2016 – Day 32

Start writing a story that...

Step 1: takes place: in a bakery

Step 2: add this word: pajamas

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Julian packed up Mrs. Goldberg's pastries while Letta rang in the order. Every Thursday she bought six cream horns, six croissants, a dozen macarons, four millie-feuille, and a baklava and brought them to the retirement home where she volunteered. Julian wasn't sure if the treats were for the staff or the residents, but Letta, who owned the bakery, had instructed him to always throw in some additional pastries not on Mrs. Goldberg's list. If she asked about it, he was to say they were extras and she was doing them a favor getting them out of the display case. After a while, Mrs. Goldberg caught on and stopped asking, but he began to notice that the tip jar filled significantly more on Thursdays than it did on other days. Julian wasn't sure who was ultimately making the bigger sacrifice—Letta or Mrs. Goldberg—but he was probably coming out on top thanks to the tips.

He finished packing the Mrs. Goldberg's pastries and placed them next to the register.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Goldberg said and turned to look at him. "Well? Any nice girl in the picture yet?"

"Who can compare to you, Mrs. Goldberg?" he said.

"You're ridiculous," she said, smiling. "Letta, do something about him."

Letta handed Mrs. Goldberg her change.

"He's found a girl, Mrs. Goldberg," she said. "He just hasn't told her yet."

"Oh, really?" Mrs. Goldberg said.

She looked at Julian again, who found himself blushing.

"If I didn't have to go, I'd demand the whole story."

"There's no story," Julian said.

"There will be," Letta said.

Mrs. Goldberg took her change and boxes. Julian jumped from behind the counter to open the door for her.

"I'll await the story," she said, then stepped out of the shop.

Julian let the door close behind her then returned to the counter. Letta had gone to the back to check on Miranda and Betty, who helped her with the baking. He began to wipe down the counter and refresh the coffeemaker. A slow trickle of customers came throughout the late morning, but Julian was lost in thought as he helped them. Letta wasn't wrong. There was a girl, but there was hardly a story. She came in most afternoons around 3:00 and got a large dark roast with cream and a croissant. Letta had gotten in the habit of futzing with the coffeemaker whenever the girl came in, so Julian was forced to wait on her. Not that he minded, of course, but he found himself saying the one stupid thing after another to her. It was almost an illness the way the words spewed out of him. A joke about the book she was holding. A ridiculous question about where she got her boots. An odd comment about her red hair, which she kept pulled back in a low ponytail. He wanted so much to talk to her, that he couldn't help himself.  Each time he said one of his painful bon mots, she gave him a confused look or laughed. She answered his odd questions or responded kindly, but then she left. She never sat at one of the small tables along the window, so all he could do was watch her walk away and wait for the next time.

As 3:00 rolled around, the door jingled to announce the arrival of a new customer. Julian looked up from the purchase he was ringing in and saw her. She carried a book and manila folder, and she wore a sweatshirt and pajama pants. Looking at her, he immediately pictured himself in pajamas on a couch somewhere, feeling her lean against him as she read her book. His next instinct was to run away because he couldn't trust the words that were sure to burst out of him if he were forced to talk with her. He turned to tell Letta that he needed to take his break, but she had disappeared into the kitchen again. Julian took a deep breath and told himself in no uncertain terms to keep it together, then he turned back toward the counter.

"How can I help you?" he said.