“But it’s not my passion. I want to do something that makes me feel…fulfilled. Like you and real estate. College…it just feels wrong. I’m a great cook and an even better baker. Maybe I could open my own bakery or restaurant.”
“The restaurant business is risky. Most restaurants fail in the first year. Do you know how much turnover those buildings get? Passions can cost you. Trust me. Pick something safe.”
“But if I go to culinary school, study the business…”
Aggravated, Mom set down her cup with a thump, spilling black coffee over the lip of the mug. “Don’t ruin your future chasing some worthless dream. It’s decided. And I’m no longer having this conversation,” she’d said, and with that, I knew there was no use in arguing. I’d spent the next two years in college bored out of my mind, studying hard in classes I loathed and whipping up new recipes on the weekend. I’d tried to talk to her the summer before my junior year, before we knew why she was sick all the time, but she wouldn’t hear it. “Julie, I know what’s best for you. Don’t waste your time chasing stars. You’ll thank me later.”
Sometime in mid-June, she woke up in the middle of the night unable to breathe. It was then that we learned that she was in the advanced stages of cancer. She was gone just two weeks before fall semester started. Pushed forward by the momentum of everything, come August I found myself sitting in the classroom wondering why I was there—again. By October, I was failing. And as my student advisor told me, I was sure to lose my scholarship if I didn’t “get my act together.” Act was definitely the right word. Sighing, I closed the med kit, put it back in the drawer, and headed back downstairs.
My bag lay half-open on the chair. I dug into my bag, pulling out the little recipe box. Whether Horatio Hunter liked it or not, I was going to follow my dream. I was sick of people standing in my way. And I was even more frustrated with myself for letting Horatio in. His eyes had tricked me. I’d thought I’d seen someone kind behind those baby blues. In the end, he was just playing me to get what he wanted. Well, that wasn’t going to happen.
I headed back to the kitchen, prepared the portabella and goat cheese pizza for Dad and myself, then pulled out a chair and started looking through the recipe cards. They had faded with age to a soft yellow color. There was an interesting smell on them, like the mixed scents of vanilla and lavender. Mrs. Aster had left a trove of recipes: cakes, cookies, herbal teas, you name it. I pulled out all the recipes for sweets. There were at least fifty of them in the box. I thumbed through until I found a recipe for Make a Wish Cake. Well, I was definitely making a wish tonight. I skimmed through the ingredients. We had everything in the house. On the back, however, I spotted something unusual on the card. There seemed to be some kind of poem written alongside the recipe.
To get your wish. Over the batter recite:
Round three times you’ll see my way
Stir backward once protests away
Round three times more to receive
In one bite, they will believe.
I grinned. It seemed like Mrs. Aster was the superstitious type, or maybe she just had a good sense of humor. Suddenly, this distant relative was getting more interesting. I tapped the recipe card on the table. Chasing stars, Mom had called it. Well, tonight chasing stars seemed like a good way to go. I stuck the rest of the recipes back in the box and headed toward the fridge. Half an hour, and lots of molasses, flour, butter, lemon peel, and ground anise, later, the batter was ready. I mixed all the ingredients just as the instructions read, then pulled out the card, reciting the lines over the batter just as it said, my wooden spoon stirring in tandem.
Round three times you’ll see my way
Stir backward once protests away
Round three times more to receive
In one bite, they will believe.
As I stirred, the sharp scents of butter, lemon, and anise filled the kitchen with a heavenly aroma. And if I wasn’t perfectly sure that such a thing was impossible, I thought, for just a moment, that the batter had glowed with a golden shimmer, a glittery swirl of air sweeping up from the bowl. Weird.
The batter ready, I poured it into a cake pan. I then whipped up a little lemon curd buttercream frosting and set it in the fridge to cool. Then I sat down at the table and began drawing up a business plan. Over the course of the day, the vision of what I wanted to do with the place had jelled in my mind: tearoom, organic bakery, apothecary and other all-natural supplies. I could just see the old-fashioned glass case lined with my cupcakes and other treats. I could see the shelves filled with bottles of organic face creams and lotions. I could imagine little café tables in the greenhouse with tiered serving plates for high tea snacks. And in the summer, I’d plant cutting gardens in the yard. I loved the picture so much, and saw it so vividly, I could barely contain myself.
When the oven timer rang, I set my pad aside and rose, pulling the pan out of the oven just as Dad opened the back door. He was juggling his laptop and briefcase along with groceries.
“Here,” I said, setting the cake on the oven beside the pizza to cool. I rushed over to help him.
“Thanks,” he said, sighing heavily with relief. He set his stuff on the table while I started unloading the bags of groceries and stashing everything in the fridge. He’d bought all my favorite breakfast items: fresh multi-grain bread, capers, cream cheese, red onion, and arugula…the perfect breakfast food. I also pulled out pumpkin spice coffee creamer and my favorite brand of coffee from the bag.
“How’d it go in Chancellor?” Dad asked absently.
“Good, actually. I left you a message. Did you get it?”
“Sorry, my ringer was turned off. Been swamped all day.”
“I actually wanted to talk to you about the property.”
“Uh-huh?” he mumbled, his mouth full of something.
“Well, the property is really adorable. It’s got unique architecture. And it’s not just a shop. There is a living space in the back. It’s a mess, but it could be turned around. I was thinking,” I began, but when I looked back, I saw that Dad was holding the notepad on which I’d written my business plan. He was holding it in one hand while he stood over the cake pan with a fork in his other hand.
“Dad!” I said with a laugh. “That’s hot. I just pulled it out of the oven. And it still needs frosting.”
My dad looked from the paper to me. “You want the property in Chancellor? For this?” he said, motioning to the notepad.
I nodded.
Dad took another bite of the cake then looked at the paper again.
“I was thinking…I want to refurbish the greenhouse and set the place up like an old-fashioned apothecary. I’d sell teas, herbs, essential oils, and have baked goods made from organic ingredients. I was even thinking I could turn the greenhouse into a little tea garden. The shop on the inside, the tea garden in the greenhouse. I’d serve high teas, even let people reserve the space for bridal showers, things like that. I could live in the back. I have money saved up. I can make it work. I know I can. I’m a good baker, and I have a head for business, you and mom taught me so much. The property is right on Main among a bunch of cool boutiques, restaurants, and cafés. It’s a perfect fit.”