It was a creak, a subtle shift of noise as the floorboard groaned under the weight of a young man’s expectations. There was warmth in the shop and the heavy scent of butter that had been baked into every crevice and wrinkled grain of the shop’s interior. It was a score of years and double even that which had seen the trays removed from the ovens and the pastries placed in the carefully cleaned display. It was decadent chocolate and smooth cream. It was a memory of bliss on the faces as young couples shared treats and it was a tinkle of laughter as men and women flocked in and out of the jangling door, talking, gossiping, sharing the brief flash of their lives in a dazzling display of brightness.
The shop knew it all: the despair, the joy, the weight of decision that marked a perfect selection.
It shifted under the weight of the boy, leaning slightly to the left, urging the boy towards its preferred selection, knowing that most loved the smooth taste of custard and the burst of fruit on the tongue. It couldn’t taste the delicacies that had found life within its sunbaked walls, but it knew people. It had watched and listened, soaking in the joy and despair of a thousand patrons.
It was a treasure well savored.
And it leaned until the boy finally pressed his hands against the glass, framing the delicate custard pie in the field of his vision, and he swallowed—hard—at the thought of the sweetness crossing his lips. He glanced up and immediately met the crinkled eyed gaze of an old woman smiling back at him, and he pointed.
“Can I have that one?”
She laughed and immediately opened the glass from behind the counter, stooping her shoulders slightly as she deftly cut and picked up a slice to slide it onto a delicately patterned plate almost as old as the boy, himself was. “Of course, little one. I have to admit, this treat has been a favorite for many, many years. It was the first thing I made for my husband when he was courting me, did you know that?”
The boy shook his head, tongue-tied as he stared fixated on the tiny little plate as the woman shuffled towards a table with the boy following in tow. “Indeed it was; you’ll never guess it after eating this, but it tasted horrible even though he ate every last bite.” She sighed, and the sound was a whisper on the yeast laden air and she shook her head slightly as she stepped to the side so the boy could take his seat.
“He’s gone now, but it was his encouragement that made me try my hand at it again.” She chuckled again. “Little did he know that we’d end up opening this shop and we’d run it for near on thirty years.” She sighed again and then her gaze suddenly snapped, sharp and alert and her hands fell to her hips as she cleared her throat gruffly. “But don’t you mind any of that; you enjoy that dessert. It’s on the house.” She winked. “It’s a gift from me to you.”
But there was sadness as she drifted back to the counter, a weariness in her shoulders and the shop folded her in scent and heat and memory, cradling her. Because it knew their time was limited. Nothing lasted forever.
And the Soon Closing” sign discreetly placed in the window told it all.
Indecision
The shop knew it all: the despair, the joy, the weight of decision that marked a perfect selection.
It shifted under the weight of the boy, leaning slightly to the left, urging the boy towards its preferred selection, knowing that most loved the smooth taste of custard and the burst of fruit on the tongue. It couldn’t taste the delicacies that had found life within its sunbaked walls, but it knew people. It had watched and listened, soaking in the joy and despair of a thousand patrons.
It was a treasure well savored.
And it leaned until the boy finally pressed his hands against the glass, framing the delicate custard pie in the field of his vision, and he swallowed—hard—at the thought of the sweetness crossing his lips. He glanced up and immediately met the crinkled eyed gaze of an old woman smiling back at him, and he pointed.
“Can I have that one?”
She laughed and immediately opened the glass from behind the counter, stooping her shoulders slightly as she deftly cut and picked up a slice to slide it onto a delicately patterned plate almost as old as the boy, himself was. “Of course, little one. I have to admit, this treat has been a favorite for many, many years. It was the first thing I made for my husband when he was courting me, did you know that?”
The boy shook his head, tongue-tied as he stared fixated on the tiny little plate as the woman shuffled towards a table with the boy following in tow. “Indeed it was; you’ll never guess it after eating this, but it tasted horrible even though he ate every last bite.” She sighed, and the sound was a whisper on the yeast laden air and she shook her head slightly as she stepped to the side so the boy could take his seat.
“He’s gone now, but it was his encouragement that made me try my hand at it again.” She chuckled again. “Little did he know that we’d end up opening this shop and we’d run it for near on thirty years.” She sighed again and then her gaze suddenly snapped, sharp and alert and her hands fell to her hips as she cleared her throat gruffly. “But don’t you mind any of that; you enjoy that dessert. It’s on the house.” She winked. “It’s a gift from me to you.”
But there was sadness as she drifted back to the counter, a weariness in her shoulders and the shop folded her in scent and heat and memory, cradling her. Because it knew their time was limited. Nothing lasted forever.
And the Soon Closing” sign discreetly placed in the window told it all.