Chapter Text
It takes twenty-one days to develop a new habit, a new routine.
That’s what the general populace says.
Scylla’s been waking up to the sound of sheep bleating for thirty-seven mornings now.
Well, the term ‘waking’ seems a bit too generous, too serene, to accurately describe the incessantly loud ‘baa’s’ that have been ripping her from the gentle grasp of sleep every single morning for the last month.
Today, of course, makes no exception.
And still, even as her new woolly neighbours keep on going with the same concert of hungry whines that they’ve been oh so charitably giving her for thirty-seven sunrises, Scylla has to make the conscious effort to remind herself of one very specific detail:
She lives in the countryside now.
She sits up groggily against her headboard and passes a hand through her dark hair. Flinches as her fingers resist against little knots, physical evidence of yet another restless night in this bed that just quite doesn’t feel like hers, in this bedroom that continues to look like it belongs to a cute little Airbnb farmhouse rather than her own.
Twenty-one days my ass, she thinks.
A shiver runs through her shoulders as the early May breeze filters through the small crack of her window.
Scylla likes to breathe in the fresh air when she sleeps. She’s always liked how peaceful it makes her feel. How her body relaxes more easily at the smell of natural oxygen.
The brunette’s arms flop down on her mattress and her hands skim over the waffle comforter covering her bare legs, taking pleasure in how the pattern feels against her palms.
She rubs her eyes with her fists just as a long yawn stretches her jaws and Scylla has to drag herself out of the warm nest of her bed, mechanically reaching for her black satin robe thrown on the reading chair at the end of her bed.
Tightening the fine fabric around her waist, Scylla peeks through the window. A thin fog hovers just over the grass moistened by the morning dew. Cattle and sheep alike graze the green carpet with appetite under the merry chirps of the birds twirling over their heads. Meanwhile, the first sunrays arise progressively, splattering the sky with lovely shades of pastels.
Despite the grogginess that has yet to uncloud her mind, Scylla’s lips pull upward softly as her bright blue eyes capture the scene with the same fascination they had on her first morning in this quaint land that she now calls home. It feels so good to be away from the chaos originated by city life. From the chaos she left behind as she walked away from said city life.
Her hands itching for a hot cup of coffee to hold, Scylla heads to the kitchen already washed in orange and gold beams. She picks out a blue espresso pod and lets it slide into its designated slot on her espresso machine.
While she waits for the round button to flicker, the half-awake brunette blindly grabs a mug from the cupholder right over the coffee station and places it under the tiny hole from which rich dark liquid will soon pour.
Eyes skimming over the minimal furniture occupying the kitchen and dining room, Scylla’s shoulders slacken at the sight of the numerous cardboard boxes that are still invading her new home. No matter how many hours she spent unpacking since moving, the piles of boxes seem just as high and she feels like she won’t ever see the end of it. They even serve as nightstands in her bedroom at the current moment.
Delivery is slower on the rural side of town so she is still waiting for the new pieces of furniture she bought online before moving to this house.
Discouraged by the view, Scylla walks outside and sits on the equally bare patio. She takes comfort in the blossoming fruit trees and plants of the likes of hydrangeas and lilacs beautifying her two-and-a-half-acre-wide backyard.
At least there’s something that looks put together and intentional at her house.
The small woman brings her cup to her lips and gently blows over its rim, miniature ripples forming over the dark surface.
Her facial traits contort. Her coffee is still searing hot.
“Mommy?”
Piercing blues are temporarily lost in the old willow tree standing proudly in the middle of the pond when Scylla hears a set of tiny feet pitter-patter on the wooden deck. She turns back with a warm smile adorning her face.
“Good morning, Morgan. Want to join me, baby?” She asks her four-year-old daughter who all but runs into her mother’s open arms at the invitation.
The little girl snuggles into her side and Scylla combs her hair with her free hand, trying hard as she can to tame the curly mop of dirty blonde hair obstructing her child’s face.
Satisfied with her quick job for now, the mother cups her palm around the girl’s round cheek and pulls her forward to place a tender kiss on her forehead.
“I’m surprised to see you out of bed already. There was still a good thirty minutes before I would have gone to wake you up,” Scylla says as she gazes into eyes that reflect her own.
Morgan plucks a stray yellow dandelion from the humid grass and shrugs. “Not sleepy anymore.”
The young girl’s face lights up when two ducks waddle in tandem toward her, recognizing immediately her feathered friends.
“Mommy, look! It’s Frida and Diego, they’re back!” Morgan claims excitedly, her little finger pointing at the quacking duo.
Morgan had first seen the male and female ducks on their second day at their new house. The ducks were casually bathing in the large pond further down the yard. She instantly bonded with them and while Scylla remained clear that she didn’t want to domesticate them, the couple with white feathers frequently visited mother and daughter on their homestead. Always free to come and go as they pleased, as wild animals should.
Scylla watches her daughter carefully pet Frida and Diego on the neck, endeared by the gentleness and reverence with which Morgan touches them.
She is an animal lover, just like Scylla herself. They both find peace surrounded by anything birds and horses, cats, and dogs. Any living being that is not human.
Animals are pure. They want nothing from you and will love you so as long as you love them back.
“They sure are. Would you like to run to the kitchen to grab some food for them and then we can go eat breakfast together?” Scylla asks while rubbing comforting circles on her child’s pajama-clad back.
Morgan whips her head towards her mom and a hopeful smile is hooked on her lips, her hands clasped together in an imploring gesture under her chin. “Can we eat outside with Frida and Diego, please Mommy?”
It doesn’t take long for Scylla to nod her agreement fondly. They have extra time before they have to get ready for their respective day at work and preschool. If it only takes this simple thing as eating breakfast on the patio to make her daughter happy, then the brunette really can’t say no.
Upon seeing light curls bounce haphazardly atop Morgan’s head as she practically flies inside to grab everything they needed, happy as a clam, Scylla thinks that maybe today will be a good day, after all.
***
Raelle hasn’t taken two sips of her latte when the morning rush kicks in at her and Tally’s bakery.
Opening a business with her pastry school best friend had certainly been a risk at first, both for personal and financial reasons. They were both aware that friendship and business didn’t always go well together and, for obvious reasons, they didn’t have a lot of money after graduating.
But with the help of the alumni service the Massachusetts Culinary Institute offered to their graduated students, Tally and she received a loan and some much-needed guidance to open their boutique.
Rose Pastel had soon become their baby, as both chefs worked day and night, seven days a week to work out every technicality involved with such a project and to really bring everything together. They wanted the smallest detail to be perfect before the grand opening.
As with most businesses, of course, the first few years were not the easiest and definitely not the most lucrative for the two co-owners, especially given how both still had a debt to pay for their tuition and their loan.
The bakery didn’t profit enough for Raelle and Tally to afford employees; they barely had enough to cover their own respective personal expenses. They worked every single ten-hour shift that Rose Pastel was open, and it affected their romantic lives.
However, around its fifth year, the artisanal bakery specializing in cake decorating and chocolate gained a hard-earned wave of success. With a mix of good marketing and good old word of mouth from satisfied customers, people started to flock in large numbers to Rose Pastel each day of the week.
It is now a well-oiled machine, with a complete team of talented and inspired employees. The pride and joy of Raelle Collar and Tally Craven.
Chugging a substantial gulp of her freshly brewed coffee, Raelle walks to the front counter, swiftly tying a light pink bandana around her low bun, methodically leaving two thick strands of platinum blonde hair to frame her face.
“One almond croissant and two pains au chocolat!” She calls to Valerie, a promising intern who’s been working for them for a couple of weeks. The young adult is sharp-minded and impressively efficient in the kitchen. She would have to discuss it with Tally beforehand, but Raelle already knows she wants to offer her a job once the brunette will have completed her degree.
“Heard, Chef!” the pastry student answers automatically.
Raelle makes an elderly couple pay before striding back to her kitchen to pull out a fresh batch of heavenly-smelling butter croissants, the second the blonde chef has made since walking in at her bakery at six a.m. on the dot.
While the early hour at which she begins work makes the majority of people raise their eyebrows, Raelle doesn’t think anything of it now.
Classes started at seven sharp every morning all throughout pastry school, so she is more than used to the early bird lifestyle.
The light-eyed chef vigilantly puts down the burning large baking tray full of rich buttery golden croissants on the thick wood countertop. She shakes off the silicone oven mitts and trades them for a spatula, which she uses to transfer the French delicacies to a cooling rack.
“Good morning, everyone!” Tally says with the same welcoming smile she’s known for by everyone that knows her as she walks in through the back door of the kitchen.
The redhead claims a croissant when she reaches her friend, slapping an affectionate kiss on the blonde’s oven-warmed cheek. She brings her croissant to her mouth and recoils promptly, making a face.
“Crap, that’s so hot,” Tally manages to say between her mouthful, uselessly trying to cool it down by flapping the air with her hand.
Raelle smirks with amusement. “Morning Tal, careful that’s hot,” the smaller chef waves her spatula in front of her business partner’s face.
Once she finds a way to swallow her burning bite, Tally lightly claps and wiggles her fingertips to get rid of stubborn crumbs sticking to her skin.
She backhands the blonde’s shoulder. “You could have warned me the croissants were so hot,” the taller woman accuses as though Raelle has somehow betrayed her by withholding this – quite obvious in Raelle’s opinion – information.
Raelle puts down her spatula in favour of crossing her arms over her chest and arching a bantering eyebrow. She looks into her best friend’s big brown eyes, tongue-in-cheek.
“Don’t act like you didn’t know this would happen. Like we don’t bake croissants every single morning. You own this place, remember?”
Tally gesticulates her hand aimlessly in the air as she slips her arms into her pristine white chef’s coat. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I think I heard the bell chime at the front. I’ll go get it while this cools down,” the redhead motions at the croissants before buttoning her last button and resolutely walking towards the cash register without another word.
Raelle chuckles. “Good to see you, Tal!” she exclaims loudly, going back to her croissants.
***
They are late. They are late and Scylla forgot the cupcakes she was supposed to bake for Morgan’s class. Her teacher sent parents an email last week about some sort of celebratory lunch which encouraged them to make a special snack for the kids.
Her daughter had begged her to make her favourite peanut butter cup cupcakes, the ones Scylla perfected over the years to satisfy her child’s unmatched sweet tooth.
Only when she opened the fridge door to put away the jams that they used for breakfast did Scylla’s eyes fall on the calendar and realized that it had completely passed under her busy radar. There was today’s date, framed in large neon traits with the note she had written to herself, right in her face, mocking her.
She looks at the white clock on the wall. Seven thirty-nine. They had to leave almost ten minutes ago. Morgan had made a big fuss about taking off her pajama and categorically refused to get dressed.
And now Scylla would have to make a detour at a bakery to buy cupcakes after dropping off her daughter at school, only to drive back there to drop those off to Morgan’s teacher.
There’s no way the single mother would arrive in time for work.
Lovely.
“Morgan, baby, let’s go!” Scylla calls out in a pressing tone while clasping a silver hoop around her earlobe, using the vestibule mirror to see what she is doing.
The pre-schooler runs from her bedroom sporting mismatched socks; the left one displays tiny daisies on a bright yellow background while the other one is firefighter red and has t rexes on it. To complete her outfit is a pair of blue jeans over a pink ballet leotard, which has a tutu around the waist.
A proud toothy grin is hooked on her little girl’s lips.
Scylla blinks. She resists her urge to slap her palm on her forehead.
Perhaps she would have to revisit her decision to let her daughter pick out her clothes herself during the school week.
“I’m ready, Mommy!”
Not having the heart to say anything bad about her four-year-old’s fashion choices, Scylla simply catches Morgan’s little hand and locks the door before running to her car.
***
Scylla enters Rose Pastel for the first time. She’d never heard of it before calling her good friend Abigail in a rushed panic, not knowing where in the world she could find a bakery that sells cupcakes at eight in the morning.
Apparently, her friend swears by it. Said she is familiar with the owners.
Scylla has to say, Abigail didn’t overstate her review of the bakery.
It’s decorated with black and white ceramic tiles, contrasted with cute pastel pink furniture. What catches her eye the most, however, is the longest of all four walls completely made of industrial red bricks. She likes the modern meets vintage vibes it’s giving her.
She can only hope the food is as tasteful as the décor.
Her luck striking for the first time this morning, Scylla doesn’t have to wait in line for long. A brief lull in between the first and second rush waves maybe? It doesn’t matter, she thinks. What’s important is that in less than two minutes, a girl in her early twenties is greeting her behind the old-school turquoise cash register.
“Hi there, what can I get you?” the employee asks with a friendly smile, one hand toying with a blue pen.
Scylla returns her polite grin as she enquires, “I was wondering if, by any chance, you had a dozen cupcakes I could buy at this current time? It’s for some event at my daughter’s school.”
The brunette watches the girl behind the counter frown thoughtfully, the skin between her thick eyebrows folding as she taps the point of her pen against her chin.
It makes Scylla tug at her right earring and flicker the modest hoop.
“I’m not sure that we have some ready yet but I can go ask the chefs for you without a problem,” Valerie responds agreeably, walking to the kitchen after Scylla thanked her.
Tally has her hands completely immersed in melted chocolate, dipping and rolling some chocolate truffles over the marble countertop when Valerie enters the workspace.
She waits a few seconds before having her boss’s attention on her and reformulating her customer’s inquiry.
Tally tilts her head, running their present inventory in her mind. Anything related to cake usually falls on Raelle’s list of responsibilities. That’s her friend’s specialty. Hers is chocolate.
“I’ll take care of your customer, Valerie,” Raelle says when she comes back from the cold room with a dozen eggs and a brick of butter balanced in her hands. The blonde places the ingredients on her workstation, patting her hands on the apron at her waist afterward.
“Thank you, chef,” the intern says, readjusting her ponytail.
Raelle flies past her and gives her a light pat on the shoulder. “Thank me by making a passion fruit pastry cream for me! Egg yolks only!”
“You got it, boss.”
The first thing Raelle notices is her eyes. Blue, but somehow not quite so. They spear cleanly through her guards with a kind of intensity she has never seen before. Light but undeniably deep; a shade she couldn’t name even though she’s a professional cake designer and she’s used possibly all tints of each twelve colours on the colour wheel more times than she can count.
More.
That’s the only word Raelle can think of to label the woman’s otherworldly eyes.
They contrast so exquisitely with her dark curls and ivory skin.
She’s dressed in a crisp white shirt tastefully tucked into high-waisted black Dickies and Raelle feels out of place, wearing a simple apron dusted by flour over her chef’s coat and a bandana as the only means to style her hair. She didn’t have the time to braid it like she normally does, opting for the ten extra minutes laying in her bed this morning instead.
She’s almost certainly spent too much time staring and reminds herself of the matter at hand.
Raelle slips her hands into her apron pockets and flashes a gracious smile. Growing up in North Carolina, her parents raised her to use traditional southern manners. Offering a courteous grin to people upon meeting them was one of such manners.
“Good morning, ma’am, I’ve heard you were in need of cupcakes?”
The only thing running through Scylla’s mind right now is;
Fuck.
The blonde chef looks absolutely stunning with her crystal-clear eyes sparkling with the reflection of the dazzling morning sun and her fluffy tresses outlining the sharp angles of her face so prettily.
And that subtle southern drawl when she said ‘ma’am’?
God.
All she can say is that cupcakes are positively not the only temptations in this boutique.
“Oh, you don’t have to call me ma’am. I’m not that old yet,” Scylla says as she slightly tilts her head with her hands clasped around her biceps.
Her grin is lighthearted and way too charismatic for Raelle to resist her own smile from lifting a couple more inches on her face in response.
“Dully noted.”
The pastry chef’s eyes crinkle as she rubs the back of her neck and drums her fingertips on the counter, wondering how a woman she’s literally just met can make her feel like such a bashful puddle.
It must have something to do with the sheer intensity of those damn eyes, Raelle reasons. They must have cast a spell on her or something.
Scylla is pleased with herself when she sees a delightful pink shading the blonde’s cheeks.
Little does she know that her own smile is as large as Raelle’s.
Raelle clears her throat, grabbing a notepad and a pencil to bring herself back to reality.
“We do have some cupcakes, though to be perfectly transparent with you, they are from yesterday’s batch. Is that okay with you? I can even give you a discount since we would have given them to charity anyways.”
Scylla shrugs her shoulders and chuckles as she steps closer, already reaching for her wallet in her handbag.
“They’re for a bunch of four-year-olds, I highly doubt they’ll notice. If it has sugar in it, I guarantee your they will eat them like there’s no tomorrow. Consider them sold,” Scylla says, unzipping her brown leather wallet and retrieving her credit card from its compartment.
Raelle grabs a pink pastry box from a shelf under the wooden counter behind her along with a pair of tongs which she’ll use to transfer the cupcakes from the refrigerator to the box.
She flashes the gorgeous brunette a pleased smile, heading to her kitchen. “Perfect! I’ll be right back with your order, ma’am,” Raelle throws in the ‘ma’am’ and winks at her for good measure.
Well, Scylla thinks, she certainly didn’t see this coming when she woke up this morning.
***
Raelle blows a stubborn strand of hair away from her face as she sweeps the floor, her legs and back feeling stiff from another hectic day at the bakery.
Meanwhile, Tally is vigorously scrubbing the counters and windows of all the pastry display fridges, her long red hair pulled back in a high ponytail.
The ambiance music is off because they close in fifteen minutes and Raelle just couldn’t take the irritating sound anymore, much to her friend’s dismay.
The blonde sometimes wonders how Tally never seems to run out of battery.
Even when she knows for a fact her business partner is exhausted, Tally finds a way to look like she could sprint ten laps around a four-hundred-meter track field. All that with a smile glued to her face, of course.
She hears the familiar sound of the bell followed by the front door pushing open and Raelle internally whines. She just wants to get her cleaning over with and go home. And a hot shower. Then go to bed.
Plastering the best customer service smile that she can, Raelle turns around to greet the same face that has been the main subject of her daydreaming since this morning.
The wide grin curving her lips is immediate.
“Twice in a day, huh? To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?” the cake designer drawls, resting her chin on the handle of her broom.
Scylla slides her hand into her front pockets, inclining her head to her left.
I wanted to see you again.
Unofficially, this is why she drove to Rose Pastel on her way to get Morgan from her ballet lesson. Although, the brunette doubts she could just answer that and not come out as a total creep.
Instead, she goes for a half-truth.
“My daughter’s birthday is coming up in a few weeks and I was wondering if you guys do custom orders for events with a large group of people? She raved to me about how much she loved your cupcakes the whole drive back from pre-school.”
If Raelle nods a little too enthusiastically, she’ll pass it as excitement for the opportunity to bake for children. Not because that necessarily implies that she’ll get to see and talk to the pretty brunette again. Kids’ birthday parties are fun. Joyous. Colourful. This is why her head keeps bobbing so eagerly.
“Of course!” Raelle exclaims as she puts the broom against an empty table. She flies past the other woman to go get one of her business cards displayed next to the cash register and is back in front of the mother almost instantly.
“Here,” the blonde extends her hand and gives her the rectangular card designed with the same colours as the bakery. “We close in a couple of minutes so there isn’t time to discuss this but you can call me at this number or feel free to pop up here whenever you want. The chances of me being here when you visit are high.”
Raelle shoots another one of her charming grins with sparkly blue eyes and Scylla gets an intense urge to trace the line of the scar on her cheek. If possible, it makes the pastry chef’s smile even more stunning.
Scylla glances at the clock behind the front counter and remembers that there are only ten minutes left before her daughter’s lesson ends. She has to go.
“Great then,” Scylla says as she lightly taps the card against her palm. “I will see to that in the upcoming days.”
Raelle tilts her head and mannerly offers her hand, “I’ll be looking forward to hearing from you. I’m Raelle, by the way.”
Scylla shakes her hand, her smile large and pearly white and it makes Raelle’s stomach flutter.
“I’m Scylla.”
The second the door closes after Scylla leaves, Tally is leaning her forearms on the front countertop, biting her bottom lip with an all-too-knowing beam.
“She’s very pretty. And Scylla? What a beautiful name! It sounds Greek,” her friend bats her long eyelashes exaggeratingly at Raelle, who rolls her eyes.
“Shut up, Tal.”
She’s thankful that at least Tally has the grace not to comment on the raging blush that crept its way on her cheeks and neck.
Scylla, Raelle thinks.
It fits her like a glove.
***
Scylla corks a bottle of red wine open and pours herself a copious glass of her favourite Cabernet Sauvignon before sauntering to her empty living room and slumping down on the couch.
Her blue eyes are entranced by the flames dancing and crackling in the fireplace.
She tries not to think about a tiny Paw Patrol suitcase fully packed for the weekend and her baby walking out of her home with her innocent smile while she waved goodbye adorably.
Tries not to think about how hollow she still feels every time her four-year-old leaves the house without her.
She fails.
The thick yellow manila envelope sitting on the coffee table at her feet catches the corner of her eye and Scylla sighs, her shoulders dropping heavily at the reminder of what she’ll have to do tomorrow morning.
She downs her wine and gets up to grab a blue ink pen.