What the Heart Wants (Sequel to Pixie Dust Never Lies)

Chapter 13

We pulled up to the address that Gold gave us. We almost passed it because it was so small. It was a tiny bakery squeezed between the tailor and the bookstore. There were almost no decorations o the outside: just a small sign with the words "Eleanor's Bakery" painted on it in gold lettering. It was so inconspicuous we almost passed right by it.

"Are we sure this is the right place?" I asked.

"Well, it's the address Gold gave us," Emma replied.

"A bakery?" I looked at Emma incredulously.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Who knows? Maybe Cora likes croissants." Emma got out of the car and started walking into the building with a purpose. I sighed and followed her inside.

As soon as I walked in the warmth embraced me. I was welcomed by a sweet, delicious smell, and I stood for a moment in the doorway just taking it in. It seemed somehow familiar. At first I thought it was just the smell of bread, but I soon realized it was much more than that. I had smelled this exact aroma before, probably many times. But how...

Then someone walked around the corner. She was short and curvy; flour covered her beige apron and light yellow dress. Her once-long and blonde hair was cut just below her chin, and streaks of silver showed through the gentle curls. Despite her changed hair and added wrinkles, I recognized her immediately. Before she continued on to approach her, I held Emma back.

"Let me," I whispered. She looked at me questioningly, but stayed put. I nodded in thanks, and approached the counter.

"I'll be with you in a minute, love!" the baker, Eleanor, shouted. I watched her bend down to peer into the opening of the large brick oven. She grabbed the handle of the large metal spatula and pulled out the loaf. Satisfied upon inspection, she placed the loaf on a white plate and placed it in the heated display. Finally, she walked over to the counter.

"What can I do for you, madam mayor?"

"Um..." I tried to think of what to say, but I couldn't form the words in my mind.

"I can make a couple of suggestions if you can't make up your mind," she said with a sweet smile.

"Sure," I replied, smiling back.

"Well, we have a wonderful variety of loafs and fills and sweets for you to choose from. If you're looking for something on the sweater side, we have this honey roll that I love made with sweet cinnamon bread and covered in a honey glaze..."

As she continued listing her favorite treats, I realized that she didn't recognize who I was. Oh, she knew that I was the mayor, but she had no idea that I was the little girl who came into her bakery all those years ago. As I thought back on it, I remembered that I'd never told her who I was. I didn't want to be known as the prospective princess; I just wanted to be me. As far as she'd known, I was simply a child who loved the bakery. I had never even told her my name: she always called me "little one" or "my little helper."

"...and a creamy lemon filling. So, anything strike your fancy?"

I snapped out of my reverie. "Oh, yes. Um, can I get a chocolate-filled croissant and the apple bake?"

She nodded. "Of course!" She turned around and pulled a cutting board out of the shelf, placing it in the counter s couple of feet from the register. "It's going to be a couple of minutes on that apple bake, if that's okay. I have to make it."

"Of course, no worries," I replied.

She fished in the cupboards until she found a beautiful honeycrisp. Then she washed it, set it on the cutting board, and started cutting it into manageable pieces. "You know, not many people prefer the apple bake," she said. "In fact, there are only a couple of people who have ever..." she paused, staring behind me into space. She shook her head. "Never mind. Just got sidetracked." She continued making the apple bake in silence as I watched intently. The effortless grace with which she moved her hands while she sculpted the sweet treat still mesmerized me. She had always seemed like more of an artist than a chef to me. Every step was taken with such great care, from the rolling of the dough to the sprinkling of the cinnamon, to make sure that every bite was as delicious as the last.