Of Mobsters and Pastries

Valentina

“Are you heading out?” I ask.

“If you don’t mind.” Katie looks around the empty bakery before carefully adding, “I mean it’s kind of slow.”

Slow was a gentle way of putting it. It was dead. Not a single customer for the last two hours. Maybe being the only business on the block open until 9pm wasn’t the genius marketing move I thought it was after all. I just figured that meant we would have the monopoly on anyone wanting coffee and killer baked goods after 5pm. Katie and I couldn’t be the only two people in the city who injected caffeine into their veins and inhaled chocolate croissants into the night. Could we?

I was sure we just needed to make a name for ourselves. We were still new to the area. Having only been in operation for 6 months. There was still time. Not much of it but still enough for all this to turn around. Before I lost my dream of this place.

“Go ahead, hun. I can close. Are you meeting up with what’s his name, Jake, tonight?”

Katie scoffs. “No, I dumped his ass. He said he wanted to put his babies in me. In the middle of us doing it!” She shivers dramatically and mocks throwing up.

I chuckle at her antics. “And I assume you took that as a threat?”

“Of course I did! Ain’t no man putting his tax deductions in me. If that’s what he is looking for then he best be looking somewhere else.” Shrugging it off, she shares, “So new Tinder guy tonight. Paul or Peter. Something with a P.”

“Something with a P indeed.” I smile at her knowingly.

Katie takes the dish towel in her hand and attempts to swat me with it, but I barely dodge out of her reach while laughing at her expense.

“Shut up! God forbid a girl have hobbies! I’m due for a good cracking!” A wicked grin spreads on her face.

“Well think of me during.” I joke.

Like the little devil on my shoulder she is, she responds “Or you could go on a date you know. Knock the cobwebs off.” She takes a quick glance at my crotch and smirks while readjusting her black framed glasses. Somehow, they don’t look dorky on her. She is the perfect blend of attractive and alternative. Her cliché dyed blue hair, septum piercing, and porcelain skin covered in ink and all.

“You get cracked enough for the both of us. Now get out of here! Go enjoy your youth, you hussy.” I slap her on the ass hard as I pass her by.

“Don’t got to tell me twice.” She throws off her apron and puts on her green peacoat and scarf at lightening speed. “See you tomorrow, boss!”

If you can still walk, I mumble to myself. She practically sprints out of my shop. My cute little coffee and bake shop. My dream. When Abuela passed, I was surprised to find she had left me as sole beneficiary of her will. We hadn’t spoken in person in 10 years. Not since I said goodbye and ran away from the family at 15. I emailed her periodically to give her updates on my life.

It was through that same email thread that her lawyer contacted me and had been kind enough to tell me she had passed. I wasn’t expecting anything let alone the generous inheritance with a simple handwritten note that read, Never Go Back. She didn’t have to elaborate, I knew what she meant. And even if she hadn’t left me a dime, I never would have gone back. She had to know that but perhaps she needed peace of mind thinking she did her part to keep me safe and away. Either way, I was grateful. With the funds she left me, I was able to buy this place and open my bakery, Valentina’s.

Maybe the name was misleading. Did it sound more like a fine dining restaurant or Mexican taco stand than a bakery? I named it after myself because I was proud it was mine. The first thing that ever was. Whatever happened with this place, this dream, at least I’d own it all. I’d go down with it, like the captain of a sinking ship.

Looking around, maybe the lack of appeal to the public was that it was too much like me. This place was a physical explosion of my personality. From the small delicate tea sets I served coffee and pastries in, to the bookcases of classic novels tucked in each corner, to the Hobby Lobby cottage core paintings on the wall, and even down to the classical music playing 24/7, customers might find this place too old fashioned. That was the story of my life. An old-fashioned soul finding herself out of place in a modern time.

You’d find a sprinkle of Katie here too. In the murder themed sugar cookies in the baked goods case for example. She had made little knives dripping with blood today. Dangerously delicious. She was an art studio major and true crime junkie. The least I could do was let her express herself and use her talent here. She had saved my sanity by quitting her job doing tattoos to help me out when Valentina’s finally opened for business.

This place wasn’t her passion, but she was here by my side each day. I hadn’t even asked her to come to work for me. I would never ask so much of her like that. She just volunteered. Just because she knew I needed her. Katie had always been more of a sister than a best friend and I knew I was lucky to have her.

Well, no time to get sentimental now. Or to go down an anxiety spiral of what I would do if this place did end up closing. Then what? I instead walked over to the front door and flipped over the open sign. We are now closed for the night. I make sure to lock the door and check it twice. This isn’t the worst neighborhood, but it isn’t exactly the best.

Cue the cleaning music. 2CELLOS. “Vivaldi Storm” to be exact. Then I begin cleaning like my life depends on it. Certainly, my livelihood does. I wipe down the tables, countertops, and display cases. I put up chairs to sweep and am just about to begin mopping when I hear it.

BANG! BANG! BANG! The noise catches me off guard and I toss the mop across the room in surprise! I clutch a hand to my chest trying to stop myself from having a heart attack! I look towards the door only to find a petite girl banging on the glass desperately with both forearms. “HELP! HELP ME! PLEASE! Please, let me in!” She sobs.

She looks terrified and keeps glancing down the street. Is something coming her way? Why is she out here alone? What kind of trouble is she in? I decide it doesn’t matter, and I instinctively rush to the door. I am trying to hurry to unlock it, but while I am in the process her loud scream pierces through the night as a tall male figure tackles her to the ground.