Meeting my honeybun, p.1
Meeting My Honeybun, page 1
Copyright © 2024 Red Phoenix
Kobo Edition
www.redphoenixauthor.com
Meeting My Honeybun
The Brothers Macallan, Book 2
Cover by Diana L.
Formatted by BB Books
Phoenix symbol by Nicole Delfs
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Description
In the smallest towns, you find the biggest hearts
Meet your next read!
Malcolm Macallan – the hardworking, no-nonsense President of the credit union in the mountain town of Crested Butte is a secret romantic who writes poetry nobody reads.
He doesn’t know it yet, but he has caught the eye of the mysterious new baker, a single mom with a hidden past and a ball-loving Golden Retriever.
Find out what happens when a serious Banker and a talented Baker collide over cake!
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CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Description
Coming Next
About the Author
Newsletter
Join My Friends of Red Phoenix Group
Cake-tastrophe
Sticky Situation
Lucky Break
Rocky Raccoon
Reckless Kiss
Fatherly Advice
Unwelcomed Guest
Favorite Spot
Failure
Bunny for the Win
My Hero
Rumors
Fiery Embrace
Blindside
Trenton
Superman
Into the Flames
Special Date
Caught in the Flames
Heartburn
Consumed by Flames
Confessions
Heart Collision
Cake-tastrophe
Chloe
No matter how hard life gets or what I must sacrifice, failure is not an option. I think about my personal philosophy as I glance up at the iconic mountain of Crested Butte. As I watch the first rays of sunrise kiss the peak, I am infused with hope.
Using the ancient key I received from Rudy when I purchased the bakery from him, I listen to the heavy clink as I unlock the door. The charming creak I hear when I push the old door open still makes me smile.
This door is the very first thing I fell in love with when I decided to buy the place three months ago. The impressive age of the establishment inspires me. The old, worn architecture of the building offers an unspoken promise of permanence.
Permanence is something I long for.
Flicking on the lights, I take a moment to breathe in the sweet, yeasty aroma that countless years of baking have left behind. It surrounds me like a warm blanket, filling me with the courage I know I’ll need to tackle the day.
After pulling my hair up into a tight bun, I don my apron. Heading to the sink, I begin meticulously scrubbing my hands. I’m a stickler when it comes to a clean and tidy workspace. Making a list of the cakes and pastries I want to bake today, I pull out all the necessary ingredients and begin measuring for my first batch.
I find baking extremely therapeutic. It has always been my preferred escape whenever I’m stressed. But, for some odd reason, ever since moving to Crested Butte, the peace I normally feel has eluded me. Lately, I find it impossible to lose myself in the process. Well, whether it’s the new environment or the pressure of striking out on my own, I won’t let it break me.
After facing the unthinkable and watching my entire world fall apart, I’ve been forced to rebuild my life from the ground up. Finding the courage to fully embrace my passion for baking, I believe with every fiber of my being that I am making a better life for myself and my daughter.
I am so certain, in fact, that I’ve cashed out all of my personal savings to buy this little bakery so we could make a fresh start together.
Everything about this decision felt right at the time: A little bakery for sale at a reasonable price, plenty of fresh mountain air for Hailey, and a small but supportive community in an isolated town far away from prying eyes.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t until the big day of my “grand opening” that I realized that something was seriously wrong. Although many locals came to celebrate my big opening, only a select few actually purchased anything.
Devastated and utterly confused when I close up shop that first night, I had to fight back the tears. Rudy, who had been my cheerleader the whole time, had assured me on numerous occasions that his patrons in Crested Butte would embrace the change of ownership because he’d given me his blessing.
To say I was crushed is an understatement.
I still shudder when I think back on that first night…
I struggle hard not to cry as I ring up my last customer whose only purchase is a single cupcake. Thanking him for his purchase, I swallow hard as I watch him leave.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, I start scrubbing the floors and wiping down everything, the whole time wondering how we were going to survive after such an epic failure.
Tired and utterly discouraged by the time I’m done, I call out to Hailey, letting her know it’s time to leave.
“Coming, Mommy!”
I’m grateful she is too young to understand what a disaster tonight was as she comes bounding out from the back with our dog Honey following close at her heels. Working up a smile for my daughter’s sake, I give her the honor of locking up the shop for the night.
As the three of us turn to leave, Honey lets out a woof and starts wagging her tail. I’m surprised to see Mr. Zeigler, the older gentleman who purchased the cupcake, walking up to the shop.
Whipping off his knitted beanie in respect, he looks at me with sympathy. “I thought you should know something, ma’am.”
“What’s that?” I ask, putting my arm around Hailey.
“It turns out ol’ Rudy couldn’t stomach retired life. He started up baking again from his home.”
I stared at him in open-mouthed shock. “When did this happen?”
“Two weeks ago, ma’am.”
I feel a pit in my stomach. Considering the small size of the town, there is no way my bakery can survive on tourist money alone. Without the support of everyone in the community, we won’t last a year.
“What am I going to do?” I mutter aloud.
Mr. Zeigler graces me with a toothy grin and says with confidence, “Keep making those cupcakes, ma’am. I could eat a dozen of them in one sitting. Honest!”
I will always be thankful to Mr. Ziegler. Because of his genuine enthusiasm for my cupcakes, I shook off the feeling of defeat and made it my mission to win over the hearts and wallets of everyone in Crested Butte.
Since then, I’ve been relentless in my pursuit of perfection. I’ve tried unique bread recipes and a number of new flavor combinations for my pastries. But, to my surprise, it has been my tiered cakes that the tourists happily plunk down their money for, even though the locals never buy them.
I glance at the stack of mail sticking out of my purse and sigh. I’ve been avoiding it all week, but I know I can’t put it off any longer. Grabbing the stack, I quickly sift through the bills.
I immediately stop when I see a letter from the school. Concerned, I open it to find a personal note from the art teacher with a gentle reminder about the fee needed for a special field trip Hailey’s been begging to go on.
Tears well up in my eyes.
I hate having to have to tell my seven-year-old that I can’t cover the fee. Instead of joining her classmates on the bus trip to Denver, she’s going to be stuck spending another day in the shop with me. What’s even worse, Hailey has been showing a real talent for sculpting under the thoughtful instruction of her new art teacher, Mrs. Everly.
I can already envision the look of devastation on Hailey’s face when I tell her. I know she’ll put on a brave face because she always does, but she’ll be hurt just the same.
I resent that life has been so cruel to my young daughter, and now I’m the one who is going to break her heart just a little bit more.
Glancing up at the mountain peak through my shop window, I see that the top is now bathed in sunlight while the rest of the huge mountain remains in deep shadows. It reminds me of a torch set alight, filling me with renewed hope.
No matter how bleak things get, I will never give up. I am a stubborn soul by nature. Once I have a goal in mind, nothing can deter me from it. It is the one thing my mother gave me that I will be forever grateful for.
While frosting my final set of cupcakes, the shrill ring of the old rotary phone sitting on the wall startles me. The unfamiliar noise causes me to release an unsightly blob of chocolate frosting on one of the cupcakes.
Even though I’ve owned the shop for months, I’m still not used to the old phone the owner left me.
Quickly putting down my pastry bag, I pick up the handset to stop the ringing and hesitantly put it up to my ear. “Hello, you’ve reached Sweet Tr
I’m shocked to hear Rudy’s panicked voice on the other end. “My oven has stopped working mid-bake, Ms. Byrnes. All of my cakes are ruined! There’s no possible way I can complete the order now, and it’s scheduled to be delivered at precisely noon.”
I glance at the clock on the wall and see that it’s already ten. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I reply in an even tone. I learned in my legal practice long ago that you never burn bridges unless it’s absolutely necessary.
However, I can’t understand why Rudy would be calling me now when he knows that he undercut my business by running a home bakery after selling me his shop.
After a long, awkward pause, he begs, “Ms. Byrnes, could you fulfill the order?”
I smile. This is the whole reason I never burn bridges prematurely. “I may be able to help. What’s the order for?”
“A birthday cake.”
Since it’s a noon delivery on a weekday, I realize it must be for an office party. Luckily, I happen to have a sheet cake already baked and ready to be frosted. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Just to be clear, this order is for Malcolm Macallan.” Rudy says the name with such reverence that were I not aware of who the man was, I might think he was talking about royalty.
“I see,” I state calmly but my heart suddenly starts racing. This might be the lucky break I’ve been looking for! Although I’ve never met Malcolm Macallan, his reputation precedes him. As president of the credit union, he wields a lot of power in this small town.
The wheels in my head are already turning. If I can impress Malcolm Macallan with my cake at his office party, maybe I’ll finally be able to get a foothold in this town.
It certainly seems like good karma that by helping my competition, I may be creating the catalyst I need to grow my little bakery.
I have always preferred to be the master of my own destiny.
Glancing up at the clock again, I ask him, “What’s the deets for the cake?”
He clears his throat before answering. “Mr. Macallan asked for a layer cake that will feed thirty people. He specifically requested there be mountains on the cake with the words, ‘It’s only downhill from here, bro.’”
I smirk, appreciating the humor of the request. “So, I assume the cake is not for him.”
“No. It’s for his brother Gavin.”
“Should I include Gavin’s name on the cake, then?”
“Absolutely not! I’ve learned to never deviate from Mr. Macallan’s instructions.”
“Duly noted.” I write down in my notebook, Mr. M is a stickler for detail.
Knowing that fact about him is critical to my success. Determined to give the man exactly what he wants, I follow up by asking, “Did he mention any other specifications?”
“Let me get the order.”
I glance at the clock again, watching the second hand ticking away as I wait for Rudy to return to the phone.
“Found it! Mr. Macallan said he wants a realistic mountain motif and for the cake to be delivered at Cinder and Ash at exactly noon.”
I frown. The order is way more complicated than I imagined. “Did he mention what flavor of cake or the type of filling he wants between the layers?”
“No. I always go with white cake and vanilla buttercream whenever my clients leave it up to me.” Rudy then adds with pride in his voice, “Everyone in town loves my buttercream, Ms. Byrnes.”
I’ve tasted Rudy’s buttercream and, although good, it doesn’t hold a candle to mine. “Do you think he would be open to something other than vanilla?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he replies curtly, the tone of his voice indicating that he doesn’t think so.
Glancing nervously at the wall clock, I realize I can’t waste another second talking on the phone. “I need to go if I’m going to get this cake done in time.”
But before I can hang up, Rudy drops an unexpected bombshell. “You should know that Malcolm Macallan paid a hundred dollars for this cake, Ms. Byrnes. It’s important he gets his money’s worth.”
I swallow hard, wondering how I can make a cake worth one hundred dollars in that short amount of time. Still, never one to back down from a challenge, I declare confidently, “It’ll look and taste five times the amount he paid for it.”
For all of my bravado, my hands start to shake after I hang up.
I desperately want that money to pay for Hailey’s field trip tomorrow, and the buzz caused by this cake might just be enough to save my little shop…if I can pull it off.
My pal Honey looks up from her doggie bed and wags her tail encouragingly. Hailey’s five-year-old rescue pup has the uncanny ability to sense whatever I’m feeling.
“You’re right, Honey. I’ve got this!” I agree aloud. With no time to spare, I push all of my concerns aside.
I’m actually excited because the design is already taking shape in my mind. Knowing I won’t have time to bake the cake, I take two unfrosted sheet cakes and cut them into twelve-inch rounds. It’s not enough to feed thirty people, so I sacrifice a Dutch chocolate cake I just finished decorating. Without flinching, I scrape off all the frosting. I’m confident the flavor will pair well with the French vanilla, and the contrast of the different layers will make for a visually striking slice.
Baking is all about setting the stage with the eyes so the mouth anticipates the symphony of flavors melding together before your customer takes that first bite.
For the buttercream, I decide to make a modified version of my Bourbon Vanilla frosting. I head to my pantry and grab a single malt Scotch to replace the bourbon. I figure that, as a Scotsman, Malcolm Macallan’s discerning palate will appreciate the difference.
Once I have the frosting perfectly whipped, I transport the layered cake to a turntable and quickly cover each layer with a perfect ratio of frosting to cake, then smooth out the crumb coat. Now, it’s time to let my artistic side take over…
I top the cake with multiple mounds of white frosting to create 3-D mountain peaks. Surrendering to the vision I see so clearly in my mind, I use a palette knife to transform the white mounds into ragged mountain peaks. Glancing up at Crested Butte through the window, I’m able to replicate its iconic shape almost perfectly. Once I have the peaks shaped, I grab my airbrush. Using light strokes, I define the edges of each mountain. To add depth, I paint miniature buildings in the valley between the peaks to represent the town below. Feeling satisfied that I’ve faithfully created the vision in my head, I look up at the clock.
“Gingernuts!” I cry in frustration, realizing I’m down to the wire.
Honey looks up and whines, picking up on my stress.
“It’s okay,” I assure her, certain I can pull this off.
With only fifteen minutes remaining to get this cake to its destination, I snatch my pastry bag up and take a deep breath, stilling my hand before I carefully write out the words, “It’s only downhill from here.” Even though every second counts, I feel driven to add a final touch by using a thin paintbrush to cover the lettering with gold dust.
Taking a moment, I stand back to admire my work and sigh with deep satisfaction. I quickly take a picture of the cake with my phone so I can use it in my publicity later. Instead of a simple two-dimensional mountain motif, I’ve created a 3-D landscape of peaks surrounding the town, with the iconic Crested Butte as the cake’s focal point.
With only five minutes left, I know I don’t have time to lock up the shop. Picking up the heavy cake, I push my back against the door to open it. The minute I do, Honey sits up and starts wagging her tail, wanting to join me.
“Stay,” I command firmly. Since it will only take a couple of minutes to walk over to Cinder and Ash to deliver my cake, I’m confident my happy-go-lucky guard dog can entertain any tourist who might happen to drop in while I’m gone.
As I hoof it down the street, I’m incredibly grateful the tavern is only three blocks from the bakery. I’ve done everything in my power to make this cake perfect and I’m feeling on top of the world when I notice the tourists walking by gaping in wonder at my creation.
Not one to normally show my emotions, I’m beaming with pride as I cross the busy main street. With a clear shot to the tavern, I feel the universe cheering me on as I forge ahead to meet my destiny.
