“I need a cake,” Giselle continued.
“I have three paid orders to finish,” I said. “And the ingredients for Patrice’s cake would come out of my pocket.”
“Patrice is a dear friend of mine. It’s just a simple lemon cake. Nothing fancy. I’d make it myself, but between watching Mina and my own commitments, I won’t have time.”
Mina held up her coat, and I stepped away to hang it on its hook.
“I’d make it myself,” Giselle added.
I had left my job after Mina was born. Baking had started as a way to earn a little money, but people began recommending me to strangers. I still had the first thank-you card a customer had sent, tucked behind my recipe books.
Three mornings a week, Giselle took Mina out while I baked. Without her help, those paid cakes would have to wait until bedtime.
When I turned back to the counter, Giselle was waiting for an answer.
I could keep saying no, but on Thursday morning, I would still be handing her Mina’s backpack and thanking her for coming.
“All right,” I said. “Lemon for Sunday.”
