Bear Bride (Bear Cove #1)(2)
Her fairytale was indeed ruined just days after graduation when Troy had suddenly disappeared, leaving her scared and longing and questioning, until the answer came to break her heart. He was engaged. To a beautiful blond classmate of theirs. Corin. It didn’t even make f*cking sense!
Keyla scooted down from the swing and entered the bakery’s back kitchen. Through the open door at the far end of the room, she could see the front parlor, still gloomy in the morning dusk. The sun hadn’t climbed high enough yet to bathe it in the spring light that would make everything glow in soft pastel colors like a doll’s house or a spun sugar fairytale. She loved the bakery. It was the one thing she could pour her energy into and forget for a moment her miserable ordeal. She loved the morning hours when she and Cynthia would bring out the trays of freshly baked, frosted cupcakes and display them in the two-tier porcelain cake stands at the window, the divine smell of mountain herb tea in the cups of the early visitors, the smooth curves of the wooden tables and chairs, the clink of sparkling silverware, the huge glass jars of pink, creamy macaroons displayed at the counter. It was too early for that.
The back kitchen, however, already burst with activity. Cynthia had created a small heaven of warmth and coziness and was humming along to the soft country tune that came from a small radio on the shelf above the sink. The fireplace crackled with a playful fire that sent out a mild pine scent, which enveloped the small room. It was mixed with the delicious blend of caramel, cinnamon and vanilla that floated in the air and Keyla closed her eyes to breathe in the soothing aromas. Yes, she could forget about Troy here. She would dive into the little morning rituals and routines of the bakery and stop thinking about him, at least for a little while.
She rolled up her sleeves and grabbed a big bowl, settling next to Cynthia on the big table in the middle of the kitchen. Her aunt was just sprinkling some flour over the compact ball of cake dough and started to knead it vigorously once again. Cynthia’s hands were magical when it came to producing the finest velvet cakes, the crispiest breads and buns, the crunchiest short crust tarts, and Keyla hoped one day to at least be able to come close to her expertise.
She scooped up a large glob of butter from a small bucket, scraped it off into the bowl and started stirring it with a long wooden spoon to soften it. Her task was to make the frosting for the cake. His wedding cake. But no, she wouldn’t think about it. She would simply stir the butter and then move on to the next step in the recipe. Working, creating something with her hands was the only cure she knew.
“So,” Aunt Cynthia started tentatively, “are you sure you don’t want me to drive up there and deliver the cake?”
Keyla was startled out of her daze, mindlessly licking the ready fluffy frosting off her index finger. She had been contemplating whether to spit in the pink, sugary pile as the smallest act of helpless revenge she could come up with. Instead, she quickly wiped her hand in the red-and-white checked apron she was wearing and grabbed the bowl to take it to the prep counter. What she wanted was to turn around as quickly as possible, so her aunt wouldn’t spot her burning red cheeks.
“No, no, I’ll do it,” she said trying to sound nonchalant. “Really, Aunt Cynthia, it’s no big deal. I’ll have to face him sometime. And today is as good as any.”
“You stupid little girl,” said Cynthia and went over to take her niece’s hands. “This is easily the worst possible time to see him. You are not thinking this through. You cry at every wedding, even when you’ve never seen the bride or the groom in your entire life. What makes you think this would be easy for you? Or… Well, don’t tell me you are up to something.”
Cynthia studied Keyla’s lowered eyes. She knew her niece well. She was the type of girl that wouldn’t take bullshit from anyone. She was warm and generous and caring… until she got stepped on, which fired her up. Cynthia suspected that, in part, Keyla suffered from losing Troy so long after it actually happened mainly because she didn’t have an explanation, she had been left hanging with nothing or no one to blame and no chance to talk things through or get any sort of closure. He had simply stopped calling, stopped visiting the bakery, stopped coming into town with his family altogether. Naturally, Keyla had started questioning and blaming herself, convinced she was the reason he had retreated into the Snow Crest Camp where his whole family lived and worked. When the final blow came with the news about his wedding, Keyla had completely broken down, spending days on end curled up in her bed, looking out at the hills with a glazed stare and crying herself to sleep.
“I’m not up to anything, I swear,” Keyla said finally, “I just think it would be easier for me to move on if I just see that he is happy with her. I keep turning this in my head, and, to be honest, I can’t even picture them together. She is so not what I thought his type was.”
“You are starting again,” Cynthia sighed and started picking small jars of chocolate sprinkles and almond shavings from a shelf and lining them up on the table. “Just let it go, sweetheart. Men make irrational decisions all the time. You should not, even for a second, compare yourself to her and think you are any less gorgeous or intelligent, just because some boy chose another.”
“But she is not just another! She’s the complete opposite of me!” Keyla took a deep breath to calm herself down. “It all makes me think he was never even interested in me in the first place… Married, for God’s sake! It’s not like he’s just taking her out for coffee.”