Chapter 10: Dust, Paint, and Possibility
1100 Words
“The bakery doesn’t even look like a bakery.”
“It looks like a construction zone.”
Drop cloths were hung over hardwood floors.
Paint cans were tucked into one wall.
Ladders leaned underneath the tall tin ceiling.
The smell of fresh paint blended with old wood and endless possibilities.
Becca stood in the center of the room, hands-on-hips.
“It’s beautiful.”
Craig glanced around at the disaster.
“I think it looks like we’ve made very questionable life decisions.”
She laughed.
“Maybe.”
“But they’re our questionable decisions.”
Saturday Volunteers
By eight in the morning, the front doorbell was chiming.
Sarah bustled through with coffee for everyone.
Linda soon arrived carrying breakfast sandwiches.
Mrs. Henderson proudly walked through the door with—
Craig jumped in with a grin.
“A casserole?”
She rolled her eyes.
“No.” She lifted something large from underneath her coat.
“Chocolate chip cookies.”
Craig grabbed his heart.
“I’m proud of you.”
Laughter filled the room.
The barber from down the street arrived.
The florist.
Mrs. Alvarez.
Even the owner of the local hardware store stopped by to drop off extra paintbrushes.
No one had been asked.
They simply showed up.
The Wall
Craig stood on a ladder painting the top trim.
The middle child rolled fresh cream paint onto the walls.
The youngest wore an oversized T-shirt and carefully painted in one corner until more paint ended up on her than the wall.
She looked down at her blue spotted jeans.
“I think I’m becoming part of the bakery.”
“You definitely match the paint samples,” Becca chuckled.
The oldest stood by the front window, wiping away years of dust from the glass.
As sunlight beamed through the sparkling windows, the whole room seemed to brighten.
She took a step back and smiled.
“It finally feels like people belong here.”
A Hidden Surprise
While Craig was moving an old shelf out of the back room, he noticed something wedged behind the wall.
“Becca?”
She walked towards him from the far side of the bakery.
“What is it?”
Carefully, he pulled out a small dusty wooden box.
The hinges creaked as she opened it.
There were old black-and-white photographs.
Torn receipts.
A handwritten menu.
The top photograph was of a smiling woman standing behind a bakery counter.
Written across the bottom was a date.
**1958**
Mrs. Alvarez gasped beside Craig.
“I remember her.”
“You do?” he asked.
“Mrs. Jenkins.”
“The original owner.”
Her voice softened. “She made the best apple pie in three counties.”
Becca delicately placed her finger on the photograph.
“It feels wrong to just throw this away.”
Craig looked down at the box.
“It feels like it belongs here.”
A Piece of History
The handwritten menu had prices that made everyone chuckle.
Bread — 35¢
Cookies — 10¢
Apple Pie — $1.25
The smallest one stared at the paper in awe.
“People used to pay a dollar for pie?”
Mrs. Henderson snorted.
“And thought that was expensive.”
Craig grinned.
“I think we need to frame this.”
“So do I.” Becca nodded in agreement.
“So, people will know this place has always been about community.”
Lunch on the Floor
By lunchtime, everyone ended up sitting on the freshly cleaned hardwood floor.
Pizza boxes littered the middle of the room.
There were no tables. No chairs.
Just weary people enjoying a meal together.
Craig looked around at the small crowd.
“You know what’s kind of funny?”
“What?” Becca asked him.
“We don’t even have an oven here yet…” He motioned to the space.
“And look at this place already feels warm.”
Sarah smiled at him.
“That’s because warmth comes from people.”
The Bell
As everyone began to clean up, the small brass bell above the front door jingled.
An elderly man shuffled inside.
“I’m sorry,” he said to no one in particular.
“I know you’re closed.”
“It’s okay.” Becca stepped up behind the register.
He slowly looked around the bakery.
“I used to bring my wife in here every Friday.”
He smiled down at the old photographs now sitting on the counter.
“When I heard someone was fixing her up…”
His voice began to wobble.
“I wanted to come see her one last time.”
Becca walked around the counter and placed her hand on his shoulder.
“You can come here anytime.”
The old man smiled through sad eyes.
“I think my wife would’ve liked you.”
The Recipe Wall
That night, after everyone had gone home, Becca stared at Grandma Rose’s letter in her hands.
Her eyes shifted to the blank wall behind where the front counter would one day sit.
Craig walked up behind her.
“What are you thinking about?”
“I want this bakery to be about more than recipes.”
He nodded, thinking about what she said.
“What do you have in mind?”
She turned around to face him, smiling.
“I’m going to frame Grandma’s letter.”
“And Mrs. Jenkins’ menu.”
“And one of her pictures.”
“So, everyone that comes through this bakery will know…”
“…that this bakery was built on more than recipes.”
Craig wrapped his arm around her waist.
“It was built on people.”
She looked up at him and grinned.
“Exactly.”
The First Mixer
The next Tuesday, a delivery truck parked outside.
The driver wheeled a gigantic commercial mixer through the front door.
The youngest stared at it in awe.
“It looks like a robot.”
Craig chuckled beside her.
“It cost as much as one.”
Becca ran her fingers along the stainless-steel bowl.
This wasn’t pretend.
This wasn’t a dream written down in some notebook.
This was real.
And she smiled, imagining the first batch of bread dough bubbling inside that bowl.
The first cookie sheet filled with chocolate chip cookies.
The first birthday cake.
The first customer walking through that door.
Outside, Main Street was busy with the normal hustle and bustle.
Inside, the mixer quietly sat.
Waiting.
Just like the bakery did.
Just like Becca once felt.
Only now…
It wasn’t waiting for someone to allow it to start.
It was waiting to be used.
- Writer
