My Man Series #1- My Policeman

Chapter 4

The next morning, I woke up with extra pep in my step. Normally, I am not much of a morning person, usually it takes me a good thirty minutes to fully wake up. But today I have to get a shit tone done.

I have to go for my job interview. I sent a brief prayer up to the lord last night that I would nail this interview. Settling in a new town is already stressful enough, but settling in a new town without a job would be even worse.

I absolutely have to nail this interview.

Find a cell phone store and start up a fresh plan and get my different phone number. Not that I actually have anyone around here to talk to, but having a cell for emergencies at least is a good thing. I'm hoping to make some friends soon.

Stock up my fridge and kitchen cabinets with a run to the nearest grocery store. I am a decent cook, but I'm a freaking outstanding baker, not to brag about myself.

When I was little, I used to bake with my grandmother all the time. She taught me all of her little baking secrets and shared some of her carefully guarded secret recipes with me as well.

All of my old friends back home used to practically beg for me to hand over those tight guarded techniques of my grandmother's, but I never cracked.

And I'm glad I didn't.

I would not be okay with all of my now ex friends using my family recipes to create their little gatherings. I'm not bragging about myself, but I will, of course, brag about my grandmother. She knew exactly what to put into her recipes to prepare them unbelievably delicious.

She told me that anyone can bake if they tried and got in the practice, but she also expressed baking without loving to bake would just make them taste all the same. Furthermore, she declared if I put passion into my baking, that those I was feeding would cherish what I created even more.

Sounds silly, I know, but I would never tell her that.

She passed away years ago when I was thirteen, and I miss her every time I step foot into a kitchen to bake. I remember her, the little things she used to teach me and reprimanded me on.

She told me if I put just a a slight dab of mayo into the baking batter that it would make my cakes and cupcakes extra moist.

Mayo added moisture.

Who knew? My grandmother, apparently.

I did not believe her at first, no I didn't tell that to her face, but inside my head I was laughing, thinking she was just joking, but the look on her face suggested she was nothing but serious.

Later that night, after everyone in the house was asleep, I snuck into the kitchen and did just as she suggested. I had mixed my eggs and cake batter together to make a plain chocolate cake, and I added just a “dab” of mayo. It worked. I had made that chocolate cake recipe many times, and it never tasted that fluffy.

After that, every time I baked I used mayo.

I have not stepped foot in side a kitchen and baked in weeks. Those months before I moved to a new town had been rough on me. I was basically stewing in my misery. Everywhere I went, people would know about my problems. About the betrayal of both my boyfriend and my best friend.