man from the middle of the prep table. Andi had made him a pile of broken or damaged cookies that she said were free game. He was on his fifth one. “What does it look like? What do you want to call it? What’s on the menu?”

He took a bite, and he wasn’t able to stop himself from shaking his head in disbelief. “Also, why are these so good? I’ve eaten plenty of gingerbread cookies. These are like nothing I’ve ever had.”

Andi laughed. “I triple the amount of spices most people use. And I use both ground and fresh ginger. It makes all the difference.”

She paused for a second before answering the first half of his questions. “The dream isn't really that specific. The dream is just to do the thing I love. I don’t even necessarily want my own bakery. I don't need to do this whole thing on my own. I just want to bake. I love giving people something that I made with my own hands. I love brightening their day with it. I love watching them enjoy it. Food makes people happy. And making people happy—”

“Makes you happy,” Jackson finished for her.

“Exactly,” Andi said with a grin. “Surely you see the same thing with your coffee. Don't you ever just watch how people's faces light up when you hand them their morning drink?”

“I guess I do. I never really thought about it like that until now. I love the art of roasting the beans and making the perfect blends—I love brewing it and making a beautiful drink. Don't get me wrong, I love when people enjoy it. But for me, I always get a little bit sad when they destroy what I created.”

“Meanwhile, I see an empty plate or a destroyed creation as a sign that I did something right,” Andi said. She took a cookie of her own and held it up. One of the gingerbread men lost a foot coming out of the oven. She frowned at him. “Or, as a sign that I smashed it with my oven mitt,” she added before taking a big bite.

“If it doesn't have to be your own bakery, then why not partner up with someone?” He wanted to suggest partnering up with him. But the idea was too much. They'd spent so much time together that day, he found it difficult to remind himself that he didn't actually know her. His feelings were deceiving him. Instantly clicking with someone—having that instant connection—feeling like you've known them for a million years—that was stuff for the movies. That wasn't stuff for real life. In real life, she was a girl who would likely forgive her scumbag fiancé. And he was a guy who lived in a tiny town that she barely had an interest in visiting—let alone moving to. The reality was harsh. And it sucked, but he would save himself the heartache later if he kept reminding himself of these facts now.

“I've never really found anyone I would want to go into business with. There was one girl in college, but she was interested in a cupcake shop. And when I tried to explain to her that I wanted to do more things, she wasn’t at all welcoming to new ideas. I took that as a sign and didn't jump in. That was why I started the job that I have now.”

“You don't think of what you do now as a career?” he asked her. “You started a company. That’s more than just a job.”

She crinkled her nose, appearing to think. “I guess you're right. I've just never really taken it that seriously. It barely covers my bills. Except for this time of year. And it's just so fun. It's hard to think of something so fun as my career.”

“For what it's worth, I think your career can definitely be something fun. Not just something you enjoy or don't hate. I think it can be fun. Something you look forward to. That's how I used to feel about this place,” he said looking around.

“You don't anymore?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Currently, it's a whole lot more like stress than it is like fun. I know that's part of being an adult. I tell myself that every day since Zack left.”

“Do you think you'll keep doing it?” she asked him. “Do you ever want to just pack up and leave here?”

“Yeah, I'll keep doing it for as long as I can,” he said. “As stressful as this is, I don't want to be anywhere else. This is where I fit. Cherry Creek is full of my favorite people in the world. Or some of them. My parents moved to warmer locations. I can’t blame them. But I don’t want to move to Arizona or Florida.” He couldn't decipher the look she gave him.

“Don't get me wrong, I want to travel. See the world. Have great experiences. But, when it's all said and done, I want to come home to here,” he explained. “What about you?” he asked her. “You think you'll be in Ft. Charles forever?”

She laughed. “I barely want to be there now. No. I'm not even sold on opening the bakery there. It's just kind of where I am. There are some great things about the place. But mostly it's just where I live. It's not really home. I don't know that I’ve found home yet.”

Her eyes scanned the room, and she looked as if she wanted to say more.

“Oh,” she said after a minute. “I didn’t realize how late it was.”

Jackson was pretty sure she was changing the subject—it’s something he did when the conversation got too heavy for too long. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I should probably get some sleep. Early day tomorrow.”

“Me, too,” she said. “That is—if you don’t mind me being in the kitchen down here?”

Jackson snatched another cookie from the middle of the table. “Not one bit,” he said. “Especially if that means more of these.” He held up a decapitated gingerbread man. He was going to get so fat this week.