Hot Cross Buns, page 1
Part I
Also by Kelsey Elise Sparrow
A Stephanie Daniels Novel
An Author's Tale
A Whiskey Sweet Novel
Hot Cross Buns (Coming Soon)
Whiskey's One True Wish
Boardan High novel
Singling Out Sable
Inked to the Max
Paper Lipstick
Standalone
Kentucky Running: A Road to Dallas
Naughty Knights
Table of Contents
Title Page
Also By Kelsey Elise Sparrow
Chapter One | ingredients
Savannah Effect Cupcakes
Chapter Two | Supplies
Cranberry Martini
Chapter Three | preparation
Sangria Cake
Chapter Four | Mixer
Salted Caramel Pecan Sour
Chapter Five | Dry Items
Black Forest Cupcakes
Chapter Six | wet items
Chocolate Ganache Cookies
Chapter Seven | shaker
Chapter Eight | baste
Dulce de Leche and Walnut Sponge Cake
Chapter Nine | alcohol
Blue Burial
Chapter Ten | Mix
Peanut Butter Blossoms
Chapter Eleven | Mix Well
Chewy Coconut-Macadamia Nut Cookies
Chapter Twelve | Juices
Chapter Thirteen | Fold
Strawberry Almondine
Chapter Fourteen | garnishes
Chapter Fifteen | salts
Blue Hawaiian
Chapter Sixteen | sugar crystals
Chapter Seventeen | no lumps
Surprise Rainbow Cake Pops
Chapter Eighteen | smooth
Chapter Nineteen | Spread
Chapter twenty | settle
The Quick F*ck
Chapter twenty-one | Separate
Chapter twenty-two | ice
Chapter twenty-three | smooth
Some things need a little more time to develop.
Part II
Chapter twenty-Four | Chill
Chapter twenty-five | cut
Chapter twenty-six | Need for Speed
Chapter twenty-seven | Rainbow Crew & Pink
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Further Reading: Broken Promises
Chapter One
ingredients
Savannah
June - Thursday
N
aked. Buck-ass naked people on the loveseat I have on my porch. Not what I pictured when I decided to purchase that piece. Actually ... I figured it would be me.
Not the point here, chick! Right!
I have two naked people on my porch. Two people I don’t know on my porch.
Note to self: purchase new pillows and cushions for loveseat on front porch.
“I don’t this ... holy shi ... take mushrooms! That’s just not fair!”
I roll my eyes as I take in the mass of this man’s pole. A pole which is very much awake despite the fact that the rest of him isn’t. I’m annoyed for many reasons. The fact there is a woman who isn’t me ready to enjoy that beautiful woody adds to this morning’s frustration.
“Ugh! Get up! Holy hell!” I avert my gaze from the completely parted legs of the woman who is now displayed to the world passing by my porch. “Wake up! Get the hell off my porch! Go find ... some damn clothes!”
I watch his tight, fine as ... wow ... ass go. They head to the left which causes me to shake my head.
You need to shift your thoughts and that runaway libido of yours to something else, Girly.
Tasks, projects, agendas, calendars, schedules, and payroll. That leaves very little time for much else. Yep, that’ll do it. Work always snatches me back to reality.
Not ever will anyone hear of me complaining about how busy my life is. I treasure the moments where my hands and mind are both regularly occupied. My parents would prefer they were busy with things that don’t involve working so tirelessly in my kitchen. I have firsthand knowledge that my parents would love to see me married and pushing out some grandkids for them. That’s going to have to wait. Business is booming, and I am enjoying every aspect of it.
Hmm, maybe not every aspect. That dang paperwork sitting on my desk in my office could kick rocks for all I care. That part of my business I have to grin and bear. It’s a tidbit nerve-racking mess that. Shocker. It’s the perfect description of who I am these days.
“AAAAAHHHHH! Stupid, extra frustrating, butternut squash of a key gets on my last ever-loving ...”
I’m usually not this irritated with something as trivial as trying to get out of my house. Frustration with a key is normally one of the lowest things of annoyance on my list. Today is different. For the first time in my adult life I. am. Late.
Even in my mind the words are growled. I despise being late. This day is quickly becoming my least favorite day ever. I’m standing outside of my house and know I’m going to be ten minutes later than I already planned when I arrive at the door of my business, which means I’ll be at least twenty-five minutes late setting everything up to start the workday. That frustrates the crap out of me.
Not something I need to be thinking about right now.
That’s what’s floating through my mind. If I weren’t in the state of mind, I currently am in then I’d laugh at the absurdity of it all, including my thoughts. Alas, I cannot find the humor in the moment because that dag-um key doesn’t want to work in the door.
My neighbor, Alex “Hot and Handsome” Palmer, from across the street, is walking his own puppy today. Normally, an overly annoying, pep squad looking teen who bops and bounces enough to make her high ponytail dance along her shoulders as she walks has his dog.
I don’t particularly care for her. I hope it doesn’t show.
Anyway.
Her usual crew tends to include his dog and three or four other dogs. The perkiness of Stefani Price’s attitude and young body irritates me to the utmost on any given day. I don’t do well with the attention seeking type and she fits the bill. Her “winning” personality would’ve sent me into the stratosphere today.
I feel oddly happy that it is Alex outside today and not Stephanie. With quick steps, Alex’s longs legs eat up the long walkway to the porch and up the stairs to help me get the lock to my front door working again. After he finishes, he hands me his business card and requests, almost demands, I call him to fix my door. He offers to replace the doorknob and lock on the thing with no cost to me.
Offering him a small smile, I pocket his card. An awkward wave later, he’s heading back to his side of our street. If either of my next-door neighbors were outside, they would scream at me for my thoughts of only wanting him for the job of working on my door and nothing more. Fortunately for me, they aren’t within sight and I am able to get on with my day.
The best feeling I’ve felt thus far today.
In the town of Whiskey Sweet, which is just outside New Haven, Connecticut, I own a bakery. My bakery, my current love. This is my space, my place. I’m Savvy—Savannah Flowers—the owner and sole proprietor of my little company. One would think with a last name like mine, I’d be shy or maybe sweet. Demure even.
I’m not. I’ve been told I can be loud and obnoxious because I can. It’s a choice, my choice. That’s how I live my life.
Honestly, I’m loud because I have to be heard over a kajillion machines on a daily basis. It’s a reason, an excuse It’s one of the excuses I give to explain away the truth of the matter.
The truth is I’m simply loud by nature. It’s ingrained in me. My family is small in number but loud in body and it takes work to be heard over such a rowdy bunch. There’s the reality. There it lies in its truth, but I prefer my explanation of loud appliances and machines at work accounting for the register of my volume. The shop wasn’t always loud and bustling with business. The influx of orders changed all of that almost overnight.
That’s one of the reasons my little-known cake shop has recently begun to undergo a major overhaul. I have to accommodate the increased demand for my sweets and treats. The number of orders increased exponentially after my bakery was mentioned on the Ellen show. It happened, and I didn’t even know it was happening. I didn’t know my bakery would be mentioned until the moment the celebrity practically sang my business’ name. I couldn’t have asked for a better plug even if I planned it myself. The phone calls came in like a flood afterwards. First, to let me know of the honorable mention. Second, to place an order of several.
Apparently, some celeb thought my cakes were “to die for”. Calls began to come in at four times the normative volume we’d grown accustom to in previous years. That celebrity would be one Ms. Kimberly Prince, a singer turned actress. This is a fact I know only because I Googled her after I heard about the announcement.
The uptick in customer requests called for an increase in the number of employees working at the shop as well. Hiring happened quickly once that realization hit me. Everything fell into place once I got the ball rolling.
I had this preconceived notion the process from job posting to resume and/or application review to hiring would be a tedious and strenuous process. It wasn’t. The whole process took less than a week. We, Aaliyah, Chastity, Luke, and myself, knew within minutes of meeting the candidates just who would easily work well with the others. All of the new members fit right in with the members who’d been with
me from the beginning. The whole thing went a lot more smoothly than I initially suspected it would.
The most difficult part for me had been deciding how to go about starting the hiring process at Savvy’s Sweets and Treats. The initial venture was almost brutal. My first crew was easier because I had my mentors assisting me. This time I’d been on my own and it was admittedly one of the scariest things I’ve ever done in my life.
I’m so glad that’s over with now. Once all of the hiring had been completed, things moved even faster in every facet of my business. The turnaround time for beginning the job after interviews made even my head spin. I can’t imagine how it was for the employees. At SS&T, training is completed in-house in order to accommodate the increase. I have no time, nor the manpower, to send the crew members elsewhere to train like I’ve done on previous occasions.
As excellent as it is that we expanded, it made me realize some necessary changes needed to be made to our systems. The way we processed and handled orders needed to be revamped in order to accommodate the extra business. With the increase in the requests and employees in the workplace came an upsurge in the number of machines we utilize within the bakery. I said all of that to explain that I’m loud by trade not just by familial inheritance.
One explanation down. Here is the other. I get a thrill out of being heard by one and all, as well as, being in charge of things. Enough said.
I’m also obnoxious by choice. It was determined a long time ago that I wouldn’t be the “shrinking violet” for anyone. My father said it and it stands as a true statement to this very day. The pushover type, I am not. It’s not in my biological make up.
I’m the friend pushing her friends to do things. This chick is the outspoken, zany one the boyfriends aren’t too keen on having around. Most of them aren’t quite sure what they think of me. I always get the “side eye” or a questioning look. They either want to screw me or screw me over. The “bad seed” title falls in my lap as well. I’m absolutely okay with that because it keeps the arrogant a-holes on their toes and the strong, silent types on notice.
I’ve recently been the center of attention. I’m usually the one to try to blend in with the crown and play the puppeteer from behind the scenes. The newfound center stage is fine by me. More attention means more exposure for the shop
With that said, I have to admit something else. I’m usually the one no one is surprised to learn is in the middle of the chaos. The “life of every party” title rests squarely on my shoulders anytime I choose to attend one. I don’t seek it out. It just happens. Hence, the reason I don’t care for the attention-seeking type. It’s not always worth it. I’ve been on the negative side of things and it ain’t pretty.
The situation I currently find myself in fits perfectly with the words of that Fresh Prince of Bel-Air intro. It’s my running theme song.
With that in mind, this is the story of how my life was flipped on its head. This story is also about a sixteen-year old’s ruined birthday party, an imprisoned man, and the night I ended up naked—free of a stitch of clothing—yet completely covered in cake.
Attention grabbed?
Yeah, I figured. Welcome to what my friends refer to as the “Savannah Effect”. There are shirts made to coin that moniker. I know this because I had them created then used as a promotional tool for one of my favorite cupcakes.
It’s a hot ticket item. The cupcake is decorated in bright and vibrant colors of yellow and orange to reflect my ebullient spirit. At the base of the treat is this beautiful yellow cake that bleeds into an auspicious orange. The color scheme continues throughout the cupcake until it reaches a perfect golden top. The buttercream icing usually has the same coloring as the cupcake itself. I hand make various colored flowers to make up the design that follows along the outer edges of the cupcake tin. In the center of each flower is usually a drop of liquid. For those who drink, there is a drop of liquor in each. The non-alcoholic version has a drop of lemon or orange within the center. It depends on the request.
I usually have to make a minimum of six dozen of those cupcakes every morning along with several others. The cupcake trays I have make twenty-four at a time and all twelve of them are well used. I’ve got the prep process for all of the cupcakes down to a science. Even with that foreknowledge and experience, my day begins at five in the morning every single day. I have ten billion things going on in my head on a daily basis. The bakery doors open at seven sharp every day.
By seven o’clock every morning, the opening staff is working and chattering away like finely tuned worker bees. We’ve also baked a few dozen cupcakes, breads, cakes, and donuts along with getting prepared to serve several breakfast breads and coffees. One might believe me insane to take on what we take on for eight to twelve hours out of the day. I don’t give the opinions of most much of my time. I can’t sweat the small things.
For this reason, I’m very fortunate I don’t have to worry about much, including my baby. I’m a pet owner who couldn’t do what I do if I had to give great thought to where my puppy—my precious sweetie—is going to be during my working hours.
My next-door neighbor, Latisha, is always there and ready just before dawn’s crack. She’s awake well before that time so I’m not waking her when I stop by to drop off Tibet at four in the morning. My puppy is the reason I was late and tried to tear my door handle from the doorframe this morning. I am usually to blame for some form of my morning ruckus, which is why I usually get up a little earlier in the mornings. This morning’s time was eaten up faster than I can say “set the timer”.
This morning's issue had everything to do with my three-year-old Maltese, Tibet. He was named after the place I was too afraid to visit without my friends. Tibet decided to use my work bag as his new sleeping area last night. Of course, I had no idea that was where it was until I’d practically torn my home apart and just so happened to glance to the corner where Tibet called “home” in my house.
I can laugh about the insanity of it now, but then I was highly irritated. The dang puppy definitely keeps me on my toes. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve had him, he still finds ways to amaze me with his inquisitive and observative nature.
I know it’s not a word but I like it.
Anyway, I’ve loved my pup ever since the very first day I saw him in the shop window where I’d adopted him. I figured getting a puppy would be a safer bet than attempting to make the trip to the place by myself. I got him to get me over the fact of my friends bailing on me at the last minute.
The little cutie was a great consolation prize. He is the best and I love him to pieces. The only problem is we’re both rather territorial. My Tibet is forever making things his own, even if it belongs to me. At first, it was cute then it became a little exasperating. It’s been two years of this underlying tug-of-war between us. Now, I’m mostly accepting of it except for instances like this morning when I needed to head out my front door with my bag on my arm.
The fact that my bag is shaped somewhat like a sheet cake with strawberries on the top means nothing. When it’s lying on its side it apparently looks like the perfect bed for my cute, little pup. Which is what happened. It must’ve fallen to the floor during the night hours. Him enjoying a new place to rest his precious head would’ve been fine if I hadn’t spent twenty minutes of my morning searching the house for what he’d determined was his. After all, the thing is, first and foremost, my purse.
The little snipe had the nerve to bark at me when I fussed about him not using my bag as a bed again. I left the disgruntled prince with Latisha, and her eight-year-old son, Trey Jr or TJ. They love keeping Tibet while I’m away. She’s a stay-at-home mother of two. Latisha’s eleven-year-old daughter, Lakira, is a gymnast and she’s amazing at it.
Latisha and all the rest of us in the neighborhood are excited because Kira has a spot in the summer tournament that will conclude with a grand event in two weeks. I plan on being on the sidelines with the family cheering her on. When little Kira is around, she’s usually my shadow. Thinking about her makes me miss her, but I need to focus on getting to work since I know I’m already late.
I quickly stop off at my favorite coffee shop, JANA (Java Addicts Not Anonymous) to grab my daily dose of caramel mochaccino and to say “hello” to the JANA’s owners, Jacob and Anna; brother and sister. After that pick up and some quick chit chat with the owners of a few shops along the way, I head to my favorite place in the world. All of that happens regardless of my being late, early, or otherwise.
