A/N: It's an early update for Bakers! This week, I have for you guys an extra moment on 'Not Good for the Heart' on Inkitt, a book where I upload past/additional moments between Xander and Chip that I didn't get to write here on Wattpad due to storyline/narrative issues I didn't want to mess up. This time, it's about the newlyweds' deciding which side they are going to sleep on when they first share a bed. Hope you enjoy it!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
[Rachel]
Taking a seat, I looked around the room. There was a podium shifted to the side of the room all the way at the front, most likely prepared in the occasion of official presentations. The room was unusually cold and I'd meant to adjust the temperature of the air-conditioning, searching for a remote of sorts at the podium when I came across a folder placed beside the conference mic.
I was about to leave it alone and look elsewhere for the remote when I noticed the small gold letters embossed on the corner of the folder.
A. Dempsey
Knowing the owner wouldn't have made much of a difference to the importance of the folder on ordinary circumstances; merely leaving it alone or returning it to its owner would have closed the case but this... this belonged to that lying critic.
Immediately, I had it in my arms and was flipping it open—scanning the contents only after checking the door twice and listening for distant footsteps. I soon began to understand that the folder in my arms and the very document before my eyes had been the one sent by Dempsey: a profiling of Chip Honeycutt's bakery, complete with past records and taste analyses done up by the critic himself and further research on sales in the form of graphs categorized by each product type.
Heavens. Just how far was this man willing to go in order to ruin my reputation? None of this, I was having. For this to appear before my eyes and for me to have come across it, amongst all people, to be here at this very minute, very second... it must be a sign. Should it be His will, by presenting me with the chance or the opportunity to prevent the lies from escaping? Was this my duty to fulfill, my role to be?
Identifying the one receiving the punishment was difficult. Alfred Dempsey or Chip Honeycutt—both have sinned in different ways, but did He not already pay for our sins on the cross? Was He, perhaps, angered that they had not changed their ways? And should this all, indeed, be a test then have I, already, failed?
I set the folder down, re-arranging it so that it appeared untouched. The act of removing key analyses and graphs crossed my mind but stealing was not the answer. The most I could do was tamper with what there was but how to, without a way to print the—
Footsteps.
In a frenzy, I ducked under the podium and struggled to fit into the hollow space below the counter, remaining as quiet as possible when I heard the handle of the door click. Followed by slow, careful steps that gained, increasing in proximity. Shuffling of feet, turning of chairs; crinkling of the wrapping paper I'd used on the box of chocolates and a light, shallow breathing. Tucking the folds of my dress between my legs, I held my breath.
The footsteps roamed across the conference room before stopping directly behind me—where the font of the podium stood and where my view was completely blocked. There was a shuffling of papers as the intruder, he or she, paused and a moment of silence, a faint sound of something long and flat being placed on the counter of the podium just above where I was hiding. Within another minute's wait, the footsteps had faded and the door opened once more before creaking and clicking shut.
I'd waited for my heart to calm its erratic beat before carefully emerging from my hiding spot, checking for any sign of movement. My gaze went first to the folder on the podium. Oh thank goodness. It was there.
Given the opportunity to read the analyses sent by Dempsey at this point in time, between the second and final segment of the annual prize, was not so much a mere coincidence. I reached for the folder once more, turning to the page I'd recalled with picture samples of the bakery's newest creations and processes, including possible recipes and... and it's gone.
The page I recalled seeing was no longer in the folder. I'd flipped it over twice and was doing so the third time, wondering if my eyes had been playing tricks on me when the analytical graphs started looking strangely different from the first time I'd seen it and the sale numbers, all of a sudden, less shocking than before. Even the featured products seemed to have different descriptions and the research tab, oddly thin.
Again, I checked the front of the file and there it was. His name embossed on the corner in small gold letters; so it was his folder and at the same time, it wasn't. I'd convinced myself it was the thrill of a first read that I'd experienced minutes ago that soon died down and after the second, third read—an increasing insensitivity towards the lying words of praise Dempsey had for Chip Honeycutt. I had been anxious for quite likely no reason at all.
Pulling out a swivel chair before the box of chocolates, I sat myself down to breathe while trying to recall the contents of the interesting page I remembered seeing before... before someone... it was them.
They swapped the contents of the folder. The prospect of Chip Honeycutt having more foes than friends seemed so unlikely that I was inclined to believe myself wrong for assuming that there were others out to bring him down. Perhaps it really is part of the punishment he was bound to receive; or perhaps a form of His disappointment. To think my thoughts of altering the contents of the folder were answered, and almost at once!
I didn't even have to lift a finger.
Put to ease, I sighed in relief and leaned against the backrest of the chair, waiting for Mr. Yamazaki to arrive. Another ten to fifteen minutes here and should he not appear, I suppose going directly to his room may be the next option. Afterwards, perhaps a walk down the street or a visit to my franchise in the next avenue nearby. And of course, giving Trudy a blow-by-blow account of what I'd witnessed.
I drummed my fingers on the table, eased and yet, slightly overwhelmed by an odd stirring in my chest that felt so foreign and unusual. It was unlike myself to harp on something that had been constant throughout my life—the fact that for the past few days, I hadn't had to do a thing to receive the man blessings I have been accepting. Which had been the case for the past twenty-two years of my life!
Praying does miracles; that much, I knew. Yet, with the consequences of my blessings remaining out of sight and only the benefits within my field of vision, I had, admittedly, never witnessed, first hand, the cost of my success: someone else's happiness.
And should this be the outcome of it all, would anyone be willing to pray for their own joy, knowing that it would be at the cost of someone else, somewhere in the universe?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
[Chip]
I thanked the cashier in a hurry and nyoomed out of the convenience store as fast as I could, praying that my ears weren't red and that the people in the queue hadn't seen the stuff I'd bought at Xander's request and almost bumping into a stranger from being so unwittingly clumsy.
Here I was, spending a portion of my afternoon wandering the nearby streets of our accommodation, running errands for my husband and his sister who's finally had her fill of homemade cake. The ube chiffon had turned out quite to her liking as much as it was her brother's, especially since the cake itself was a pretty purple colour. She'd insisted on having some milk soon after and 'something salty', which I assumed were cup ramen at once since Giselle was already craving cup ramen like her brother. Naturally, I was the volunteer errand boy while Xander was to stay with his sister upon her insistence on continuing their argument over who gets to spend time with me over the weekend. The things they argue about ;-;
Either way, I'd managed to find a neat convenience store tucked away in the corner of down the street and ticked off the list of items I'd typed out on my phone. They included a milk box, three cups of pudding, one ice lolly, two cup ramen, one bag of chips and and a-and some embarrassing things that I could not look the cashier in the eye during payment and shall therefore proceed to self-censor and term 'strawberries.'
Strawberries and snacks purchased, I decided to take the longer route back on the lookout for hidden diner gems around the corner just in case Xander and Giselle would like to have a break from hotel food. Oh but don't get me wrong; it's expensive and luxurious food they serve. Still, it's been three days since either of us had our cravings of fish and chips answered so I figured that searching for a food truck that sold them or a decent fish and chip place nearby was the thing to do.
Crossing the road and taking a left, I came across a sign of the main station supposedly '80 meters' away, down east of the avenue. The name was surprisingly familiar, since I'd only ever visited this part of the state thrice—or a little more than that, discounting the embarrassing time I rushed to catch the train that Xander was supposed to be on because I, a strawberry, didn't like the thought of him leaving my side.
Oh. Ohh... so that's why the name of the station felt familiar. I squinted down east of the avenue and tried to spot the iconic architecture of the station that I could definitely recall, along with memories of Xander producing the tiny box from the back of his pocket in the middle of the platform with many many people and then getting on his knees before akjdodlakdwuwuphgirj. o///o
Knowing that my face was probably red from recalling our happiest moments—still happy, nevertheless, hehe—I shook myself out of the dreamy, stock-still state I was in and headed towards the station to snap a picture, just so that I could send it to my husband for a tease. Conveniently, it had been in the direction I was intending to take as well, so. I decided it was worth the trip.
Standing before the entrance to the station and facing it, I stretched my hand (the one wearing the ring) out in front of my phone camera and snapped a picture, ensuring that the background could be made out clearly. Uwa, Chip. Chided me to me. You're acting like a giggly high school teen gushing over anniversaries and first dates. Aren't you too old for this?
Having sent the picture to Xander, I looked up from my phone to give the entrance a final appreciative sweep but was pleasantly surprised by a little wave coming from the right corner of the entrance where the pillar stood. The wave appeared to be coming from a tiny boy in glasses and suspenders, his tiny-ness further emphasized by the distance between him and I. Instantly, I recognised him as Vanilla, accompanied by his uncle to his right. And me, a pebble, had unconsciously taken a photo with them in the background... ah, I must have looked so silly ;-;
Vanilla held onto Mr. Dempsey's hand as he waved, careful not to disturb his uncle who appeared to be taking a very important call. Fortunately, the latter had yet to notice my presence or he'd be distracted from his conversation over the phone (and possibly chide me later on should I continue to interact with his nephew).
Yet, I didn't have the heart to ignore a waving Vanilla on his tippy-toes, doing his best to catch my attention which wasn't that hard anyway since I my point of vantage was never one to miss smaller people—unlike Xander's. Quietly, I made my way over to his side, waving.
"... my thanks. The references are arranged by alphabetical order and the analyses have been sourced by product and year. Yes. Well, I'm about to board the train. Yes, I—what?" I could hear Mr. Dempsey speaking to the person on the other side of the phone, catching a glimpse of him chewing on his lower lip as he did.
"Hi Vanilla!" I whispered, leaning down to ruffle his soft and fluffy hair. "I see you got a new pair of glasses."
"Yes, I did!" He whispered back, still holding on to his uncle's hand. "Uncle Al got them for me just yesterday at a luxurious store in the next avenue. There aren't any back home. Not that I know of, at least. But I haven't quite gotten used to the lenses," he said sheepishly, pushing the round, half-frames up his tiny nose. "I might be reading a little too much."
I wagged a finger. "You must have been reading in the dark, then. That's not good at all—you've got to have a good reading light when you're looking at those long, chunky paragraphs of words you like to read." Vanilla folded his arms and looked away, seemingly pouty. Behind him, his uncle's voice increased in urgency, rattling on about terms I didn't quite understand.
Meanwhile, Vanilla had let go of Mr. Dempsey's hand and the latter was beginning to notice that the little boy was distracted. Yet, because of the urgent matters over the phone, he didn't quite seem to register that his nephew was talking to someone else. Miss Julie will be hearing about this, Uncle Al. It's why you were able to leave Vanilla in the grocery store for a full hour before coming back to look for him, you know.
"I! I don't recall reading in the dark..." Vanilla bean was saying until all of a sudden, his tummy released a feeble growl, announcing its presence. The boy paused for a second before attempting to cover his midriff with his hands, as though that would stop the sound from escaping. "Um."
Laughing, I rummaged through my tote bag to produce the custard pudding meant for myself. "Bet you're a little hungry from standing here listening to your uncle talk on the phone."
He nodded, staring at the pudding. "We've been standing here for close to half an hour now. Uncle Al said he'd overestimated our travelling time and then he had to answer a phone call from mister... um... mister yummy-sushi... I think. I'm not supposed to know—he doesn't like it when I eavesdrop."
I presented the pudding to him once more, waiting for him to take it. He must be referring to Mr. Yamazaki. I didn't know Mr. Dempsey had business to do over here, I mean, well he must be on the lookout for job applications right now, except Mr. Yamazaki should be occupied with the current event under the Baker Times... which Mr. Dempsey is no longer working for...? Ah! Confusion.
"Go on, take it!" I encouraged, wondering why Vanilla was so hesitant in accepting the yummy custard pudding that I loved. He glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Dempsey, who appeared to be frowning intensely at something being said over the phone.
Vanilla shook his head. "Thank you Mr. Chocolate Chip, but Uncle Al one said that puddings are practically pure sugar. More than ten tablespoons of sugar."
"O-oh," I paused. "Well, um. He isn't exactly wrong about that, but." Would you look at that, Chip. You're an unhealthy pebble of destruction, going about destroying the health of kids. "Alright then."
"But!" He continued to stare at the pudding. "I've always wanted to try it." Again, he glanced over his shoulder and this time, following his gaze, I met his uncle's. Mr. Dempsey was staring at us with his mouth in the shape of an 'o'. It was kinda funny, hehe. Except the fact that he'd caught us red-handed in the act: the transaction of illegal pudding.
"My apologies. I'll be sure to phone you as soon as we board the train. Yes. Yes, I understand. Thank you and yes. Goodbye." Mr. Dempsey turned to us both, two guilty pebbles. "What is going on here? Since when have you arrived? How much have you heard? And Vanille! What is that in your hand? I don't recall ever giving you that."
"Hi Mr. Dempsey," I greeted sheepishly. "I was here since five minutes ago and Vanilla's tummy was calling for help so, um, I offered him my pudding. It's my fault." His nephew was looking between him and myself, a worried look in his eyes. "Oh, and I hadn't heard very much of your conversation over the phone. If that was what you were referring to. Are you headed to the headquarters?"
"Yes I am, in fact," he sighed, glancing at his watch. "The train's much faster than the bus, at the very least. And you? What are you doing at the station? And—wait a minute. What headquarters?" Mr. Dempsey paused, clearing his throat. "I've been fired!"
I laughed. "Weell, I heard you were speaking to Mr. Yamazaki over the phone, so. I assumed it had something to do with the Times. I was on the way back from the convenience store, getting stuff for my family, when I, um, spotted Vanilla on the way back," I lied, missing out the part about me gushing over being proposed to at this exact location. "You don't look too well. Is everything...?"
Vanilla's uncle sighed, lowering his gaze to his nephew who had hands behind his back, hiding the custard pudding that he'd received. The tiny plastic spoon meant for the dessert, however, peeked out of his breast pocket.
"I can't seem to say for sure, Chip. Perhaps that question would be better applied to yourself."
"I'm doing pretty well at the bake-share, if that's what you're referring to," I recalled the experience from over the past couple of days. "It was very well-planned—which I'm sure you'd be happy to hear, since you were part of the organizing committee as well before, well. Before the bad stuff happened. I'm learning a lot from everyone. And having fun with my husband as well, since, haha, it reminds us of the time we were in high school."
Mr. Dempsey appeared increasingly surprised by my words, eyes wide and unblinking. Vanilla had to tug on his sleeve to activate his talk button.
"Oh! Oh, I. I wasn't aware that you didn't... no one hasn't... I'm sure you've heard, at the very least, rumours about—"
"Um, the event being unusually competitive and everyone actually knowing the theme for the next segment beforehand?" I finished with a nervous laugh. "I sort of got the gist of it from Shin. Um, Mr. Yamazaki's son who's also my student at school and my part-timer but that's also another story, hehe."
Vanilla's uncle remained stunned into an awkward silence, filled with train departure announcements echoing throughout the station and shuffling of feet in and out of the station. I waited for him to speak.
"You... are... not wrong," he began slowly. Beside him, Vanilla gasped. "It is as what you say. As far as anyone is concerned, the event is far from an ordinary, goody-two-shoed recipe learning and sharing positive experience that it was marketed as. It is not. It is... it is the shareholders' way of forming necessary alliances. For marketing purposes, you see... it's complicated but all you need to know is that they are using this as a guise to decide the winner of the annual prize—the baker of the year. I'm sure you are aware of the award's prestige."
I nodded slowly, not expecting to hear more than what I'd said earlier. Did everyone know this already?
"That's not all," Mr. Dempsey went on, taking the custard pudding from Vanilla's hands—the latter had jumped in surprise—and peeling off the foil on top before handing it back to him. "The top few nominations for the prize have already been narrowed down, ahead of the competition itself. This year's selection is particularly disturbing and... well you could say I'm just glad that I'm no longer part of the company. It would be a disgrace to write for a magazine so awful about the truth."
I listened to him rattle on, feeling my heart sink as he did and wondering if I had, once again, been the only one left in the dark for the longest time. Xander was right about the world being a cruel place; and it wasn't as though I hadn't known this at all. Watching Vanilla attempt his first spoonful of pudding, I caught myself reconsidering the importance of social validation in a dark, dark place.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Feeling down, I decided the only that could lift my spirits now was a good meal of (unhealthy) fish and chips. After bidding Vanilla and Mr. Dempsey goodbye while they were boarding the train at the station, I headed back on track, searching for the fish and chip food truck that was famously parked around the corner. Or at least that was what I'd gathered from Google.
Fortunately, the truck didn't take me very long to spot since the awful queue could be seen snaking past the corner and down the side of the building. Around the truck were makeshift tables and chairs; some plastic and foldable, others, cardboard boxes and stools. Yet, those lining up for portions of fish and chips didn't seem to mind one bit, pleasantly distracted by the piping hot haddock, perfectly crisp on the outside and soft and tender on the o-oh my tummy just rumbled.
Joining the queue and checking my phone, I saw that I'd missed a reply from mortal husband to the picture I'd sent nearly half an hour ago. It didn't quite matter either way, since he'd picked up the habit of using emojis to form his text replies ever since he saw Giselle doing it and me loving it when she does. His reply was literally a string of ring emojis (*ring* *ring* *ring*) followed by eggplants (*eggplant* *eggplant*) and strawberries. Which were very confusing.
I was about to follow up with a string of upside-down smiley faces when Xander surprised me with another text. Somehow, thirty-minutes later, knowing that I was reading this; at it with his mind-reading skills and also, pebble-softening skills ;-;
Love you.
Ah! This... this evil eggplant. How dare he soften my pebble strength! Shaking my head, I looked up to see if the queue had moved an inch only to spot a familiar back a couple of customers down the front of the queue. The lady with neatly-kept hair looked a little like Miss Rachel from where I was standing.
She had her held beside her ear, talking into it with a relaxed smile that surprised me immensely. I mean, if that really were Miss Rachel, she is human after all. She must have a family that she cares about or at least someone in the world she trusts or likes. The lady turned, allowing me to catch a glimpse of her side profile and prove myself correct.
I didn't expect that. I mean, well um. Rachel's human too, so of course she gets hungry and has to eat as well but I guess I wasn't expecting her to like anything apart from fancy food. Commoners like myself on the other hand...
With fish and chips being my family's main go-to snack apart from cup ramen (oh no we're so unhealthy), I wasn't new to the way things tended to be with food trucks and takeaways—fast and snippy. Anxiety-inducing ordering speeds and loud voices in general ;-;
"That'll be four-fifty," I heard the big-bellied man call out from behind the cash register, smiling at Miss Rachel who was still on the phone. She nodded and began dropping out coins from her purse, pushing them across the counter towards the man. "Short two dollars, Miss."
She seemed to forget she was in the middle of a call right then, rummaging through her purse once more before saying something about cards which I couldn't quite hear. The people behind her were starting to crane their necks and stretch sideways.
"Nope, no cards Miss."
Oh someone—anyone! Please spare her two dollars. Please please please. Don't make me do it ;-; She'll just hate me even more. Lo and behold, not a single kind soul existed in the rest of queue that was really a literal snnnnake. Was it so hard to fork out two dollars from your pocket to help someone out of an embarrassing situation? Maybe Xander was right about 'people like me' being impossible to exist. Maybe I am a spirit that only shows itself to him and Giselle. Oh no.
Sighing, I slipped out of the line and made my way to the front of the queue.
________________________
A/N: hello to the people who read my A/Ns at the end of chapters! So... Cuppie hasn't been in the pink of her health lately. Two days ago, I didn't know I was hyperventilating for no reason at all (because it's never happened to me, well) and my whole body started freezing up like I couldn't move at all because everything was so numb. Even my face. My hands started cramping up and they looked so frightening! I was kind of like that for two hours, trying to breathe because I was the only one at home and my heart was so weak and I had no idea why it was beating so fast. It was really scary.
But yeah I was almost whizzed off to the hospital but a nice doctor hepled me out instead when I was taken to the nearest family doctor. It took more than five hours for the numbness to go away.
Till now, my heart continues to beat really fast for no reason at all; like, even as I'm typing this. The doctor says it's inda related to anxiety but medication for that is illegal in my country because people abuse it for other purposes (recreational). So here I am, stuck with a weak heart (haha who knows, maybe it's all because of writing about Xander and Chip HAHAHA) beating abnormally fast 100 % of the time... unable to clam down...
But I figured I've got to get better. I mean, it's definitely not my time to go. It's also not like I'm the kind of person who would go down without a fight too hehe. I'll be looking out for myself! So that you guys would have an end to this story as well.
After all, no one likes unfinished stories.