Georgia Boys

07. in which quincy emulates a merman

I spend the next few days wracking my mind for pastry ideas. The content for the best baked good is still coming up, and I'd rather have an idea of what I'm going to bake this year sooner rather than later.

Unfortunately, I'm at a loss for ideas. It feels as though everything's been done. Despite the fact that I can conjure up dozens of substitutes for milk, eggs or flour— I can't think of something completely new, something revolutionary that will sweep the judges off their feet.

My parents have been drifting into and out of the bakery. When they're not going to the mill or driving the truck several miles for the best ingredients—they are travelling from state to state to convince some gracious businessman to extend our business. For decades, the Barnes' Bakery has been solely this bakery. 

My parents want a future where it is multiple bakeries spread throughout the South, at least, and then perhaps the North, when we secure more business deals. However, expanding means money and persuasion tactics— two things that can pose difficult to find and use effectively.

I've been cooped up in the bakery for the past couple of days or so, holding down the fort as my parents travel to expand said fort. Still, no matter how hard I stare at the pastel walls or experiment with a new recipe, I'm unable to come with something nouveau or avant garde. 

And of course, while I am going through several stages of grief attempting to figure out what to bake for a contest that will most likely go to the Dentons— Quincy Denton himself comes striding into the bakery like he owns the place.

I flip through the vintage recipe book I'd been exploring before, pointedly choosing to pretend Quincy doesn't exist and hoping he gets the point and dashes, as though he's ever done that before. 

Over my book, I can see Quincy's grinning face as he settles onto the front stool. I set the book down, lips drawn into a line. "Now what do you want?"

"Ah, nothing," Quincy says, eyes scanning the bakery and the kitchen which is filled with bowls of unfinished recipes. Luckily, none are contaminated or anything like that, so I'll end up refrigerating them before using the batter for cupcakes or something of the like. Quincy bites on his thumb. "You coming up with a recipe for the contest?"

"Yup," I say, covering the unused bowls of batter and placing them in the fridge. 

"You seem frustrated with it," Quincy observes, very intelligently as though he hasn't pointed out the obvious. 

"Mhm," I wipe flour remnants on my apron. "What gave you the hint?"

"You're being more of a jackass than usual," Quincy grins, propping his head on his palm.

I hum. "Personally, I think I'm being just as much of a jackass as I am on a typical day."

Quincy scrunches his nose, considering this. "Perhaps. You are a pretty big jackass."

I glare daggers at him but he doesn't seem to notice. 

"Want to do something else?" He asks, and I just know that boy is swinging his legs underneath the counter.

"I'm busy," I reply.

"Well, you're not gonna accomplish anything more than you have within the past several hours (or days, knowing you), so you may as well take a breather."

There's an innate need for me to clap back at him with some smartass response, but he happens to be right, so I just give him a deadpan expression. 

"Come on," he reaches for me, and I make the stupid mistake of letting him slip his hands into mine. "I'm gonna explore the wild today, and you're going to come with me."