Boyd sat on a stool by the fire, his cheeks dusted with flour and his apron covered in dough. No one came into the shop on a Monday. Why didn't I just close the shop for the day, he asked himself, knowing he wouldn't get an answer. His mother and father had the store open six days a week—all but Sunday, and that worked well for their business. I'm not my mother or my father. But he had a tradition to uphold, he was the new baker.
All the bread he had baked fresh for the day, and all he really carried was bread. He wasn't an expert baker—given he had no one to teach him. Each day he woke up at dawn to get baking, and before sunset he'd close the shop with all his bread sold and a little left for him. Recently he had enough money to go over to the next village and get some meat, fixing himself a little sandwich to have for dinner. Although he lived on his own and had since he was a child, he loved his business and found it difficult to be lonely.
His parents had died when he was a baby (or so he was led to believe) in a baking accident. The woman next door, an infamous and ugly witch, watched him grow up and made sure he was on the right path. By the time he was seven he was working hard as a baker and learning how to make (actually quite awful) bread. As he grew older his bread got better, and people always came to him to buy bread. Now he was twenty years old, a hardworking business owner, and an honest man. He only hoped he was someone that could make them proud.
Boyd watched the flames, wondering when something interesting would happen. He knew they had to happen—they seemed to happen to everyone else. The customers told him about them: engagements, new babies, weddings, promotions, new jobs… he didn't know any of that. He had heard that things like that were magical and miracles, but it seemed like he didn't know anything but, well, bread. Bread was his life. Boyd knew that there must've been more.
He saw a woman approaching his store wearing a black cape, with a calf on a rope and a little boy on her hip. She opened the door as best she could and he stood up from his stool to see her a little better. "Livestock has to stay outside." He informed her as she took off her hood.
She was striking.
Boyd had never met a young lady quite like this one. Her long honey blonde hair was tied up in a braid and thrown over her shoulder, and her green eyes stared into his soul. She looked young, but not quite too young to be the child she held's mother. A girl like that must be married, he figured, all pretty girls are… "I—um—come in, bring the cow. We really should have a way to tie them up out there." He said nervously, scratching his head.
Laurel smiled and helped the cow over the doorway and looked at the baker. He seems a little young to be a baker, she thought. He was tall… tall enough, taller than her, and he had a decent build. His eyes were very blue and he smiled at her. He was positively covered in flour (perhaps that came with being a baker, though) and he even had some flour in his scruffy beard.
"What's a young lady like you doing with a cow anyways?" He asked, toweling off his face with his apron.
She looked at the cow and then at the child. "A cow provides food, Jack and his family will always need food…" She looked at the bread. "And a loaf of bread, please."
He tried to find the prettiest loaf of bread he had. On Mondays he didn't worry as much about the appearance of the bread, mostly because no one ever came in on Mondays. "Jack, what a strong name. Your son, I presume?"
She shook her head.
Thank god, thought he.
Boyd continued to try to find some pretty bread. "So what's your name?" He asked, then tried to backtrack. "Part of my job, you know, I like to know my customers by name."
"Laurel." She answered him softly, then asked a similar question. "And you didn't tell me your name. I like to know my baker by name." She was sarcastic and had quite a bite to her, and somehow he found that charming.
He dusted off his hand and offered for her to shake it. "Boyd Baker." Of course, thought Laurel, the baker's last name is Baker. Did she have a last name? If she did she assumed it was Butler… she never was called with a last name, so she never asked… "And Jack… that's what you said the boy's name was, correct?" She nodded. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you both. And your bread…" He handed her a decent loaf. She started to reach for some of the money that Jack's mother gave her… "No no, it's free. Don't worry."
"I must pay you." She continued to reach for money while the boy grabbed the bread and starting gnawing on its leathery exterior.
He shook his head and grabbed her chin, gently scooping it up so she looked at him. Boyd didn't know why he did what he was doing, but it just came… natural. "Don't worry about payment. Head back home to your mistress, and get the child inside before dark."
She reluctantly started out the door. "I will find a way to repay you, someday." She continued out and closed the door.
He watched her through the dirty windows. I'm sure you will, Laurel. He thought, putting his elbows down on the floured counter. But next time… I'll clean up shop. So he started to dust up the flour, locked the door, and sat down to a loaf of bread for his dinner. He watched the witch next door tending her garden, as she did every night, and he knew—just for a moment—that his routine had changed forever because of that girl.
The witch, when Boyd looked away, smirked to herself. She had found the last piece of her puzzle.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope this short little chapter was alright... please let me know! Review please!