Chapter 20
"You what iced the cake? Is that what you thought I'd like to watch? Now, don't get me wrong Peach, that sounds sexy and all. But I'm not that kind of a girl."
Ella threw her head back and laughed. She laughed so hard Bucky could swear he saw tears welling up in her eyes. He smiled to himself, inwardly patting himself on the back.
"I'm not talking about caking! Gawd! What kind of lady do you take me for, good sir? I dirty iced the cake. It is also known as a crumb layer. It is a layer of icing that separates the cake from the decorative icing layer so the cake itself, or any crumbs, doesn't show through. I left that to harden in the freezer while I was at the gym. Also, yes, it is one of my hobbies."
Bucky furrowed his brow in confusion.
"I have a few questions."
Ella held up a finger.
"Don't you dare ask me what caking is. If you don't know, ask Sam. He'll get a kick out of it if he even knows what it is. If it's anything else go right ahead and ask. I'll just start getting everything together to finish it."
With this Ella straightened her posture from her position of leaning over onto the counter. It was only then that Bucky had a chance to take in what she was wearing. All he had really seen was her resting on her arms, her face, and that her hair that was usually loose was pulled back.
She was wearing a pair of loose-fitting high-waisted denim short shorts and an oversized crop top hanging off of one shoulder. Her hair was pulled back into a French braid, the long tail hanging over her exposed shoulder.
Bucky couldn't help but stare as he grabbed his phone to get a better look as she turned away from the camera. He brought his own phone closer to his face in hopes of getting a better look. He was overly glad that her back was currently turned towards him.
Ella was curvy. She looked soft but firm. She had nice legs and large thighs. The shorts hugged her wide hips and thighs and only accentuated her small waist. She seemed to have somewhat of a tummy as well. Her stomach wasn't entirely flat. As Sam would say, she had some squish. And Bucky loved it. The oversized shirt exaggerated her curves even more. She was a woman who had some meat on her bones, one who wasn't just all bones.
Bucky knew that under that soft-looking exterior she was a lot stronger than she appeared. He wondered exactly how strong she really was. Then he realized that she was waiting for him to ask some questions and floundered.
"First of all, why do you go to the gym so late at night?"
Ella looked up from a drawer that she was rummaging through. Although she didn't look at the camera, Bucky could see part of her face as she considered how to answer.
"Well, for one I don't like morning workouts. I find it relieves stress and tension from the day. Secondly, I usually get to work early and leave late. Thirdly, I use the facilities that my job offers. It's free and better than any paid gym around here. Fourthly, I don't like running into coworkers during off-hours. And finally, I am not particularly a fan of audiences. I'd much rather be alone. That's how I prefer doing a lot, if not most, things."
She gave him a playfully poignant look after her explanation.
"Fair enough."
Bucky watched her every movement as she gathered all sorts of things from their various places in her fairly large kitchen. She amassed a few mixing bowls, some whisks, a whole range of spatulas, a few triangular plastic bags, a box that rattled with the sound of metal on metal inside, and what looked like a small, circular serving tray.
"What is your next question, Sailor? It sounded like you had more than one."
This time she did look into the camera and Bucky couldn't shake the feeling that she had just caught him balking at her like some hormonal teenager. Which he totally had been doing. He had been imagining her at the gym. Wondering what her routine was like, and what she looked like doing it. For reference to his own workouts, strictly speaking.
Bucky cleared his throat as she reached up and retrieved something from the top of the fridge. His mouth went dry at the sight. She was fairly tall, but she had one hell of a reach. He just managed to gather himself as she put the container from atop the fridge onto the counter.
"How exactly did you achieve your rank? If you don't mind me saying, you don't look anywhere near old enough to qualify as a Captain."
Ella stopped rummaging for utensils, stood up, and looked into the camera. She folded her arms and leaned up against the counter on the other end of the kitchen. Bucky had to keep from gaping at her. Giving her body a once over with his eyes. She smirked at him through the camera with a knowing smile.
"As you already know I joined the Army when I was 18. After I joined, I went to West Point for four years. Being the academic that I am, I chose that path and earned a few other degrees while I was there. I graduated when I was 22. Now, if you graduate from West Point, you automatically receive a rank of second lieutenant."
"Wow, West Point is some serious shit. I bet you raised hell in that place."
Ella laughed and stuck her tongue into her cheek to keep from smiling.
"Not compared to where I went after that, but that is not part of what you asked. When I graduated, my COs pushed for a higher rank for me. Considering my record, before and after I turned 18, my academic achievements, and the fact that I had completed the Captain's Career Course at their request, the promotion board agreed. So, I graduated with the rank of Officer."
Bucky looked at her with an exaggerated look of shock and awe on his face. Well, maybe not that much exaggerated. How many others had achieved this? He doubted there were many if any.
"Where did you go after you graduated? And can I ask you a personal question? I know it's rude, but it would make the timeline of your life a little easier to follow."
"I was stationed at Fort Bragg, North Carolina after I graduated. If you're going to ask me how old I am, I'm 32. Closer to 33 than I care to admit. Although I consider myself lucky. I should be older. I Blipped out. So, I should be approaching 40."
He thought that she looked really young for her age. But he was one to talk. Bucky looked like he was in his 30s when he was actually pushing 110. Bucky watched on as Ella started gathering paraphernalia again. She had now amassed quite the collection on the counter that was in view of the camera. Then something arose to Bucky's attention as he scrutinized her movements. Something from a previous conversation.
"I thought your family specialized in baking bread. You never mentioned cakes when you talked about your bakery. As a side note, why are you decorating a cake at midnight on a Monday?"
Ella blew a strand of loose hair out of her face and smiled at him.
"Well, aren't you just full of questions? And that goes with a story. I am just chock full of stories it seems. So, I guess it's a good thing you have a lot of questions. I have the answers."
As Ella spoke, she went over to the freezer and pulled out a round, partially iced cake. Bucky could now see what dirty icing, or a crumb layer, was. The cake was iced and almost smooth, but you could still see the dark of the chocolate cake peeking through in many places.
"Tell me the story."
Bucky replaced his phone back to its propped position on his bedside table.
"What, need a bedtime story? I really don't want to put you to sleep."
"I severely doubt that you could ever bore me to sleep if that is what you mean. Not even if you tried."
Ella looked over at Bucky as she placed the cake on the strange serving tray-looking thing.
"It started when I was around 16. My mom and I got into this enormous fight at the bakery. I mean it was huge. I'm surprised we didn't come to blows. I swear everyone in the store heard every word we said. Everyone there speaks German, or most of them anyway. I ended up walking out."
Ella centered the cake on the tray and reached for the container that she had taken from on top of the fridge. She grabbed a dough scraper and kept the story going.
"I wound up going to another bakery. As Europeans and as bakers we all know each other and we all support each other. One of my customers is the daughter of a Swiss pastry chef. She trained in Switzerland for three or four years before coming back to the states to continue her family's business."
Ella dug into the container and plopped a few dollops of fluffy white icing on top of the cake before grabbing a beveled spatula.
"She had been in my store more than a few times complaining about how she couldn't find a decent assistant, or if someone was good enough, they never stuck around. So, naturally, I went to her and asked if she still had that position open."
Ella began smoothing the icing over the top of the cake and down onto the sides. As she worked on the sides, she spun the cake around using the serving tray plate. Bucky assumed that this serving tray thing was more like a cake decorating turntable or Lazy Susan.
She worked with the quick precision of someone who had a lot of experience and practice at the task in her hands. When she spoke, it didn't sound like she was distracted by the work of her hands at all. As she focused on icing the cake, she continued the story.
"She and her bakery specialized in the sweets part of baking. Cakes, cupcakes, chocolates, truffles, tarts, cookies. Even wedding cakes. All of it. She taught me everything that my family never did. Even the old European recipes that we never made for the store. See, my grandfather taught my uncle. My grandfather was the Master Baker. The one that had formal training and a Master's degree in baking. He was the one who knew how to do all of it. But he only taught my uncle the bread part."
Bucky couldn't keep himself from asking.
"Did you ever go back to your bakery?"
Ella's hands hovered over the cake, frozen in place. Ceasing their calculated movements as she looked at the camera, at Bucky, and answered.
"No. I never went back. My mom and I made up. After a while. A long while. But I stayed where I was. I was tired of the family business by that point anyway. I knew I wanted something else. I just didn't know what. Besides, I was only there for around two years or so. Then I joined the Army. The rest is history."
Bucky didn't say anything, waiting to see if Ella had anything more to add as she sustained working.
"As to why I am decorating a cake at almost 1 am on a Tuesday morning… It's a friend and coworker's birthday. If I like you enough, you don't get a supermarket cake. You get an Ella Special."
Bucky followed her hands as she added another spatula of icing to the side of the cake and began smoothing it out.
"Do ya like me enough to make me a cake?"
She looked at Bucky with an impish grin, her hands still moving with fluid and memorized movements.
"The verdict isn't out on that yet. If I did, what is your favorite kind of cake?"
Before Bucky could answer, Ella suddenly looked down and started yelling. In German.
"Get out of my kitchen you Goblin! You know better! Out! Get out now!"
Ella kept her attention down towards the ground as she pointed with her icing-covered spatula off camera.
"You know better. No goblins in my kitchen when I'm working. Out!"
She continued to look down and followed what Bucky assumed was an animal with her eyes. Then Ella switched back to English.
"Good girl. Sorry about that, my cat decided to investigate the new voice."
Bucky smiled a suave smile and spoke. Also, in German.
"I forget your first language is German. It's so strange hearing you speak it. It's almost like it doesn't quite fit. One of your degrees is in linguistics, right?"
Ella flashed a large smile as she grabbed a clean dough scraper and spoke in English.
"That is correct. That one is a Master's that I do not plan on advancing."
Ella was now smoothing out the top and sides of the cake with the flat edge of the dough scraper. Putting the excess back into the container. Bucky now had a question that he had been dying to ask for some time now. With his own laundry list of languages, dozens of which he was fluent in, he wanted to know where she was in comparison to himself.
"How many languages do you speak, exactly?"
Ella paused her actions and stood up straight. She leaned against the counter and looked off into space. Giving Bucky a nice view of her profile as she furrowed her brow and bit her bottom lip. Obviously in deep thought. The small frown that had appeared on her face deepened.
"I'm… I'm not sure. Let's just say 'a lot'."
Bucky almost fell back onto his bed. What kind of answer was that?
"How can you not know!?"
Ella turned her head and looked at him through the camera.
'Well, after so many you kind of forget. At least until you're thrown back into it or someone speaks to or around you."
She turned around and leaned against the counter, still deep in thought.
"How many countries are there in Europe?"
Bucky didn't hold back his bark of laughter at her question.
"Over 40. Last time I checked."
Ella considered his answer.
"Then, with all the dialects and accents taken into consideration, I'd say you could easily put my number over double, maybe triple that. There are a lot of dialects. Some can even be their own mini-language. As far as accents go, I'm sure you can tell me the difference between a Brooklyn accent and a Queens accent as well as I can tell you a Northern German accent from a Southern one. Now, if we excluded dialects and accents, maybe between 30 and 50. I may have lost some along the way."
Bucky's jaw dropped. He had never met someone whose knowledge of languages rivaled, or surpassed, his own. His pride was a little bruised. He was learning to never expect anything when it came to this woman, but this was something else.
"You've got to be fucking shitting me."
"Try me."
Ella stared into the camera. With a demand, a challenge.
Bucky began talking about a myriad of different countries. All in their native languages. Ella responded to each one in not only the correct language but the correct accents. She even corrected Bucky a few times on either his grammar or his accent.
The list of languages that Bucky found that Ella could speak fluently in included, but was certainly not limited to:
English, German, French (both France and Canadian), Spanish (both Spain and Mexican), Russian, Polish, Bulgarian, Swedish, Romanian (as well as Romani), Danish, Finnish, Flemish, Greek, Icelandic, Italian, Dutch, Portuguese, Turkish, Ukrainian, Hungarian, Estonian, Czech, Gaelic, Hawaiian Pidgin, Arabic, and Latin.
Bucky was beginning to run out of languages to test her on. The Gaelic and Hawaiian Pidgin threw him for a loop. He had expected Arabic and Latin as Ella was a linguist. The understanding of these two languages alone is paramount in a linguist's work.
They also helped someone learn a new language and become fluent rather quickly.
Bucky deadpanned, still completely floored by the last few minutes of rapid change in languages.
"So, you're telling me that you are going to leave that degree alone and not go any further with it? Why?"
"That's right. Well, with all of my practical experience, I figured furthering the degree would be overkill at this point. My resume reflects that. We didn't even get into each dialect or any variations. Now that is where all the fun is."
Bucky thought about what Ella has said with a sense of shock and admiration as he observed her grabbing one of the triangular plastic bags. Along with the box whose contents with the metallic rattle. He knew that spoke different languages and specialized in dialects, but this was ridiculous.
Ella opened the bag and filled it with the fluffy white icing. She then opened the box which contained a vast number of metal piping tips. She selected one and used a plastic apparatus to affix it to the tip of the piping bag.
She started piping a line of perfect pearls along the bottom edge of the cake, carefully and smoothly turning the cake stand as she went.
"I ask so many questions of you and you never have an issue answering them. Don't you have any questions for me? I feel bad being the only one asking and receiving information in these exchanges."
Bucky watched and waited for her answer as Ella piped another border around the top edge of the cake while she thought, then answered.
"You make it sound so formal. Like it's a business transaction. It's not. I don't mind your questions. I actually like them. I never get asked about myself, ever. And the person inquiring is also a huge bonus for me. If I did not want to answer one of your questions, I wouldn't. As for asking my own, well, you seem the type that would much rather answer them as we go, in your own time. Or not at all."
She was correct, again. Bucky would much rather be the one asking the questions than be on the receiving end of them. Considering everything he was still hiding from her. The idea of hiding anything from her was difficult for him. He really did not want to be keeping anything from her. But what could he say? How could he tell her? How exactly do you go about dropping those kinds of bombs?
"It's not like I'm not getting any information out of you. This isn't as one-sided as you may think. Every question you ask and every reaction to my responses tell me more about you than you'd ever think. I am trained to see what isn't meant to be seen. Remember?"
Ella looked up from the cake looking pensive.
"Besides, I don't think really getting to know someone, who they really are, will ever come from a bunch of arbitrary questions. I believe the saying 'only time will tell' more than applies here."