Page 20 of The Ruse of Romancing

She gave a carefree shrug. “I’m not. I got new appliances out of the whole thing and no longer have to live with the man. Not to mention, the settlement I got from the divorce gave me enough money to open Sugar and Sea Bakery.”

She stopped next to the island, looking around the small space. “I probably should spruce the kitchen up a bit more, maybe slap a fresh coat of paint on the walls, but I spend most of my time in the bakery kitchen, which is much nicer and has all the bells and whistles this old lady could ask for.”

I joined Joane at the counter, pulling out one of the stools situated there and sinking onto it.

“As long as it works for you, I don’t see why you need to update it,” I said, loving how, even though this was my first time in this kitchen, it somehow felt comfortable already.

“I like the way you think! But that’s enough about me and my kitchen. It’s time to give you a hobby,” she said this with all the excitement of a daytime television host giving away cars.

“I didn’t realize that was something you could just give someone,” I said, humor lacing my voice as I watched her, curious to see what was going to happen next.

“Oh, you can. Trust me. Wash your hands and grab an apron,” she waved to where some aprons hung on a hook on the wall. “I’m going to grab Carl.”

I walked to the sink and turned on the water as Joane disappeared into what I could only assume was a walk-in pantry.

Figuring we’d be doing something in the kitchen, I slipped Poppy’s bracelet off my wrist and felt guilty over the instant relief at no longer having it pressed against my skin.

I had promised the universe I’d wear the bracelet, but I was not a bracelet person.

Maybe the next time Poppy wanted to help me with crystals, I’d request something more subtle and less distracting for a writer who was staring at her hands all day, like a simple pendant necklace or a keychain I could keep in my pocket.

“Joane,” I called, as I scrubbed my hands, “you still haven’t told me who Carl is.”

I couldn’t decide if the fact that we were going to be working in the kitchen was reassuring as I selected an apron from Joane’s impressive collection.

These aprons were not the tidy, branded pink aprons I’d come to associate with Sugar and Sea Bakery.

Instead, they were a hodge podge of colors and styles that I instantly fell in love with, guessing each apron had a story.

I picked a purple and white apron with pockets and frills that looked like it belonged in a Doris Day movie and slipped it on over my clothes.

“This,” Joane said, as she stepped back into the kitchen holding a glass jar containing a bubbling, cream-colored sludge, “is Carl. He’s the best sourdough starter in all of Oregon and the secret to my amazing baking.”

Suddenly all of Joane’s comments about Carl made sense, and a relieved giggle bubbled past my lips. I wasn’t joining a cult today after all, though Joane was making some pretty serious assumptions about my baking ability if she was gifting me part of her prized sourdough starter.

I snapped a quick photo of the jar, sending it to Avery to assuage her worries before returning the phone to my pocket and giving Joane my full attention.

Joane set the jar on the counter, caressing it for a moment before turning to me with an eager grin. “I’m going to teach you how to use Carl. You’re going to do sourdough!”

“Joane, that’s so kind, but I can’t! I only cook for survival. I’ve never made bread before, let alone sourdough,” I said, thinking of my meal from the night before. “Noodles and jarred sauce is about as fancy as I get.”

She waved away my concerns before washing her own hands and donning a frock apron made from cow-print fabric that had pink piping along the edges.

“You can absolutely do sourdough! I’m going to walk you through all the steps tonight so that you’ll be ready to bake a loaf tomorrow.

But don’t worry, I already have dough going, so you’ll be able to bake a loaf tonight too.

” She waved to a glass bowl that I hadn’t noticed tucked away into a corner of the kitchen.

“Sourdough takes time and patience, but there’s nothing like making your own fresh sourdough bread.

Also, working the dough can be therapeutic.

I can’t tell you the number of problems I’ve worked through while kneading Carl. ”

As she talked, Joane walked around the kitchen pulling out various gadgets and ingredients. Some of the items I’d never seen before, including a device that had rounded metal loops on the end of a wooden handle and some scraping tools.

“Since we’re just making one loaf, I’ll talk you through what I do when I’m baking at home. Now, do you know if your rental has a Danish dough whisk?” She brandished the tool with the rounded metal at me.

I shook my head.

“Don’t worry, you can borrow my extra and I’ll add it to the list of things you’ll need to buy when you return to Utah.

” She declared, her eyes sparkling as she added the whisk to the pile of tools we’d supposedly be using as we worked.

“Now get over here so we can start. Carl doesn’t bite, I promise. ”

I stepped forward apprehensively, certain this was going to end in disaster, but at the same time recognizing it couldn’t hurt anything. I’d tried just about everything to get my writing juices flowing again. Why not making sourdough?