Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 26
‘It is, mostly,’ said Huckle. ‘Atlanta is. But Savannah they just kind of forgot about. It’s pretty quiet.’
‘Is it hot there?’
‘The summers are scorching.’
‘Like it’s meant to be, then,’ said Polly. ‘Here it’s just pretty much drizzle all the time.’
‘But when you do get a good day, you treasure it,’ said Huckle, in a way that indicated he wasn’t going to say any more. Then he smiled. ‘Okay, what do I do with this?’
The dough was well and truly pounded. Polly left it to rise in a bright spot protected from Neil, and they made coffee in her recently neglected coffee machine, and opened the windows to let the sunlight in.
‘You know, from the outside this place looks like it’s gonna kill you,’ observed Huckle, watching the dust motes play across the scrubbed wooden floorboards. ‘But from in here, it’s all right.’
‘I know!’ said Polly. ‘If I had any money, I’d do more. Buy curtains for starters,’ she said. ‘The lighthouse gets me every time, even through the back bedroom door. It’s like living in Close Encounters of the Third Kind.’
‘I never thought of that,’ said Huckle.
‘And I’d varnish the floorboards.’
Huckle looked doubtful. ‘I could probably do that for you,’ he said. ‘But I’m not sure the floor would hold the weight of the varnish. Have you seen the way it slopes?’
‘Seen it?’ said Polly. ‘I’m living it, thank you very much. It slopes on me every day. I keep nearly falling out of bed.’
He grinned, and Polly suddenly felt a bit strange about him thinking about her in bed. But he didn’t seem in the least bit flirtatious, just courteous (and a little bit hungry). There was no point thinking like that anyway, not least because, even though they had only exchanged a few cursory text messages, she didn’t feel she’d quite abandoned Chris. Still. She and Huckle were the only two strangers in town. It was natural they’d gravitate towards one another.
They got up to divide the dough.
‘This is hard,’ muttered Huckle, trying to stick the rings together.
‘Wait till we boil them,’ said Polly, putting the lid on the water pot this time and yelling at Neil every time he got too close.
The cooking, the tricky bit, was made even harder by the lack of proper utensils, and Polly burned herself slightly on the wrist trying to fish out a particularly recalcitrant bagel. Without thinking about it, Huckle took her wrist and ran it under the water way way longer than she would normally have bothered to.
‘You can’t let it deepen in,’ he said. ‘Even a little burn. You think they’ve stopped but they just go on and on. Hush.’
‘Do you ever get stung by your bees?’ Polly asked, curious.
‘Yeah, sure,’ he said nonchalantly.
‘Doesn’t it hurt?’
He smiled and tried to look unbothered. Then: ‘It sure does,’ he said. ‘It hurts like merry hell.’
‘You don’t get used to it?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Man, I have to be careful. They sting you enough, you get allergic to the venom and then they can kill you.’
‘A bee can kill you?’
‘Happens all the time,’ he said. He let her take her wrist out from under the tap, tutted at her for not having a first aid kit and showed her a yellow pen in his pocket.
‘It’s an EpiPen,’ he said. ‘In case anyone gets stung by a bee and has a bad reaction.’
‘What if it’s you?’ she said.
‘I know,’ said Huckle. ‘I’d have to jam it in myself. I think about that quite a lot.’
They both stared at the pen.
‘Don’t,’ said Huckle.
‘What?’ said Polly, a smile playing on her lips.
‘Don’t think you might stick it in for fun.’
‘I wasn’t thinking that.’
‘I bet you were.’
‘Maybe a little bit. Maybe just about holding you to ransom.’
‘You see an EpiPen and you want to commit a crime. That’s a worrying characteristic.’
They were smiling at one another as Polly put the bagels in the oven. Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door.
‘So, we were just passing by,’ said Tarnie, as Jayden shuffled about next to him.
‘No you weren’t,’ pointed out Polly. ‘You work right here.’
Tarnie smiled. ‘Do you want a fish?’
‘You are VERY LUCKY,’ said Polly. ‘Anticipating something like this. I have made twenty-four bagels, which is about two more than I can eat.’
Huckle came downstairs too to see what the commotion was. Given that it was ten o’clock on a Saturday morning, and he was wearing a crumpled linen shirt and a pair of soft old chinos with bare feet, Polly felt suddenly very much like she had to give an explanation.
‘Huck just came by with some honey,’ she said. ‘About an hour ago. To make bagels.’
At the exact moment she said it, Huck chimed in with ‘I was just passing.’ This made her feel vaguely insulted that he was also so anxious to make it clear that she was someone he’d just run into, plus she rather suspected that by issuing such flagrant denials, they gave the impression that they had in fact been up to something. And why would she care what Tarnie thought anyway?
Jayden, the young fisherman, said, ‘What’s a bagel? Can I use your toilet? What’s a bagel?’
‘Jayden!’ said Tarnie. ‘Honestly, it’s like being a school teacher.’
‘You may use my loo,’ said Polly. ‘And you may all try a bagel.’
They carried the bagels – twelve onion, twelve cinnamon – plus honey, smoked salmon and cream cheese, lemon juice, knives and a coffee pot, down to the harbour’s edge and all the fishermen gathered round. They looked a little confused to begin with, but took to the food with a will, crumbs spattering everywhere, the bagels perfectly crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside. It was very easy to tell the difference between the perfect circles Polly had made and Huckle’s rather apologetic shapes, which resembled a child’s plasticine creations, but they tasted incredibly good all the same, and made a fine feast for a breezy spring morning.
‘Is it hot there?’
‘The summers are scorching.’
‘Like it’s meant to be, then,’ said Polly. ‘Here it’s just pretty much drizzle all the time.’
‘But when you do get a good day, you treasure it,’ said Huckle, in a way that indicated he wasn’t going to say any more. Then he smiled. ‘Okay, what do I do with this?’
The dough was well and truly pounded. Polly left it to rise in a bright spot protected from Neil, and they made coffee in her recently neglected coffee machine, and opened the windows to let the sunlight in.
‘You know, from the outside this place looks like it’s gonna kill you,’ observed Huckle, watching the dust motes play across the scrubbed wooden floorboards. ‘But from in here, it’s all right.’
‘I know!’ said Polly. ‘If I had any money, I’d do more. Buy curtains for starters,’ she said. ‘The lighthouse gets me every time, even through the back bedroom door. It’s like living in Close Encounters of the Third Kind.’
‘I never thought of that,’ said Huckle.
‘And I’d varnish the floorboards.’
Huckle looked doubtful. ‘I could probably do that for you,’ he said. ‘But I’m not sure the floor would hold the weight of the varnish. Have you seen the way it slopes?’
‘Seen it?’ said Polly. ‘I’m living it, thank you very much. It slopes on me every day. I keep nearly falling out of bed.’
He grinned, and Polly suddenly felt a bit strange about him thinking about her in bed. But he didn’t seem in the least bit flirtatious, just courteous (and a little bit hungry). There was no point thinking like that anyway, not least because, even though they had only exchanged a few cursory text messages, she didn’t feel she’d quite abandoned Chris. Still. She and Huckle were the only two strangers in town. It was natural they’d gravitate towards one another.
They got up to divide the dough.
‘This is hard,’ muttered Huckle, trying to stick the rings together.
‘Wait till we boil them,’ said Polly, putting the lid on the water pot this time and yelling at Neil every time he got too close.
The cooking, the tricky bit, was made even harder by the lack of proper utensils, and Polly burned herself slightly on the wrist trying to fish out a particularly recalcitrant bagel. Without thinking about it, Huckle took her wrist and ran it under the water way way longer than she would normally have bothered to.
‘You can’t let it deepen in,’ he said. ‘Even a little burn. You think they’ve stopped but they just go on and on. Hush.’
‘Do you ever get stung by your bees?’ Polly asked, curious.
‘Yeah, sure,’ he said nonchalantly.
‘Doesn’t it hurt?’
He smiled and tried to look unbothered. Then: ‘It sure does,’ he said. ‘It hurts like merry hell.’
‘You don’t get used to it?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Man, I have to be careful. They sting you enough, you get allergic to the venom and then they can kill you.’
‘A bee can kill you?’
‘Happens all the time,’ he said. He let her take her wrist out from under the tap, tutted at her for not having a first aid kit and showed her a yellow pen in his pocket.
‘It’s an EpiPen,’ he said. ‘In case anyone gets stung by a bee and has a bad reaction.’
‘What if it’s you?’ she said.
‘I know,’ said Huckle. ‘I’d have to jam it in myself. I think about that quite a lot.’
They both stared at the pen.
‘Don’t,’ said Huckle.
‘What?’ said Polly, a smile playing on her lips.
‘Don’t think you might stick it in for fun.’
‘I wasn’t thinking that.’
‘I bet you were.’
‘Maybe a little bit. Maybe just about holding you to ransom.’
‘You see an EpiPen and you want to commit a crime. That’s a worrying characteristic.’
They were smiling at one another as Polly put the bagels in the oven. Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door.
‘So, we were just passing by,’ said Tarnie, as Jayden shuffled about next to him.
‘No you weren’t,’ pointed out Polly. ‘You work right here.’
Tarnie smiled. ‘Do you want a fish?’
‘You are VERY LUCKY,’ said Polly. ‘Anticipating something like this. I have made twenty-four bagels, which is about two more than I can eat.’
Huckle came downstairs too to see what the commotion was. Given that it was ten o’clock on a Saturday morning, and he was wearing a crumpled linen shirt and a pair of soft old chinos with bare feet, Polly felt suddenly very much like she had to give an explanation.
‘Huck just came by with some honey,’ she said. ‘About an hour ago. To make bagels.’
At the exact moment she said it, Huck chimed in with ‘I was just passing.’ This made her feel vaguely insulted that he was also so anxious to make it clear that she was someone he’d just run into, plus she rather suspected that by issuing such flagrant denials, they gave the impression that they had in fact been up to something. And why would she care what Tarnie thought anyway?
Jayden, the young fisherman, said, ‘What’s a bagel? Can I use your toilet? What’s a bagel?’
‘Jayden!’ said Tarnie. ‘Honestly, it’s like being a school teacher.’
‘You may use my loo,’ said Polly. ‘And you may all try a bagel.’
They carried the bagels – twelve onion, twelve cinnamon – plus honey, smoked salmon and cream cheese, lemon juice, knives and a coffee pot, down to the harbour’s edge and all the fishermen gathered round. They looked a little confused to begin with, but took to the food with a will, crumbs spattering everywhere, the bagels perfectly crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside. It was very easy to tell the difference between the perfect circles Polly had made and Huckle’s rather apologetic shapes, which resembled a child’s plasticine creations, but they tasted incredibly good all the same, and made a fine feast for a breezy spring morning.
