Post by Clarke Hudson on Jul 25, 2019 16:43:48 GMT -5
The furrow between Clarke’s eyebrows foiled the delicacy in her fingers as she tried to gently lay the laced sugar around the bottom tier of the wedding cake. She was nervously biting against the side of her tongue, as she finally wrapped it around the cooled buttercream. Her shop wasn’t normally this cold. However, the town….. bitch… was getting married this weekend. She was the polar opposite of Clarke. Long tan legs, manicured nails, cascading dark hair. She was everything that Clarke would have surrounded herself with just months ago. She was also the ex-fiance of Clarke’s suddenly discovered brother. She’d hired Clarke to bake the cake as an extra dig at Lincoln; and while Clarke wanted to do what seemed right with sibling etiquette, she also couldn’t turn down a big opportunity in a small town like this. Everyone in that town would be at the wedding; it was a good way to get someone in this town to say something about her other than “that bastard daughter that Richard had from New York,”. It didn’t help that Jack was sort of a staple of the small town. He hadn’t exactly welcomed her with open arms, not that she blamed him. Clarke had no idea what she was walking into as she came to this town. Slowly but surely her Jimmy Choo’s were traded in for Chuck’s, and pirouettes hailed in comparison to nailing a rosette swirl.
The little bell on her front door gave its’ rare jingle. Business hadn’t exactly been booming. Clarke stood up straight, pushing her hair from her face causing flour to coat the side of her face.. a whole new meaning to ‘cake’ in terms of make up than she had been used to. “Be right there!” she called out, going to the towel on the counter to wipe off her hands before she made her way toward the front of the bakery. Her smile crept easily onto her lips as she stepped behind the counter, “Hey.. How can I help you?” she questioned. The tall figure stood up from where he had been looking at the cupcakes, but as their eyes met his smile seemed a bit more delicate than her own. She felt herself falter, letting out a slight breath. His blonde hair mirrored her own, the scruff on his cheeks indicated he had been working for a few days straight. The bags under his eyes… he wasn’t getting much sleep. She tilted her head slightly, noting the tears and bruises on his hands. He’d thrown himself into his work; or into some bar fights if any of the local rumor mill was true. “Jackson,” she said quietly, feeling herself more cautious as to his reason for being there. Was he there to interrogate her some more? Accuse her of trying to get some of her father’s money? Her mother had more money than she knew what to do with. The last thing she wanted was to be controlled by someone else’s money. Her mother’s came with a tight leash. Whereas this felt like a new start, a chance to be herself and be free. From every other angle, it may have looked like Jack was the one that had been screwed over. His father, an adulterous bastard, and she ..the fortunate daughter who grew up with a silver spoon. Except, that wasn’t the father she had gotten to hear about upon coming to this town. She wanted the fully embraced hugs, the laughter that came along the sidewalks of families discussing last night’s football game. Proud parents doting on their children, and spending a half hour trying to pick out the exact perfect cupcake. She watched as Jack’s mother held onto him, her fingers curling protectively over Jack’s own work torn hands. The way she stood across from the butcher at the grocery store, asking for the best meat available to make Jack’s favorite pot roast every Sunday night. He had all of the balls in his court. Even if he didn’t know it, standing in his mud covered boots, and dirtied baseball hat. He had more power in her life than anyone else, yet the way his voice wavered as he spoke indicated he had no clue. “Clarke, I … “ he started, clearing his throat. Uncomfortable encounters weren’t something he approached often. She doubted he had apologized much in his life. Every thing he did seemed to be done with such certainty, that there was rarely a reason to admit fault.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I…” he said, shaking his head as he cut himself off again. “My mom really likes banana pudding. Her birthday is this weekend. I was wondering if you would…. Could I order a special cake from you? Something that tastes like bananas?” he said, shoving his hands back in his front pockets. “You want cake?” Clarke asked in quick response, her eyebrows shooting up quicker than she would’ve ever thought possible. “That’s… what you sell here, right?” he questioned, giving her a quick laugh. “I sell cake” Clarke said back, again, too quickly. “Right…. Can I buy one?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow of his own this time. She took in a breath, it took the same shape as hers and she had to laugh quietly to herself. “You want to buy a cake?” she asked, tilting her head like a confused puppy, “From me?” she said. This time a look of confusion played upon his features. “I’m sorry… I DID come into a bakery right? And you sell cakes? Is there… what am I missing?” he said, looking around at the empty chairs. “No! I sell cakes. You want a cake. I can.. yes. Sorry. Yes. I would be happy to make your mom a banana inspired cake… Do you know how many layers you want? Italian or American buttercream? Do you prefer a custard filling?” she said, knowing that she was throwing a lot of information at him. “…. What?” he asked with an amused expression. “You know what, I’ll… I’ll take care of it. She’ll love it.” she said, nodding so enthusiastically that it was quite possible she would be the first person on the news for bouncing her own head right off. “You’re working on a cake now?” he questioned, lazily pointing up to the floured mess on her jawline and cheeks. “Yeah… actually… Christine’s. I… I probably should have talked to you about it or mentioned it. But I couldn’t pa-“ she started but he put his hand up, giving an understanding shake of his head. “I get it. Trust me, I’m not upset with you. It’ll be good practice for when she inevitably needs a second wedding cake. And third,” he said, his lips giving a lopsided smirk. Clarke gave a slightly pained smile toward him. It must be difficult, being in a small town and watching your ex quickly move on to your former best friend. “If it helps, she picked pineapple cake. For the fall. It’s incredibly tacky. Thayer wanted vanilla almond and to be a bit more traditional, and not have the cake be such a big deal. She seems….” she started, trying to think of the right word. ”Christine is Christine,” he said, taking in a deep breath. “When my dad…our… dad, when Richard passed away, I got to see the real side of a lot of the people that I thought were friends, and forever. But some people are cuts and some people are bruises.” he said. “I’m sorry?” Clarke questioned, frowning as she watched him. “ Bruises tend to linger with you, become a part of you and heal over time. Cuts.. that stuff washes down the drain with some hot water. It’s temporary. I think that’s why people ‘stab you in the back’. Those people are temporary.” Clarke watched him for a moment, looking so out of place against the whitewashed clean wood in her bakery. He seemed to stand out everywhere he went. But, perhaps she did now too. Though, her standing out wasn’t for any good reasons at the moment that his seemed to be for.
Clarke slid the back of the case open, leaning down to get a few of the pastry items. She’d seen him grabbing donuts and bear claws from the coffee shop in the mornings. He was a simplistic man, the sprinkles and colorful icings wouldn’t be something he was interested in.
“How much longer are you going to be working on the cake tonight?” he asked, watching her as she was being very selective about which pastries he would probably enjoy the most. “Um,” she said, looking back toward the kitchen area before looking back at him. “Probably another couple hours tonight, then start back over again tomorrow,” He nodded. There it was again. He was searching for words, desperately trying to grab onto something and hold it tightly. “Uh.. So.. the.. well..our town does this lobster fest every year. My da-..” he sighed, “Richard started it when I was just a toddler. He said it was his way of giving back to the community… But um,… do you want to come? With me?” he asked, lightly rocking back on his dirtied boots. “Your town has a lobster fest,” she echoed back to him. [i[“Yes,”[/i] he responded definitively. “And you want me to come? With you?” Jack reached up, adjusting his hat anxiously. “You’re doing It again,” he said, making a slight frown. “Look, if that would make you uncomfortable… I know I said some horrible things to you that I can’t take back, but if we could ju-“ he said, before Clarke eagerly jumped in. “No! I’d love to come. I’ll be there. It’ll be … smashing,” she said, making a slight laugh at her own pun. Jack lift his eyebrow at her, shaking his head. “Dad’s humor.” he said, giving a slight nod. “Really?” Clarke questioned hopefully, a slight flutter coming into her chest. What else? What was his favorite meal? Did he come to all of your football games? Would he sing happy birthday? What did his cologne smell like? Did he also crinkle his nose every time he tilted his head the same way herself and Jack did? Was he a horrible singer? A thousand questions immediately swarmed her, nagging to be the ones that vocalized themselves from her lips. But instead, she remained silent – captive to her own curiosity and hope. “I’ll see you tonight, Clarke. Just make your way down to the pier. It’ll be pretty lit up. Live music will be there. And beer.” he said, giving a mischevious smile. “Oh,” Clarke said, holding up the small box of pastries, her own peace offering for his trek into the bakery. “Thanks,” he said, letting his cracked fingers completely dwarf the small box.
The scuffle of his boots was quickly met by the jingle of the bell, the shutting of an olden wooden door. She looked down at the muddy prints that he had unintentionally left on her perfectly clean white floor and let out a breath. Had she been holding it this whole time? A small laugh broke the silence as she brought her hands up to the side of her head, making her way back to the wedding cake in the back. Maybe things weren’t going to be horrible in this small town after all. Maybe she could have something to look forward to. Maybe she wouldn’t be known for her family for once. But maybe… most importantly… maybe she’d finally have a brother. The bell didn’t ring again for the rest of the night, but there had never been a time before that she had felt more secure and confident in the silence.
The little bell on her front door gave its’ rare jingle. Business hadn’t exactly been booming. Clarke stood up straight, pushing her hair from her face causing flour to coat the side of her face.. a whole new meaning to ‘cake’ in terms of make up than she had been used to. “Be right there!” she called out, going to the towel on the counter to wipe off her hands before she made her way toward the front of the bakery. Her smile crept easily onto her lips as she stepped behind the counter, “Hey.. How can I help you?” she questioned. The tall figure stood up from where he had been looking at the cupcakes, but as their eyes met his smile seemed a bit more delicate than her own. She felt herself falter, letting out a slight breath. His blonde hair mirrored her own, the scruff on his cheeks indicated he had been working for a few days straight. The bags under his eyes… he wasn’t getting much sleep. She tilted her head slightly, noting the tears and bruises on his hands. He’d thrown himself into his work; or into some bar fights if any of the local rumor mill was true. “Jackson,” she said quietly, feeling herself more cautious as to his reason for being there. Was he there to interrogate her some more? Accuse her of trying to get some of her father’s money? Her mother had more money than she knew what to do with. The last thing she wanted was to be controlled by someone else’s money. Her mother’s came with a tight leash. Whereas this felt like a new start, a chance to be herself and be free. From every other angle, it may have looked like Jack was the one that had been screwed over. His father, an adulterous bastard, and she ..the fortunate daughter who grew up with a silver spoon. Except, that wasn’t the father she had gotten to hear about upon coming to this town. She wanted the fully embraced hugs, the laughter that came along the sidewalks of families discussing last night’s football game. Proud parents doting on their children, and spending a half hour trying to pick out the exact perfect cupcake. She watched as Jack’s mother held onto him, her fingers curling protectively over Jack’s own work torn hands. The way she stood across from the butcher at the grocery store, asking for the best meat available to make Jack’s favorite pot roast every Sunday night. He had all of the balls in his court. Even if he didn’t know it, standing in his mud covered boots, and dirtied baseball hat. He had more power in her life than anyone else, yet the way his voice wavered as he spoke indicated he had no clue. “Clarke, I … “ he started, clearing his throat. Uncomfortable encounters weren’t something he approached often. She doubted he had apologized much in his life. Every thing he did seemed to be done with such certainty, that there was rarely a reason to admit fault.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I…” he said, shaking his head as he cut himself off again. “My mom really likes banana pudding. Her birthday is this weekend. I was wondering if you would…. Could I order a special cake from you? Something that tastes like bananas?” he said, shoving his hands back in his front pockets. “You want cake?” Clarke asked in quick response, her eyebrows shooting up quicker than she would’ve ever thought possible. “That’s… what you sell here, right?” he questioned, giving her a quick laugh. “I sell cake” Clarke said back, again, too quickly. “Right…. Can I buy one?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow of his own this time. She took in a breath, it took the same shape as hers and she had to laugh quietly to herself. “You want to buy a cake?” she asked, tilting her head like a confused puppy, “From me?” she said. This time a look of confusion played upon his features. “I’m sorry… I DID come into a bakery right? And you sell cakes? Is there… what am I missing?” he said, looking around at the empty chairs. “No! I sell cakes. You want a cake. I can.. yes. Sorry. Yes. I would be happy to make your mom a banana inspired cake… Do you know how many layers you want? Italian or American buttercream? Do you prefer a custard filling?” she said, knowing that she was throwing a lot of information at him. “…. What?” he asked with an amused expression. “You know what, I’ll… I’ll take care of it. She’ll love it.” she said, nodding so enthusiastically that it was quite possible she would be the first person on the news for bouncing her own head right off. “You’re working on a cake now?” he questioned, lazily pointing up to the floured mess on her jawline and cheeks. “Yeah… actually… Christine’s. I… I probably should have talked to you about it or mentioned it. But I couldn’t pa-“ she started but he put his hand up, giving an understanding shake of his head. “I get it. Trust me, I’m not upset with you. It’ll be good practice for when she inevitably needs a second wedding cake. And third,” he said, his lips giving a lopsided smirk. Clarke gave a slightly pained smile toward him. It must be difficult, being in a small town and watching your ex quickly move on to your former best friend. “If it helps, she picked pineapple cake. For the fall. It’s incredibly tacky. Thayer wanted vanilla almond and to be a bit more traditional, and not have the cake be such a big deal. She seems….” she started, trying to think of the right word. ”Christine is Christine,” he said, taking in a deep breath. “When my dad…our… dad, when Richard passed away, I got to see the real side of a lot of the people that I thought were friends, and forever. But some people are cuts and some people are bruises.” he said. “I’m sorry?” Clarke questioned, frowning as she watched him. “ Bruises tend to linger with you, become a part of you and heal over time. Cuts.. that stuff washes down the drain with some hot water. It’s temporary. I think that’s why people ‘stab you in the back’. Those people are temporary.” Clarke watched him for a moment, looking so out of place against the whitewashed clean wood in her bakery. He seemed to stand out everywhere he went. But, perhaps she did now too. Though, her standing out wasn’t for any good reasons at the moment that his seemed to be for.
Clarke slid the back of the case open, leaning down to get a few of the pastry items. She’d seen him grabbing donuts and bear claws from the coffee shop in the mornings. He was a simplistic man, the sprinkles and colorful icings wouldn’t be something he was interested in.
“How much longer are you going to be working on the cake tonight?” he asked, watching her as she was being very selective about which pastries he would probably enjoy the most. “Um,” she said, looking back toward the kitchen area before looking back at him. “Probably another couple hours tonight, then start back over again tomorrow,” He nodded. There it was again. He was searching for words, desperately trying to grab onto something and hold it tightly. “Uh.. So.. the.. well..our town does this lobster fest every year. My da-..” he sighed, “Richard started it when I was just a toddler. He said it was his way of giving back to the community… But um,… do you want to come? With me?” he asked, lightly rocking back on his dirtied boots. “Your town has a lobster fest,” she echoed back to him. [i[“Yes,”[/i] he responded definitively. “And you want me to come? With you?” Jack reached up, adjusting his hat anxiously. “You’re doing It again,” he said, making a slight frown. “Look, if that would make you uncomfortable… I know I said some horrible things to you that I can’t take back, but if we could ju-“ he said, before Clarke eagerly jumped in. “No! I’d love to come. I’ll be there. It’ll be … smashing,” she said, making a slight laugh at her own pun. Jack lift his eyebrow at her, shaking his head. “Dad’s humor.” he said, giving a slight nod. “Really?” Clarke questioned hopefully, a slight flutter coming into her chest. What else? What was his favorite meal? Did he come to all of your football games? Would he sing happy birthday? What did his cologne smell like? Did he also crinkle his nose every time he tilted his head the same way herself and Jack did? Was he a horrible singer? A thousand questions immediately swarmed her, nagging to be the ones that vocalized themselves from her lips. But instead, she remained silent – captive to her own curiosity and hope. “I’ll see you tonight, Clarke. Just make your way down to the pier. It’ll be pretty lit up. Live music will be there. And beer.” he said, giving a mischevious smile. “Oh,” Clarke said, holding up the small box of pastries, her own peace offering for his trek into the bakery. “Thanks,” he said, letting his cracked fingers completely dwarf the small box.
The scuffle of his boots was quickly met by the jingle of the bell, the shutting of an olden wooden door. She looked down at the muddy prints that he had unintentionally left on her perfectly clean white floor and let out a breath. Had she been holding it this whole time? A small laugh broke the silence as she brought her hands up to the side of her head, making her way back to the wedding cake in the back. Maybe things weren’t going to be horrible in this small town after all. Maybe she could have something to look forward to. Maybe she wouldn’t be known for her family for once. But maybe… most importantly… maybe she’d finally have a brother. The bell didn’t ring again for the rest of the night, but there had never been a time before that she had felt more secure and confident in the silence.
