Chapter One
The atmosphere of the small bakery was pleasantly stuffy and warm, overwhelmed by the scent of various baked goods. It was crowded with racks among racks of different pastries and breads, warm and soft from their recent extraction from the oven working at full capacity in the back kitchen. The room was archaic in design, adobe walls cracked with peeling paint, limestone tiles chipped, adding a sort of quaint charm to it.
In the back kitchen, a middle aged couple worked duly, kneading bread and sticking rolled up pieces of it into the burning oven.
"Emilia, we need more flour. Senora Garcia has an order of wedding cookies that need to be ready by two."
"Yes Tio! I'll be right there!" called said girl, scampering into the kitchen minutes later with a sack of flour.
Her uncle wiped the sweat of his brow with a damp handkerchief before grabbing the sack of flour from her and mumbling a thank you. The sound of tinkling bells evoked in the background and Emilia's aunt looking up from her position near the oven.
"Go see who's there, I don't want anyone stealing bread like last time."
"Yes Tia." she sighed, exiting the kitchen.
She took her place at the sales counter and leaned on it, hands tucked under her chin as she looked around. She noticed the top of a wavy haired head poking from above a tall rack and she narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the rest of its features through the rack's slits. The owner of the bistre colored waves poked their head out from behind their hiding place and smiled cheekily at Emilia, startling her.
"Excuse me miss, what's the sweetest bread you have for sale today?"
The young man looked at her earnestly with bright eyes, awaiting her response. She finally gathered her coherent thoughts together and pointed to a rack in the corner of the bakery.
"Try the horns, they're filled with custard and they're rolled in sugar." She offered and looked down at her hands as she waited to ring him up.
She finally looked up when she heard a tin tray slam onto the counter. She stared at it; it was piled with sweet sugar horns.
"That's so much...," she murmured, still staring at it absent-mindedly.
"I know, but I do like sweet bread. It looks good, I've never tried it before."
She flicked her gaze to the young man that stood before her, finally noticing and taking in his features. He wore a wool sweater, a stark mustard yellow with a mahogany pattern over a white dress shirt and black tie. She noticed that he seemed rather fashionable, judging from the way he wore his belted slacks- tight, not relaxed, hugging his impressionably muscular thighs. His thick brown hair wasn't shorn and slathered in pomade like the other boys from this region of the city, coming to a speculation that he wasn't from around here, he looked too… expensive. Roaming her gaze from his clothing to his face, she realized he had been smirking at her.
"Sorry… that's just… a really nice sweater. Where'd you get it?" She stammered pathetically, pulling out a large paper bag and a pair of tongs from underneath the counter, and began to gently place his outrageous amount of bread into it. She didn't hear him chuckle at her flustered state and failed to hear where he got his sweater, too enwrapped in her own embarrassment to even look him in the eye. She finished bagging his bread, and accepted the appropriate amount of money. He thanked her, and she evoked a loud, "have a nice day!" She turned even redder than she already was and scampered to the back room once he had left to curse herself into her apron.
"What's the matter with you?" Her aunt inquired, stepping into the small room; her face and apron were covered in flour and her hands were caked with dried up dough.
"Nothing. Some guy walked in and bought an entire tray of horns. Here's the money, it's too much to keep in the money box."
Emilia handed her aunt the small wad of peso notes, and she giggled when she finished counting them, looking at her bewildered expression.
"He bought almost twenty dollars worth of bread. That's ridiculous."
"I know! That's what I was thinking!" Emilia exclaimed, adding unnecessarily, "He looked pretty well to do, to be honest. Maybe he was just buying at as a sort of souvenier?"
"Well… whatever the reason, this is good for business. God knows we need it" Her aunt sighed tiredly, retrieving a box of starch from the self that stood behind her niece and exiting.
"I wonder who that man was." Emilia mused, staring down at her feet, her brow furrowed in deep thought.
Another day at the bakery proved to Emilia that her life was destined for nothing but a meager, meaningless routine. Wake up at dawn to help her aunt and uncle prepare the ingredients for the bread of the day, checking the bread of the previous day to see if it had gone stale, take account of the inventory etc. It proved to be stressful and laborious. She wondered how her uncle ever made money to keep the bakery running; people didn't exactly flock to the doors to buy bread, and the prices couldn't be raised because otherwise, people just wouldn't buy. She figured he made most of his money off of special orders for events and parties, God only knows how many are held a month. Even so, it still didn't seem like enough. Her uncle was struggling to survive rather than achieving the rewards of being one's boss.
The day carried on tediously. Only a handful of people showed up and bought a modest amount of bread. She made a mental note to tell her uncle to bake less bread for each day; it'd be better for business. When the sun began to set, Emilia saw that no one would have a need to come in and buy anything, and walked over to one of the racks that held an entire tray of fluffy shell bread, the pressed powdered sugar designed to leave a shell pattern on top of the round little buns. She grabbed two and snuck back to her place behind the counter. She had brought one up to her lips when she heard the tinkling of bells break the steady silence of the atmosphere.
"Are you supposed to be eating the merchandise?"
She frowned and brought the sweet bread away from her face. She pursed her lips at the well dressed man in front of her.
"Did you finish the bread from yesterday?" She asked incredulously.
"No, but I wanted to try something new. Recommend anything?"
She furrowed her brow at him, and then looked at the two pieces of bread she had in hand and held one out to him.
"Try this one, it's pretty good. They're pretty popular." She reasoned, bringing the same piece of bread to her lips when he accepted her offer. She took a bite and smiled at how the sugar stuck to the back of her teeth. She made a face as she tried to push it off with her tongue, her mouth puckered into a small o.
"Oh my goodness," The young man laughed, "You should have seen your looked scrunched up."
She giggled and shrugged her shoulders, and continued to eat her bread.
"You know, I never did get your name." He broached, smiling at her, revealing artificially straightened teeth.
"Emilia. My name's Emilia." She stated simply, her cheeks beginning to grow red.
"How'd you get the name Emilia? I mean… not to be offensive, but I'd figure you'd have a name like Maria, or Juanita, or even Xochitl."
She stopped her endeavor in eating and looked up at him, incredulous.
"Well, if you must know, mister," she uttered the word icily, "My mother was a native from Oaxaca and my father was a Spanish missionary. They married and he named me, after his mother I guess. I don't know, I didn't really know him."
She took a large bite out of the bun and chewed violently, looking away from him.
"Hey, calm down girlie, I was just asking. What's your full name?" He held his hands up defensively and softened his rigid stance when she swallowed and turned back to him.
"Emilia Irasema Pardave. That is my full name, now you've gotten quite a bit of information from me, what's yours?" She retorted, crossing her arms, a small bit of bread still clasped in her slender fingers.
"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo." He uttered through a mouthful of bread.
She grimaced slightly, but giggled when she realized he did it on purpose. He was smiling at her and eating the bread, almost too dashingly, if that were possible.
"Are you living in Tijuana?" She finally had the audacity to pry more information from him.
Antonio shook his head and took another bite of bread.
"I'm from Spain. Seville to be exact. Know where that's at?" He asked, almost smarmy.
"Isn't that in Andalusia?"
He seemed taken aback before leaning down on the counter that served as a thin barricade between them.
"Yes. How'd you know?"
"My dad was a Spanish missionary. He had my mom teach me the geography of his homeland. I'm not as dumb as you think I am, you know."
He laughed heartily, his eyes screwed shut as his shoulders shook.
"I never thought you were, not even for a second. But tell me, how old are you?"
"Fourteen."
"What grade?"
"I'm not going to school right now. But if I were to, I'd be starting high school."
She wondered why she was giving away so much information, seeing as though she had encountered so many dishonest, disturbed people in her short years living in such a bustling city, but looking at his seemingly genuine smile and hearing his gentle voice made her put a little trust into him; at least she wasn't becoming too comfortable around him.
She finally countered his badgering with her own set of questions.
"Why are you here, out of all places?"
He raised an eyebrow and asked what she meant.
"Yeah, well, I mean look at you. You look… what's the word for it… put together," she began, gesturing to his tailored slacks and crimson sweater vest, "You don't look like you would live in a city like this."
"Well, chiquita," the endearment rolled easily off the tongue, "I'm here for business. My dad owns an agriculture company, and since he's sick, he's depending on me to finish some work for him."
He puffed out his chest and placed his hands on his hips.
"Uh huh… and is that why you're hanging out at an obscure bakery instead of doing whatever it is you need to do?"
"It doesn't require much to do," He countered from her condescending tone, "All I have to do is sign some papers and make sure things are running smoothly. The rest is taken care of by my father's assistant."
She huffed and blew a stray strand of unruly hair from her face.
"Sounds like fun," She retorted, before looking away for a split second at wall of racks full of pastries, "Well, are you gonna buy bread or not?"
He chuckled and nodded, and before he turned away from her to collect his choice of bread, he looked her in the eye, his usual cheeriness replaced with sobriety.
"You didn't tell me why you don't go to school."
"My uncle needs help here. Going to school will get in the way of business."
Antonio nodded in understanding and turned to grab a tray. Minutes later, he returned to the counter with the entirety of the tray covered in shell bread. She rung him up and before she said goodbye, she asked him why he bought so much bread.
"Well, you did say your uncle needed help."
