Phew, it's been what? A year? I never meant to take a year hiatus, so I apologize to those that followed/are still following this story. I lost all sense of where the plot was going and I suppose that regrouping took longer than expected. Hopefully this chapter will set up the rest of the story for what's to come the way I intended and I can get the ball rolling again.
Before he could blink, the cold had settled over Boston. Snow was falling rapidly, piling up faster than powdered sugar across a French Quarter Beignet; it might have been beautiful if not for the thick layer of ice and mud that lined the sidewalks just outside his bakery door.
Phil winced, bracing himself against the cold blast of air that accompanied every patron that entered Sweetie's, the chill raising goose flesh as it swept the room, but, like him, everyone seemed grateful for the warmth once they'd settled inside.
He waved at the little white haired couple that had visited every day since he'd opened, a piece of apple crumble clutched between her shaky fingers and cheesecake in his. Sometimes, they did nothing but laugh, their heads bent low and their attention only on the other. Other times, they said nothing at all, content to simply bask in each other's presence as the world went on without them—even on those days, their hands were always clasped, always linked tightly together as they paid everyone else no mind.
Phil smiled wistfully.
Thanksgiving had come and gone, marked only by the delicious turkey his mother had made and her insistence that it was time to meet his girlfriend-she'd never been one to beat around the bush, his mother. Even now, Phil couldn't understand why the thought had made him pause, why his hands had grown sweaty, or why he'd stood, rigid and tense by Audrey's side as his mother had embraced her. Pepper had reassured him that Audrey was lovely and that the awkward silence that had permeated the room, was nothing more than Audrey's shyness coupled with his own nervous jitters, but he had his doubts.
After driving Audrey home, he'd returned only to find his family looking at him curiously, his mother's eyes glowing in amusement.
"This came for you why you were out," she'd said, holding a large card out for him to take. It was easy to tell that it had been made by the unskilled, but excited hands of a child and he grinned knowingly. It was a charming piece with its abundance of gold, red, and orange glitter and the hastily scrawled penmanship across the front cover. Phil assumed it was a turkey he was looking at, with its sparkly, off-kilter tail feathers, but the affect was somewhat lost in the crazed look on its face, courtesy of the googly eyes that had been glued there.
A strong rush of affection hit him square in the chest, even before he opened the card to find Skye's scribbled signature alongside Melinda's neat cursive. Phil could just imagine Skye bugging her mother until she'd agreed to sign-there was no match for his little agent when she was on a mission.
Even still, his mother and sister had looked at him strangely, but said nothing. Though it was clear, even to him, that they'd wanted to when he'd stuck the card on his fridge without a word, right next to the drawing Skye had given him ages ago.
'So what if one of his best friends was a six year old?' he thought with a shrug. Skye was honest, her happiness contagious, and he only wished that he could be as carefree as she was. But, most days, there was something nagging at him, gnawing at his gut in a way that left him feeling anxious and even Skye's bright disposition wasn't always enough to make him forget.
"Phil! Look!"
Looking up from his mess of flour and dough, his grin was immediate upon spying Skye with her pigtails dusted in snow and bouncing behind her as she ran around the bakery counter, to thrust something glittery out for him to see as her mother followed behind, a grin already in place.
It was an ornament from what he could tell, in the familiar shape of a pink and white cupcake.
"What's that for?" he questioned, wondering why it was of such importance as he nodded at Melinda in greeting, his distracted mind taking note of the slight tinge of pink to her cheeks as she watched.
But Skye merely giggled adorably. "For the Christmas tree, silly!"
'Of course it's for a tree, Phil. You're an idiot,' he chastised himself before trying again. "But why a cupcake?"
For all of his fumbling around, her answer was quite simple. "Because it reminded me of you obviously," raising one eyebrow in the exact way her mother would have at his stupidity. "Mommy and I pick out new ornaments every year for our tree. She says it's special and that I should always get an ornament that stands for something good that happened this year."
"Oh-" he breathed, dumbfounded, but thoroughly touched. "And it represents me?"
Happy that he understood, Skye nodded eagerly, her head bobbing up and down rapidly as her mother looked on with a somewhat intense expression.
"I couldn't find a Captain America shield at the store, but I liked this one."
Without even waiting for his response, she skipped into his arms for a brief hug he barely had time to return before she was switching subjects, completely unaware of the emotions he was struggling with. "What are you making?"
Looking down at his forgotten, half-finished cookies, he cleared his throat.
"Needed a few more cookies to last us the evening, so I decided to make another pan," he told her, glancing back at Melinda at the register, who was no doubt glaring at Clint for refusing to take her payment, the latter with his hands in the air, but refusing to surrender. Phil rolled his eyes at their antics before turning back to Skye with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Wanna help?"
Immediately, she was back around the counter, begging Melinda in their shared plight. He could hear Melinda's whispered words that she had work to do, but he was desperate for a dose of Skye's happy exuberance to counterbalance his unsettled mood.
"I've got a laptop if you need to finish some work," he interrupted, flashing Melinda a boyish grin. "And a wifi password if you need it."
Her glare was now firmly planted on him, with one of her brows arched higher in question as Skye glanced between them both, eyes hopeful.
"Please, mom?" he asked, refusing to laugh even as Melinda's facade cracked and the corners of her mouth quirked up in amusement.
"Fine," she conceded, "but I want that password for my phone as well and keep the hot chocolate coming. And maybe some of those cookies too when the two of you have had your fun."
After whoops of joy and a couple high fives all around, that only earned a large eye roll from Melinda, Phil quickly retrieved his laptop from his office after giving Melinda the agreed upon information. He set her up next to a window in the back where they were working, in perfect view of the two of them, but well enough away from the immediate hustle and bustle of his employees.
"Come on Daisy, let's make you a baker."
It was almost comical when he draped her in one of the bakery aprons, the normally knee-length cloth reaching Skye's sneakers; even tightening the clasp that looped around her neck couldn't keep the fabric from falling forward, but Skye was content with his efforts as she wrapped her braids in a much too large hair net, sticking her tongue out at him when he laughed as it drooped in her eyes.
Grabbing a step stool, she settled in at the counter as she awaited his instructions.
It was a new experience to teach a child, but Skye was an avid learner as she helped to crack the eggs and to measure the sugar out perfectly. Of course, that didn't stop them both from making a mess as Skye's elbows were covered in a mixture of dough and powdered sugar, with a streak of flour across one rosy cheek.
More than once he caught Melinda watching them with a smile on her face, before she'd turn away to focus once more on her work. Idly, he wondered if she was getting any work done, because like him, she seemed to be more interested in the peals of laughter coming from his work station than any true task she may have had to complete.
"Come on, Skye," he urged the little girl after they'd rolled out their finished dough, pulling out a bin of nearly a hundred possible choices, "pick a cutter."
"Any of them?" she asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Is it okay if we use two?"
Phil nodded, watching as she dug through the bin to pull out a Christmas tree and a pointed star, the latter his favorite.
Midways through cutting them all out, he changed topics. "Skye, do you and your mommy like Italian food?"
Wrinkling her nose at the odd question, she nodded. "Mommy likes noodles with that white sauce, alfred or somethin'."
"And you?" he asked chuckling, already wiping the powdered sugar off his hands and dialing the number for the bistro down the street, with the idea of a late lunch in mind.
"Spaghetti!"
"Good choice."
They were well on their way to finishing when the food arrived. Phil could feel Melinda's eyes on him from across the room as Clint delivered the food to her table, but he kept his head down as his coworker explained that the cost had already been taken care of. Skye herself seemed content to watch him work between mouthfuls of pasta after her quiet thanks. Taking the cookies from the oven, he set them aside, making sure to set them well away from his little baking assistant before he moved on to another task as they cooled.
"What's that for?" she asked, tilting her head to the side in curiosity.
"Fondant, right?" asked Melinda, as she abandoned her post by the window to take a look.
Phil nodded at Melinda's question. "For an 8 year old's birthday party."
"Why's it so...white?"
He laughed at the poorly hidden disgust in Skye's voice. "Well it won't be when I'm finished. It's going to be two shades of blue, but I haven't added the color yet."
"Oh," she breathed, the relief in her voice evident as she twirled another forkful of spaghetti, nodding as he pulled out a vial of food dye labelled cerulean. "Much better."
"I'm so glad you approve," he laughed, shaking his head. Turning to Melinda, he echoed his question from earlier. "So...you wanna help?"
She seemed confused and then downright horrified at his inquiry. "Oh, no. I have no creative bone in my body."
"Come one, Mel. It's easy and Clint is busy with another cake," he hedged, knowing that Clint would help in a heartbeat but not wanting him to. "I just need you to lift the other side so that I can set it down evenly."
Melinda looked skeptical. "That's all?"
"Cross my heart," he promised, dragging his index finger across his chest with a smirk.
He'd certainly meant for it to be all, but as they covered the first tier, he managed to talk her into doing the next and before long, she was cutting out small fish and circles in shades of green, white, and purple fondant without him having to ask. "What are these for?"
"Scales," he replied. "It's supposed to look like a mermaid."
Again, she looked skeptical. "Not exactly a Christmas cake."
"Not really, but her favorite movie is The Little Mermaid, from what her parents tell me. Here," he began, stepping behind her as he overlapped the dots in the way a fish's scales would be. "The white ones we'll paint silver and gold for a little variation."
Melinda, "hmm'd" in agreement as he explained, but her hands had stopped moving, her body tensing, and it was only then that he realized just how close the two of them were as the scent of apples filled his nose for the second time. Quickly, he stepped back but could neither hide his blush or the small rush of elation that filled him at the sight of her own pink stained cheeks.
He brushed it off, the idea that she might have enjoyed his proximity leaving him even more confused than before they'd stepped into his bakery.
They continued on in silence, but he couldn't help but notice that the air had grown thicker and that with each punched out circle or fish, Melinda grew quieter. Quicker than any of his trained employees, she had finished her task with unmatched precision that would have given even Clint a run for his money, and was gathering their belongings before he could get a word in edgewise.
"It's getting late and Skye's got practice early in the morning, so it's probably best that we go," she began, eyes focused everywhere but him.
He moved to open the door at the same time they reached the threshold and not reacting fast enough, he bumped Melinda's shoulder, causing one of her shopping bags to tumble to the floor and he watched as a shining, brightly colored object rolled across the tile.
Like Skye's, the ornament was newly purchased and while it was certainly to be used for Christmas, the sight of the striped, ginger cat haphazardly wrapped in a string of colorful lights was enough to leave him reeling.
'If Skye's is the cupcake, then the cat must be...'
His thought trailed off as he turned to look at Melinda who was doing her best to look unaffected, but was obviously embarrassed as she took the bauble from his hands.
"Mommy and I pick out new ornaments every year for our tree. She says it's special and that I should always get an ornament that stands for something good that happened this year."
For a minute Melinda lingered as if there was something she wanted to say, but changed her mind, choosing instead to whisper a soft, "Thank you for dinner. It was wonderful."
In the next moment they were gone and as he turned back to his workstation, with the intent to finish his cake, he couldn't help but feel as if his motivation had walked out the door with them.
Returning home that evening, Phil frowned at the dirt trailing a path across his wood floor as Audrey flitted about, her arms full of vibrant gold and red tinsel. The Douglas Fir had been delivered a few hours before and, in her excitement, Audrey had ripped into the boxes immediately, eager to decorate for the season.
Cap had retreated onto one of the bar stools, watching from a distance as if she was a madwoman; even the empty cardboard boxes and shiny garland couldn't entice him down from his safe perch.
Their first Christmas. That's what Audrey had said.
And she was happy.
'Why am I so...not?' he wondered aimlessly, his head beginning to pound with the first signs of a migraine.
Perhaps it was because she'd insisted they start a new tradition, with new baubles, new colors, and a tree that looked nothing like the one he'd grown up with. He'd never seen so much red and gold in his life and his frown only grew deeper with each added inch of glittery adornment.
Or maybe it was because his favorite ornaments, such as his popsicle stick reindeer from third grade with the red felt nose or his hand painted, puzzle piece picture frame that still held his first grade photo within it's green, mock leaf border, lay in a box in the closet, untouched and forgotten as Audrey added more to the tree. His past, his history, mementos of how he grew up—packed away.
Cap looked as equally appalled as he was, Phil noted.
Anyone else would have been excited, he knew. Christmas meant new beginnings, new promises...a glimpse of things to come, but he was confused, suddenly unsure if what he was seeing was the future he needed—or wanted.
As always, let me know how I did!