Someday, she would tell him that she made them and thought of him when she did. The jingling of the bell announced his departure. She’d missed his good-bye in her daydream.
“I have to have one of those cheese biscuits or I’m going to fade away . . .” Soren, another apprentice baker, declared with a wave of his sudsy hand. “Oh, please, Baker Mariah . . .”
Mariah hmphed at him as she bustled into the back. “You should be so lucky to get the same reaction.” Pointing a finger at Inga, the youngest and newest apprentice, she asked, “Why does Herald Arden come back week after week for his cheese biscuits?”
Inga froze in her restocking of shelves. She glanced at Tressa, eyes wide. “Uh, because he likes them . . . or who makes them?”
Tressa felt her cheeks burn at the faint praise.
“No.” Mariah’s voice was flat and hard. “We aren’t the only bakery near the palace with good cheese biscuits. There are prettier bakers than lovely Tressa here.” The baker turned her keen gaze on Tressa. “Why does the Herald return here week after week?”
Tressa knew what Mariah wanted . . . the lesson that was kneaded into them every day of every week of every month of their apprenticeship. “Because I make them with the same quality ingredients, the same attention to detail, and the same care to my work every single day. I have integrity as a baker and a person. It shows in my baked goods.”
“Exactly. Quality, care, honesty, and attention to detail. We work to the best standard every single day because that is what our product and our customers deserve—whether they be royalty, Heralds, or common folk. Each one gets the same baking. . . . And why?” This time she pointed at Soren.
He answered by rote but kept his voice light. Mocking the lesson would have dire consequences. “Because it’s our baking reputation that counts. We do our best in everything we do. Not just baking. Cleaning, too. Our skill. Our quality. Our goods. All of it can be trusted.”
Tressa mouthed “Our skill. Our quality. Our goods.” as Soren spoke them.
“Exactly. We bake to the best of our ability because that is our job. We stand on the honor of our character. We don’t skimp on the ingredients. We don’t slack on the work. We don’t say “Good enough.” We do our best every single day. We are the best we can be because that is our job. Our customers trust us, and because of that, they trust what we bake.” Mariah eyed Inga. “That is why Herald Arden comes to Rise & Shine for his cheese biscuits.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tressa felt Mariah loom over her shoulder and eye the dough balls she was putting on the tray to proof.
The older woman nodded with a soft grunt of approval. “Soon you’ll match me. But not yet, girl. Not yet. I still have a few tricks to teach you.”
There was no need to answer her boss, even though Tressa felt the swell of pride that came with Mariah’s rare compliments. Still, one of these days, she was going to tell that handsome Herald who really did the baking he enjoyed so often.
* * *
* * *
“I need you to close down the shop today and do the final clean,” Mariah said without preamble. “Inga got called home. Her mam is sick. You and Soren will pick up her duties.”
Tressa wrinkled her nose at the thought as she wiped down the wooden counter she’d been working on. Closing down the shop was a good couple of hours of cleaning. It was a top down clean . . . starting with the baking racks and ending with the floor and trash.
“None of that, now . . .” Mariah said with a kind smile. “A shop like this could all be yours someday. Will be. But until you make enough of a reputation to have apprentices of your own, you’ll be doing all your own cleaning—opening and closing. Long hours. Also, it’s a good reminder of where you’ve come from. Especially after this morning.”
Tressa glanced up, saw the twinkle in the older woman’s eyes, and scowled. She felt the heat of her flush in her cheeks. “I won’t let his compliments go to my head. I make every biscuit the same.”
Mariah cawed laughter. “Yeah, like every biscuit will be eaten by him!” She sobered. “But that’s the trick of it. Never forget this lesson.”
Tressa tilted her head, not quite understanding.
“You make every single biscuit as if that handsome Herald will eat it. At the time, it doesn’t matter to you if he does or not. It’s the potential that drives you to do your best. It’s how you should bake everything here. As if that one particular man is your sole customer. If you continue to bake everything as if it will be eaten by someone you love—” she glanced at Tressa’s cheeks, “—or at least admire . . . keep that integrity in everything you do, and you will never go wrong.”
Tressa blinked at the realization. It was so simple, so obvious—and yet it had taken too many years to suddenly realize what had been right before her face. Her eyes wide, she nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Now, clean up. Soren will take the extra to the Temple after you take what you want.” The baker tossed her apron to the counter and walked out.
Tressa glanced at the leftovers and chose two things: a pasty and a cheese biscuit—just like what Herald Arden chose—and put them aside. She was glad Mariah had already left. She didn’t think she could handle anymore teasing today. Especially since it was true.
One thing about this apprenticeship, though, she hadn’t gone hungry since she’d started it. For that, she was grateful. She lived in a tiny room in a boarding house with an indifferent landlady. After her parents died, she’d made do with whatever she could to keep her alive. It was pure luck that Mariah had seen her eyeing the stale bread meant for the slop before she’d succumbed to her stomach’s rumblings. She’d given Tressa a fresh meat pie, then directed her to the Temple.
The next week, Tressa had returned to the shop and begged for work. She didn’t think the baker would give it to her, and the best she could hope for was a fresh biscuit. But she’d been wrong. Mariah had offered something more: the apprenticeship. With that, Tressa’s life had changed for the better.
Mariah was the first person in a long time who cared who she was, what she did, and how she did it. It made Tressa work that much harder when she remembered what her life had once been like.
With a sigh, she got to work. As always, she started with putting the excess bread, pastries, and other baked goods in the basket for Soren to take when he finished his chores. It had taken her a full year of apprenticeship to realize that Mariah knew almost exactly what she sold each day and made enough to donate to the local church each night to help feed the poor. They’d never talked about it, but Tressa figured it was one way Mariah gave back to the community that served her well.