Dear Diary,
I stood before the peeling door that bore the crooked letters Cozy Café. One of the Ys wobbled as if it were clinging to its last breath. Beside the entrance were a few dried lilac bushes, a rubbish bin, and two pigeons basking in the autumn sun.
Well, hello, new life, I muttered, slipping the key into the lock.
The air inside smelled of damp, mould and old spices. I sneezed, threw the windows open, inhaled the cold breeze and set to work.
My word, youve gone mad! Sarahs voice crackled through the phone. You bought a café? Here in this part of town? Did the layoff finally push you over the edge?
Its better to bake muffins than to count other peoples money, I sighed, wiping down the tables. Besides, Ive always wanted this. Remember how Grandma Zoe used to bake?
I do. Dreaming is one thing, but this shed is another, she replied.
Its not a shed. Its my bakery.
I named it Mandarin Loaf because my grandmother always folded grated mandarin zest into her cinnamon rolls. In winter the house would smell of mandarin and fresh dough. I wanted that warmth back.
The first week brought no customers. The café sat on the very edge of the suburb, where only those who knew the shortcuts ever passed. I rose at five, mixed dough, baked, washed up, and experimented with recipes. Cinnamon and vanilla mingled with the scent of coffee. I placed a vase of mandarins on the windowsill and stuck a handwritten sign on the glass: Come in you wont regret it.
Grandma, please help, I whispered, arranging a fresh batch of fluffy snails.
As if on cue, that very evening Grandma Zoe from the house next door stepped in.
Is this where youre baking muffins? I was walking by and caught the smell. Let me try one.
I handed her a piece; she squinted, chewed, and nodded.
Delicious. Real deal. Tomorrow Ill bring the girls for a game of noughts and crosses. You put on the coffee.
The next day three elderly ladies arrived, each with a bundle of stories. A week later three university students dropped by. Then a courier, then a mother with a pram. Word spread quietly but steadily through the neighbourhood.
I refreshed the sign. Instead of Cozy it now read: Mandarin Loaf Bakery. Simon, one of the students, offered to help.
Are you a designer? he asked.
Not yet. Im still studying. But your muffins are divine Id love a proper sign.
For the first time in ages I felt I mattered to someone. By evening Simon introduced a friend: This is Katie, a photographer. Wed like to set up your social media.
Tears welled up.
Good afternoon, a familiar voice trembled at the door. Sophie
I turned. It was Luke, my exboyfriend, the one who had vanished a year ago to think things over and had taken a job with a colleague.
What are you doing here? his tone was dry.
I heard you opened a café. Thought Id have a look.
He lingered, then said, You know, until were legally divorced, everything you acquire is still joint property.
I stared. He continued, Im not looking for a fight, but perhaps we can strike a deal? Ill help with renovations for a share.
I stayed silent, then slipped off my apron, walked to the door and opened it wide.
Luke, the doors there. Get out, and dont come back, I said.
He took a step forward, but at that moment Grandma Zoe appeared with a couple of friends.
Oh, whos causing a ruckus? Off you go, lad. This is a womens kingdom.
Luke muttered something and left, his pride bruised.
Who was that? one of the friends asked.
My exboyfriend, came for his cut, Zoe replied, snatching another muffin from the tray. Hes not exactly lean, is he?
Later my mother called. Sophie, whats happening? Luke rang me. He says you shouted at him.
Hes demanding a share of the café, I told her. Do you think thats fair?
Hes practically my husband. Maybe youll reconcile. Youre not getting any younger
Mum, I built this from scratch on my own. Im happy. Cant you be proud?
I worry about you. The areas rough, the divorce, and your savings are scant. Thats not a life.
This is my life, Mum, and I chose it.
She sighed, Fine. If you go under, dont call me.
I hung up and stared at an empty cup for a long while.
May I come in? Katie peeked through the doorway. We just finished the shoot Are you crying?
I wiped my eye. No, just remembering what Grandma used to say: if the dough sticks, you have to be patient. It isnt ready yet.
Youre strong, Sophie. Weve got your back.
She hugged me and handed me her phone. Look weve posted the first photos. Already a hundred followers.
By spring the line for mandarin muffins stretched round the corner. New items appeared: poppyseed rolls, cottagecheese twists, apple strudels. The bakery buzzed with life.
One evening a gentleman in his sixties arrived with a bouquet.
May I? he asked at the threshold.
Yes?
Im Katies father. Shes moved to Manchester, but she tells me everything. Im a retired baker with nothing to do now. Might you need an extra pair of hands?
I nodded.
From then on we started each morning together, kneading dough while he recounted stories and I listened, learning. Occasionally new faces dropped in some just to eat, others to hide from the world.
Sarahs voice rang again on the phone. I keep thinking maybe I should quit accounting and join you?
Do you love muffins?
More than that. Will you take me on?
I looked around the freshly painted space, tables filled, the mandarin scent lingering. A folder of expansion plans lay on the counter.
Ill take you. Just buy your own apron.
We both laughed as a gentle spring rain pattered against the windows. The bakery lived, people came and stayed. For the first time I didnt fear the future because I finally had something real.
The next morning I woke before the alarm. Outside, a bus rumbled past and rain tapped softly on the sill. The café awoke with me: a socket sparked, the coffee machines green light flickered, the old fridge hummed.
Seven months after opening, I still marveled at how a dream had become tangible.
Downstairs, Nicholas Peters the man whod become like a second father was already at work, feeding the starter, checking the ovens, tinkering with new recipes. I slipped downstairs barefoot.
Morning, chief! he cheered, never looking up from the dough.
Morning, wizard. Whats on todays menu?
Walnuthoney spirals and pumpkin strudels for the connoisseurs.
I nodded, poured myself a
