Hi lovelies! I'm back, with another Delena Delight for you. The response to YQTLF continues to delight and amaze me and I'm so glad that people are still enjoying it.
This idea just came to me and I decided to run with it. I personally love baking and have always dreamed of owning a bakery, and they say you should write about what you love, so here we are.
It'll probably take me a while to get back on my fanfiction feet – I feel a bit like a wobbly baby giraffe just learning to stand, so be gentle.
Also – last thing, I promise – I've decided to change up Elena's body shape in this fanfic, mainly because I was a bit tired of hearing all about her 'slim, smooth, flat, NO FAT' stomach etc. There is other body shapes than that that are super sexy and attractive and I wanted to write about it. It struck me that it might be a mistake to say her size, because I don't people thinking that I believe that a size ten or twelve or whatever she is (US size ten/twelve by the way) is big or ugly or anything because I don't. I'm actually that size, and I think that I have a pretty fantastic look. It's just a lack of confidence on her part. But don't fret – Elena will be growing to loooooveherself as the chapters go on.
So here we go! Hope you like, and I'll see you at the bottom.
OOO
"Joanne, can I get another batch of red velvet with cream cheese please?" I called into the kitchen, glancing impatiently at the empty glass case.
"Sure thing boss!"
"Can you do them quickly as well? Because we're completely out!" I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice. It was part of Joanne's job as an intern baker to keep track of the stock so that she could get on baking something that we were running low on. So far, she hadn't done it once.
The little bell above the door chimed and I turned around quickly, pasting a smile on my face as I greeted the customer. "Welcome to Cloud 9 bakery!" I chirped. "Can I help you with anything?"
The young man barely glanced at me. Instead he began to walk around, looking intently at everything, from the wall décor to the cakes themselves. "No thank you darling. I actually wanted to speak to the owner of this place."
I narrowed my eyes at him. Speak to the owner? Nobody had ever wandered in and asked to speak to the owner. Plus, I didn't like the way he was inspecting the place.
"Well I'm terribly sorry, but in order to talk to the owner, you'll have to make an appointment. I'm the manager though, so I'd be perfectly happy to help you with any queries that you may have."
He looked at me properly now, for the first time since he had walked in and I was able to see what he actually looked like. He was pretty handsome actually – all pale skin and black hair, complete with a pretty fantastic jawline and cheekbones. It was his eyes though, that really drew me in. They were a bright, intense blue, lined with coal black eyelashes that were wasted on a boy – they were the kind of eyes that burned out at you from the front of a magazine cover, not the kind that you saw in real life. In fact, now that I thought about it, he looked kind of familiar.
I was shaken out of my thoughts when he spoke again.
"You're the manager?" He asked with an air of incredulity and I bristled.
"Yeah, I am." I said coolly, preparing to whip out a feminist speech about equal opportunities between men and women should it be necessary. "Is there a reason why that's a surprise?"
Instantly his face transformed and he laughed, holding his hands up like he was surrendering. "Easy tiger, I'm not saying that you shouldn't be. It's just unusual to see a manger being the one to sell the goods, that's all."
"Oh." I said, deflating slightly. "Right. Well I kind of do everything that needs doing around here, and our sales girl is sick today. So here I am."
"So you run the place?" He asked, sounding interesting and I nodded.
"Yeah, I do I guess. Ricki – she's the owner – doesn't really know anything about the shop, she just owns it and funds new purchases and all that. I oversee everything. Like the owner without the profit."
He nodded, and the way he was looking at me was so intense that I glanced away, tucking my hair behind my ear. "So can I help you with anything?"
"Well unfortunately no, I don't think so. It really is the owner I need to speak to."
I frowned. "Well I'll take a message for her if you'd like." I searched around for something to write on before eventually finding the order forms and a pen.
"That'd be wonderful, thank you." The polite things that he was saying didn't match up to his tone, which was amused, like the two of us were sharing a joke.
"Ok, so…will I get her to ring you?" I asked, scrawling a message summing up the situation.
"Perfect."
"Ok, great…and your number is?"
He rattled it off and I scribbled it down before glancing up at him sheepishly. "Perfect. And…actually, I'm sorry; I never got your name."
This seemed to particularly amuse him and he smirked slightly. "Damon Salvatore."
I looked up at him. "Why is that name familiar to me?" I asked, racking my brains for where on earth I had heard it before. He considered this for a moment, as though trying to figure out the proper way to answer this.
"You know what, this is going to sound incredibly pompous, but it'd probably be best if you just Google me."
I stared at him before bursting out laughing. "You're right, that did sound incredibly pompous. I'll omit that from the message, just to ensure that you actually get a call back."
I tore the sheet off of the pad and wrote 'Ricki' on the front in capitals. Just as I finished folding it up, I heard a wail from inside the kitchen.
"Shit." I glanced behind me then back to Damon, who looked amused. "Look, I should probably go and make sure that the kitchen's not on fire. I'll make sure she gets the message, ok?"
"Brilliant. And sorry, I never got your name."
"Oh, I'm Elena Gilbert." I told him, shaking his outstretched hand and he smiled.
"Nice to meet you Elena. And thank you for all of your help."
I shot him one last smile before pushing open the door into the kitchen, greeted by the smell of burning. I found Joanne staring miserably at a tray of black cupcakes at the back.
She looked up at me sadly when she heard me approaching. "I accidentally set the oven to 450 Fahrenheit instead of 350." She said mournfully, her lower lip wobbling.
I tried to keep my voice level. "Ok Joanne, we've talked about this, remember? You have to triple check the ovens before you put the cakes in, in case something like this happens. Otherwise you'll waste time."
She flapped her hands about. "I know, I know, I know! I just completely screwed up, I'm sorry."
Sighing, I picked up the burned tray of cakes. "Look, just forget about it. It's fine. Just make another batch and while they're cooking, make the frosting, ok?"
"Right. Yes. Ok. I'm on it!" She began to run around the kitchen again and I turned away, rolling my eyes as I dumped the cakes – although granted, they were more like rocks - into the bin. We had taken Joanne in because she was Ricki's niece and since she wanted to get into the baking industry, Ricki had offered her an internship.
Ricki was not the one who had to deal with the equivalent of a puppy in her kitchen every day.
I headed back out into the main shop area and straightened up a few of the platters on the counter. I waited in case a customer appeared for a few minutes and when the shop remained empty, I ran into my office to grab a few folders of paperwork that needed filling out and began to work on those. For some strange reason, I wasn't able to get Damon Salvatore off of my mind.
OOO
The rest of the day passed fairly uneventfully. We had our usual surge of customers around five, people coming in with sugar cravings on their way home from work but apart from that, it was pretty quiet. Mondays were the day that we got the least customers – I put it down to people starting diets at the start of the week. (Usually giving up by Tuesday, bless their hearts.)
The shop closed at six and once I had locked up and wiped all of the counters down, I left too, grabbing the note containing the message for Ricki so that I could call her on my way home.
As I drove back to my apartment in my little Mini, (old, battered and the love of my life) I dialled Ricki on my hands free. As I expected, it went to her voicemail.
"Hey Ricki, it's me. There was a Damon Salvatore in the bakery today, wanting to talk to you. He didn't say why but he wants you to call him when you get a chance. His number is…" I stopped at a red light and fumbled with the note for a moment before finally getting it open. "It's 815-669-111. Give him a call. Other than that, no news from the bakery. Joanne is…doing fine. Maybe a little bit more concentration would be good but other than that, she's…enthusiastic. So yeah. Let me know what Damon wanted, ok? Talk to you later."
Thankfully, the roads were pretty clear and I was home without too much delay.
"Caroline?" I called, opening the door to our apartment. "You home?"
"Kitchen!"
I dropped my bag onto the couch in the sitting room and ducked under the low doorframe into the kitchen, finding Caroline cooking something on the stove. The word kitchen implies that it might have been a reasonable size but in reality, there was just enough room for two people to stand relatively comfortably.
"Hey doll. Mac and cheese ok?"
"Mac and cheese is always ok." I told her, peering over her shoulder at the sauce that she was making.
"Well good, cos that's all that's I had the money for."
"Oh, you bought this? I didn't know that The Mystic Mart did those mac and cheese boxes."
Instantly she looked shifty and glanced behind her. I looked over at the corner that she was looking in and frowned. "Is that…"
I grabbed the plastic bag and read the logo on it before whipping around, glaring at her. "Walmart? Come on, Caroline! You know we don't shop there!"
"Well it's more that you're the one who doesn't shop there." She said guiltily, turning around and wiping her hands on her jeans. "It's just…I love the Mystic Mart and obviously you know I want to support local shops as much as you do but sometimes it's just so much cheaper to get it from a chain store!"
I opened my mouth to protest but she held up a hand wearily. "And yes, I know that the money goes straight into the owner of a huge corporation's pocket, the very same person who's ruining America but when you have five bucks and it's your turn to cook dinner, you kinda get desperate. I promise that I will buy a week's worth of food in The Mystic Mart shop as soon as I get paid, ok?"
"Fine." I said coolly. "And your sauce is burning."
"What? Oh shit!" She spun around and mixed it furiously, cursing under her breath. "Only I would be able to screw up a damn boxed mac and cheese."
"I think it's karma." I mused aloud and she thumped me before mixing the gloopy sauce again.
"Actually, get me the cheese from the fridge, would you?"
I handed it to her and she smiled and I was, once again, stunned by how pretty she was. Caroline and I had been friends since senior year of high school. The two of us were polar opposites, with her being slim and small, with curly blonde hair and me being tall and curvy with brown hair. She had been the head cheerleader, peppy and popular and over the top, while I had been quieter, with my only real hobby being the baking that I did in my kitchen at home. The two of us had been assigned a group project in English together, and once we had got over the preconceived notions that we had had about each other, (Me – that she was a blonde bimbo. Her – that I was a sarcastic bitch who thought I was better than everyone) we ended up getting on like a house on fire and had been inseparable ever since. We had decided to get an apartment together about two years ago, because the two of us were trying to save money.
"How was work?" She asked, tipping the cheese into the sauce.
"It was fine. Joanne was a bundle of energy, as usual. How was your day?"
Caroline made a face, pouring the pasta into the sauce and mixing it. "Boring. When is it ever anything else?"
Caroline worked in the accounting department in Mystic Falls Bank, which she was great at, but hated. What she really wanted to be was an elementary school teacher, but she needed to save up enough money to go back to school first.
She proudly held up the rickety saucepan, that had belonged to her mother and had been gifted to us when we moved in together. (Gifted meaning stolen from the kitchen when Mrs. Forbes wasn't looking.) "Dinner," She said smugly. "Is served."
Tipping it into two chipped bowls, she handed me one. I poked the gelatinous pile with a fork before giving in and nibbling a piece gingerly. Surprisingly (and to my disappointment, because I couldn't bitch about corporations anymore) it wasn't too bad and so I hopped up onto the counter and began into it with a little more enthusiasm.
"Actually, this guy came into the bakery today, looking around. Said his name was Damon Salvatore – have you heard of him?"
Caroline frowned. "Damon Salvatore…I could be wrong but isn't he like an entrepreneur? Owns a few businesses here and there, kinda successful?"
"Maybe. Whatever he is, he told me to Google him, so he must have a pretty big ego."
Caroline snorted. "Google him? Jesus. Maybe he's a bigger deal than we thought."
My phone chirped from my back pocket and glancing at it, I saw that it was a text from Ricki.
Got that message, tnx Elle. Will xplain nxt time I c u. Ricki xx
I frowned down at the phone. I had been hoping for a bit more than just an 'I'll explain next time I see you' in relation to what Damon had wanted but that had probably been expecting a bit too much - Ricki had never been too savvy on social media.
"Everything ok?" Caroline asked and I tossed my phone down, nodding.
"Just Ricki. Actually, speaking of Ricki, you won't believe the hell that Joanne is putting me through…"
OOO
"Ok, so…Damon Salvatore." I muttered to myself, opening up my computer. After dinner, I had changed into pyjamas and then settled down to do some research on this guy. I began to tap it into Google and to my surprise, his name appeared in the list of suggestions as soon as I typed in his first name. I clicked it and then sat back and stared at the results that popped up.
I was still gaping at them when Caroline appeared into my room from doing the dishes, holding two cups of tea.
"Did you find out who he is then?" She asked, sitting cross legged on the bed beside me and handing me a cup. I nodded speechlessly, gesturing to the screen and she leaned forward, squinting at it.
"Damon Salvatore," She read out loud. "Born in Mystic Falls, is a businessman, owner of the hugely successful brand name 'Volturi' which is used to sell products ranging from clothes to household goods. As he is the sole owner of the brand, Salvatore is believed to be worth in the realm of seven hundred million dollars" Her voice, which had started out loud and joking had trailed off to a tone of disbelief. She stared at me for a moment, mouth agape before reading the last part of the paragraph. "Salvatore is also known for his business method of 'buy and improve'. This involves purchasing an already successful business and through various methods, making it even more profitable."
The two of us sat in silence for a moment, before Caroline spoke again. "You don't think he wants to buy the bakery, do you?"
I shrugged, trying not to come across as concerned as I was. Truthfully, I had been wondering whether that's what he had wanted too, and the fact that Caroline was thinking it as well confirmed those fears.
"Well, whatever." She said, trying to sound confident. "Ricki wouldn't sell the bakery even if someone wanted to buy it, right?"
I sat up, feeling a little better. "No. No, you're right, she wouldn't. She loves the place and….and she knows what it means to me. She wouldn't do that to me."
"What does this guy look like, anyway?" Caroline asked, and I shrugged.
She clicked onto a website promising an interview and a gallery of photos. "Was he nice when he came into the bakery though?" She asked, waiting for it to load. "I mean, sometimes these people can be pretty…HOLY SHIT."
The pictures had loaded. Caroline gaped at them, practically drooling onto my keyboard. "Was he this good-looking when he came into the shop?"
I examined the pictures. He did look pretty great in them – in fact, he looked like a male model. Had he actually looked this handsome when I met him today? "I guess." I said grudgingly and she whooped.
"You have to bring him home! For dinner or something, I don't know! Bullshit an excuse and then find a way to invite him into your bedroom because he is stunning! AND RICH!"
I laughed, hitting her with a pillow. "Don't be an idiot, Caroline."
"No Elle, I'm totally serious. He's probably the best catch of our time."
"Despite the fact that he represents everything I hate in the world today?" I asked dryly. She carried on like I hadn't even spoken.
"And he's only…twenty eight! That's ideal – not too young, not too old. I mean shit Elle, he's like a God."
"Which is exactly why I'm sure that he has a girlfriend. And even if he didn't, it's not like he'd go for someone like me!"
Caroline turned to glare at me. "What's that supposed to mean, Elena?"
I rolled my eyes. "Well come on. It's not like a multi-millionaire is going to go out with someone who looks like me. You, on the other hand, I'm sure he would love."
Caroline sat up, looking genuinely irritated. "I hate it when you talk about yourself like that." She muttered angrily, sliding off the bed. "You're so hard on yourself, Jesus."
"You know it's true!" I called after her as she huffed out of the door before returning to my scrolling.
I had always been…God I hated the phrase, but a 'bigger girl' for as long as I could remember, both in height and weight. Truthfully, my build was not that of a slim girl but my love of baking and hatred of exercise had probably contributed to the fact that I usually fitted into a US ten if it was a good day; a twelve if it was a bad. And I knew so many girls who were bigger than I was who were absolutely stunning – it just looked, I don't know, awkward on me. I was so tall as it was, and tall girls were meant to be willowy, and I just…took up space. I was the kind of chubby that looked goodish squeezed into Spanx, and I had hips and boobs that I regarded fondly but other than that, my body was not going to win beauty pageants. That being said, it wasn't like I hated myself, or anything like it. Sometimes I looked in the mirror and thought I was the sexiest thing since sliced bread and other times I wondered how the rest of the human population stood me.
So no, I probably wasn't the most confident person in the world, but then who was? I knew how to dress for my body shape and anything after that, I didn't really give too much thought to. I had more important things to do with my time.
I scanned through the accompanying interview to the pictures. It gave a basic background of Salvatore – born in Mystic Falls? This was a bit of a surprise, although it was probably why I thought that I had heard of him. One younger brother, mother died when he was young, dropped out of college and started up a successful brand name. The typical success story, something he himself admitted later on in the interview.
Reading down through it, it was clear that Damon had charmed the pants off of this interviewer. He came across as funny, witty, charming and a touch dangerous and brooding. (The ideal combo.) It was a little surreal to think that I had just been talking to him earlier today.
As I read through various different articles, I couldn't calm the niggling worry in my stomach that Caroline and I were right about him wanting to buy the place. Why on earth else would he wander in off the street and want to talk to the owner?
I tried to comfort myself with what I had been thinking earlier, that Ricki wouldn't just sell the place like it meant nothing to her. The two of us had built up this little bakery to the point that it was at now – she wouldn't just throw it away.
Feeling a little bit better, I shut down the computer and crawled under my duvet sheets. The more I thought about it, the more I realised how stupid I was to worry. Everything was going to be fine – things were not going to fall to pieces because Damon Salvatore, just a random millionaire, had walked into the bakery. We didn't even know what he wanted, for heaven's sake! Maybe he and Ricki were just old friends or something, I don't know. Whatever it was, it would all be sorted out, I was sure of it.
I snuggled down into my pillow, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over me. My eyes began to close of their own accord and the last thing that I thought before I drifted off to sleep was to wonder when I'd next see Damon Salvatore again. (I couldn't figure out whether I was excited or dreading it.)
OOO
Kind of an 'establishing stuff' chapter. Hope you enjoyed it though! Leave me a review and let me know what you think. (Again – please be gentle. Smiley faces are always appreciated.)
I can't promise an update soon, but I'll try, I promise. (I have managed to pick a dreadful time for me to upload, in terms of having no free time. SORRY!)
So yeah, leave reviews and if you like this story, give it a follow.
It's good to be back my darlings!
x
