That One Feeling

My arms are wrapped tightly around my family's recipe book, the very one that my great-great-great grandmother made years ago. It holds all of the secret recipes of the Neal family, and each one has the secret ingredient that is included in any food my family makes, whether it be anywhere from pastries to pastas.

"Ma'am, where were you when the robbery took place?"

I shift in my seat, and I can feel the blood rushing to my face. "Uh, I was in the..."

The police officer rolls his eyes and raises his eyebrows. I can tell he would rather be doing anything other than this right now.

"The where?"

"B-bathroom."

"Interesting." The amusement in his eyes is unbearable. I was robbed while I was reading a magazine on a toilet. Of course, I had Barry on duty, but apparently a customer dropped her cake about a block away from the bakery just minutes after picking it up.

Being the sweet, kind, and helpful person he is, Barry rushed out to help. That's probably when the robber slipped inside unnoticed and trashed the place.

"And were there any witnesses?" The man sighs, and the words come out as if they were an automated message: dull and tired.

"I told you, no. How would I know that? I was in the bathroom!"

The officer lazily scrawls something down on his notepad and lolls his head around, probably looking for an excuse to stop questioning me. I squint my eyes to read the small name on his tag.

"Listen here, Greg." I put emphasis on his name. "This bakery has been in the family for generations, passed down countless times. It holds priceless recipes, very rare ingredients, and the love that my family puts into it! So you need to-"

But before I can finish my rant, I am very rudely interrupted by Greg's hearty laughter that echoes throughout the bakery. Everyone else investigating stop what they're doing and turn their heads.

"What? What is so utterly funny that you had to interrupt me and manage to get everyone's attention?" I'm getting mad. I slam my family's recipe book on the table.

"Y-you said t-that..." He's laughing too hard to even spurt out a single sentence. "You said that it has the love your family puts into it."

He's wheezing now. "Oh, gosh, that's hilarious."

Everyone in the bakery starts chuckling, and my face is beet red. At that moment, I wish my blonde hair wasn't pulled back in a loose ponytail so I could cover my face with it. I slowly turn my head to Barry, hoping he can tell me what to do, but he just shakes his head and looks down. I bet he's laughing.

"Maybe you should quit being a baker and go write cheesy kids' shows!" someone yells. That only causes further laughter. Wiping away tears that have formed in my eyes, I pick up the recipe book from the table and stalk out of the back door of the bakery, pushing past people on my way out. Of course, I could have exited without touching anybody, but it gave me more satisfaction if I knew I hit them at least a little bit.

The October air is cool and refreshing, and it calms me. The leaves underneath me crackle and split as I sit down, my arms wrapped around my knees. The lake behind the bakery shimmers in the sunlight. Leaves glide down, slowly at first then more quickly as the soft wind pulls them towards the water, and the trees that just released them sway from side to side. I take a deep breath, and tell myself that everything is going to be okay. It isn't long before Barry is at my side, his arm wrapped around my shoulders.

We don't need words. All we need is each other, lost in the moment and staring at the lake as the sun casts a soft glow onto the water.

***

It's dark outside now, and the only people left in the bakery are me and Barry. We're still picking up countless pennies that are scattered on the floor and shards of glass from the display cases.

"Nothing was actually stolen. I guess people heard him and scared him off." Barry says. He picks up a hand towel and holds it out in front of him, batting it with his hand and coughing when flour that was packed into it flies up and hits his face.

He looks up at me, and I can't help but laugh. His face is white from cleaning up all day and not washing off the flour periodically.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. You've just got a little bit of flour on...well, everywhere." I bring up my hand to my mouth and laugh softly.

"Hey! I've helped you pick up this mess! You're lucky I didn't go home." He sticks his tongue out at me.

"Sure, Barry. But I think you're forgetting one little detail."

"Yeah?"

"You work for me, you cute idiot." I smile and walk up to him, brushing off the bottom of his face with a clean towel and giving him a small kiss.

"Don't boyfriends get special privileges?" He smirks.

"Your 'special privilege' is getting to spend all day with me."

"Alright. You got me there, cause that's all I need. Anyway, when do you want to start baking again? I mean, nothing's missing, so we can get back in business tomorrow."

I glance over at the counter, where the recipe book sits. As much as I want to get back to baking, I don't want to bake for other people. Earlier today...that cop and the people who laughed at me...they took something away. It all started with that robber. If he hadn't broken in, everything would be normal. I slump into the chair closest to me.

"Ev? Something wrong?"

I sigh, and slowly look up to him. Barry's eyes are filled with worry, and he quickly pulls up another chair beside me and sits down.

"I don't know, Barry. I don't want to bake for people. I've been thinking about it all day. Is that really what people think of me? Some cheesy baker who lives on the outside of town?" I can feel tears forming in my eyes. The happiness I shared with Barry moments ago...that was gone.

Barry takes my hands and covers them in his. "Oh, Ev. Your pastries and cakes and croissants are the best that I've ever tasted. You know that."

"You're just saying that because I'm your girlfriend."

"That's not true. Besides, you've still got your special ingredient, right?"

I look into his eyes, and slowly shake my head. "That's the thing. I don't feel that feeling. The one that gets me out of bed at five in the morning to open the bakery. The one that keeps me going when I want to collapse from dozens of orders that I need to finish. The secret ingredient that's in all of my family's recipes isn't a food. It's a love for baking and making other people happy. This robbery...it took that away. I don't feel that anymore."

"What are you saying?"

"Barry...I want to close the bakery."

He stares at me blankly.

"What about the recipes? They've been passed down for generations, and now you're just going to throw them away? This bakery has been everything to you. A few rude remarks are just going to make you close it down?"

Barry shakes his head.

"That's not the Evelyn Neal I know," he says as he releases my hand, stands up, and puts his chair back.

"You need to think more about what you're doing."

And with that, he walks out of the bakery, casting one last longing glance at me before turning to get into his car.

I sigh, and look around me. Flour still makes the floor in the kitchen white, and glass is still scattered everywhere. Chairs are all around the bakery, upturned but still misplaced. Pastries are sprawled across the floor and all of the counters. The tears that were forming are now silently gliding down my face.

Memories come flooding back to me. One time, I had been baking with my mom when I was five and dumped the whole box of baking soda into the cake batter when she wasn't looking. The cake promptly exploded when it was baking in the oven, leaving a big mess for me to clean up while my mom scolded me.

Another time was when I was eleven and making pancakes for dinner for my sister's seventh birthday. I forgot to add the sugar, and instead of being soft and fluffy, they turned out flat and rubbery.

When I was fourteen, my mom let me handle an order all on my own. I didn't mess it up, though. I did it nearly perfectly, and the joy on the little girl's face as she opened to box to peer down to her birthday cupcakes was a look I will never forget.

I remember a few months ago when Barry had tried to reach a flour sack for me, but ended up spilling it all over my clothes. When he started laughing, I grabbed the bag and threw it at him, covering his clothes, face, and arms in a white, powdery coat. That led to him grabbing another bag, tearing it open, and dumping that on me, too. Barry and I were soon laughing and having a good time. We had a flour-battle for about ten minutes, until my grandma came into the bakery. She went ballistic, and we stayed three hours late that night to clean it all up.

It was just a couple of people. They don't matter. Greg can go back to his cozy office, eating doughnuts and drinking cheap coffee. The person who made the snide remark can go write their own cheesy kids' show.

I look around and realize something: I will never give up this bakery. It's a part of who I am, and I'm not going to close it because a robber showed up and the police who came to "solve" the mystery were mean.

I pick up my phone and click on my most recent contact, then hit the phone button. The device had been at my ear for no less than two seconds before Barry picked it up.

"Ev, are you okay? I'm so sorry, I have no right to-"

"Get your butt over here and help me clean up. We're opening up again tomorrow."