Basic Neighbors

Chapter 8

My pen's rhythmic tap against the scarred wooden surface of my kitchen table was the only sound competing with the distant cacophony of New York City life filtering through the open window. Papers, a sea of contracts and orders, were spread before me like a testament to how much 'Jade's Jams' had grown from a simple pastime to a burgeoning business. I leaned back in my chair, hazel eyes skimming over the figures, the corners of my mouth lifting ever so slightly. Who would've thought?

"Okay, Jade," I muttered to myself, breaking the silence as I snatched up a notepad, scribbling down the day's to-do list. The oven was going to be working overtime today. L'endroit's order alone could have me baking till midnight. My hand paused mid-scratch when the realization hit me—I was supposed to set up at the Farmers' Market today.

"Shoot." The word escaped in a breathy whisper, the weight of double-booked commitments pressing on my shoulders. I couldn't be two places at once, no matter how carefree and resilient I'd become since swapping corporate chains for flour-dusted aprons.

With a soft exhale that carried more hope than certainty, I grabbed my cell from the clutter and dialed Anna. "Hey, it's Jade. Wild question for you—do you know anyone who could man my booth at the Farmers' Market today? I'm up to my elbows in orders here."

Anna's voice chimed through, always ready to catch me when I was spiraling into overcommitment. "No sweat, I've got your back."

My heartbeat slowed its frantic pace. Friends like her were rarer than a quiet moment in this city. And just like that, one problem solved. Now, onto the next.

"Deal!" Anna's voice bubbled with enthusiasm over the line, her offer punctuated by the distant laughter of someone I assumed was Dove. "But we're negotiating for a lifetime supply of that heavenly apple butter and those flaky biscuits of yours. You know, the ones that melt in your mouth?"

I couldn't help the laugh that tumbled out, a mixture of relief and affection swirling inside me. "You drive a hard bargain, but it's a small price to pay for superheroes like you two." I shook my head, still grinning at the phone as if she could see me.

"Superheroes fueled by apple butter—got it. Don't worry, your booth is in good hands," Anna quipped before ending the call.

The dial tone left a silence that buzzed in my ears, a stark contrast to the warmth of friendship that had just filled the space. What a great friend, I thought, the corners of my mouth lifting into a smile that reached all the way to my hazel eyes. It was comforting, this network of strong women holding each other up amidst the chaos of New York City life.

Turning back to the task at hand, I rolled up my sleeves and dove into the rhythm of baking. The kitchen became a blur of motion—the rhythmic kneading of dough, the sizzle of butter in pans, the sweet scent of apple filling the air. Yet, even as my hands moved with practiced ease, my mind wandered, snagging on the thread of curiosity Alton had left dangling in our last conversation.

What did he want to ask me?

I sifted flour through my fingers, watching it drift down like snow in a globe, contemplating Alton's mysterious message. Was it something trivial, or a twist in the plot of my everyday life? His blue eyes seemed to linger in my mind, always hinting at more than what was said out loud.

"Focus, Jade," I whispered to myself, trying to realign with the here and now. The clank of pots and pans anchored me back to reality—a symphony of culinary endeavors that drowned out the hum of the city below.

But Alton's question, whatever it was, hovered at the edge of my consciousness—a melody that wouldn't fade into the background no matter how much I immersed myself in the world of pastries and apple butter.