There's almost always flour on her somewhere. On her clothes, in her hair, on her cheek - she makes sure to wash up whenever she's leaving the house, but right now? Right now, there's muffins sitting on the oven to cool (apple oatmeal) and she's got croissant dough in the fridge, and she's mostly taking a break.
If she really admits it - like, really really, which she hasn't said aloud, she's actually terrified about this whole opening a bakery thing. About running a business, about opening an actual store that there's a legitimate worry that people just won't come, or that they'll keep going to the Seaside just because of habit. So she's perfecting; she's been doing it since they got back, going out of her way to make new recipes. It was Napoleans, briefly, because of Coop's birthday. She must have made 30 different kinds and batches, making notes and testing and asking random stranger's opinions, not so much because she wanted them to be good for that one event (although she did, obviously), but now she feels like she's got a handle on them, that they're excellent, and that she can make them somewhat easily, and know that she doesn't need to tweak the recipe every time.
Now it's croissants - flavored croissants, and her arms actually ache from the sheer amount of dough she's been rolling, but she's going to get them right so that they, too, can be a staple.
She smiles some when he talks about the hoodie; she'd loved the first one, the one that had a slight singe mark on the sleeve, that she'd worn nearly every single day since he gave it to her, but it's replacement-- she needed it. She needed it because where with Joel it was oddly easy to know where she stood, to be around him.... with Spencer it was harder. Not bad - never bad, but she worried, sometimes. Sometimes, they seemed so connected, and it was easy; he was family, he was her friend, she couldn't doubt it, but other times... one of the ways Spencer had dealt with everything that's happened to him was by withdrawing. She does the same thing, in the same way, and it makes it difficult. It makes it so difficult when there's this gulf between them of their own making, and she doesn't know how to bridge it.
So the hoodie helps, and it's why she goes out of her way to do things like this, like the soup and when she makes him pastry, and when she makes him anything, really. To bridge that gap, the only way she knows how. Because he matters to her, he matters so much to her. She'd thought he was dead on that island, that he'd died in the explosion, and it felt like there was a hole in her chest where her heart had been. When she broke that glass, the look on his face--
Bridging that gap is something she's got to do. She's got to try, and she thinks, if you get down to the nuts and bolts, that that's why he'd gotten her the hoodie, too. To help bridge that gap that just happens because of who they are. "It's good timing, because it's cold at night." She slurps her soup, and then her brows rise when he says he bought them. "Well, I think that's a really good thing - that you like them, because if you bought them and they weren't good you'd be stuck with them." She shrugs a shoulder. "Could I maybe borrow the first one?" She's still catching up on reading in general, but she'll pause reading Anne of Avonlea if the author actually lives in town.
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If she really admits it - like, really really, which she hasn't said aloud, she's actually terrified about this whole opening a bakery thing. About running a business, about opening an actual store that there's a legitimate worry that people just won't come, or that they'll keep going to the Seaside just because of habit. So she's perfecting; she's been doing it since they got back, going out of her way to make new recipes. It was Napoleans, briefly, because of Coop's birthday. She must have made 30 different kinds and batches, making notes and testing and asking random stranger's opinions, not so much because she wanted them to be good for that one event (although she did, obviously), but now she feels like she's got a handle on them, that they're excellent, and that she can make them somewhat easily, and know that she doesn't need to tweak the recipe every time.
Now it's croissants - flavored croissants, and her arms actually ache from the sheer amount of dough she's been rolling, but she's going to get them right so that they, too, can be a staple.
She smiles some when he talks about the hoodie; she'd loved the first one, the one that had a slight singe mark on the sleeve, that she'd worn nearly every single day since he gave it to her, but it's replacement-- she needed it. She needed it because where with Joel it was oddly easy to know where she stood, to be around him.... with Spencer it was harder. Not bad - never bad, but she worried, sometimes. Sometimes, they seemed so connected, and it was easy; he was family, he was her friend, she couldn't doubt it, but other times... one of the ways Spencer had dealt with everything that's happened to him was by withdrawing. She does the same thing, in the same way, and it makes it difficult. It makes it so difficult when there's this gulf between them of their own making, and she doesn't know how to bridge it.
So the hoodie helps, and it's why she goes out of her way to do things like this, like the soup and when she makes him pastry, and when she makes him anything, really. To bridge that gap, the only way she knows how. Because he matters to her, he matters so much to her. She'd thought he was dead on that island, that he'd died in the explosion, and it felt like there was a hole in her chest where her heart had been. When she broke that glass, the look on his face--
Bridging that gap is something she's got to do. She's got to try, and she thinks, if you get down to the nuts and bolts, that that's why he'd gotten her the hoodie, too. To help bridge that gap that just happens because of who they are. "It's good timing, because it's cold at night." She slurps her soup, and then her brows rise when he says he bought them. "Well, I think that's a really good thing - that you like them, because if you bought them and they weren't good you'd be stuck with them." She shrugs a shoulder. "Could I maybe borrow the first one?" She's still catching up on reading in general, but she'll pause reading Anne of Avonlea if the author actually lives in town.