Chapter 1 : My own cake!

I slowly ease on the accelerator of my scooty and try to adjust my feet on the platform without disturbing the box placed there. It is too precious to be damaged now, after having spent four hours preparing both the box and the cake inside.

A teenage guy on a bicycle overtakes me, giving me a 'what are you doing?' look, much like the drivers of hundreds of vehicles that passed by me, before him, had. What can I say? I really didn't want to damage the cake near my foot, hence the driving at a pace slower than my grandma's walk.

When I see the elegant writing in black and gold swirls reading 'David's Dessert Delicacies', I switch on the indicator and make a soft left and park my scooty right in front of the very fancy bakery.

As soon as I enter through the glass doors, cradling my hardwork in my arms like a newborn, into David's, as we locals like to call it, the sweet aroma of baked wonders fills my nostrils making me inhale even deeply.

I sweep my eyes over the whole area, searching for the one and only David himself. Albeit a bit rude, the 40 something year old baker, sorry 'pastry chef', creates the best desserts in the whole city, if not the state. They truly are delicacies, so I definitely need for this to workout.

Not finding him anywhere I approach the counter and find the same young man, who served me my blueberry cheesecake yesterday, standing there. I wave at him to get his attention. As soon as he sees me, his face becomes troubled, no doubt remembering the drama from yesterday.

You see, yesterday when I came into David's to satisfy my sudden urge for blueberry cheesecake, I accidentally overheard David talking, or more like yelling, on the phone at his cake decorator for quitting without notice, leaving him understaffed. The impulsive and adventurous person that I am, couldn't help but jump at the opportunity. I excitedly walked upto him and offered to be his temporary cake decorator until he finds a new one, to which he oh so rudely replied in negative, telling me that he didn't let just anyone into his workspace, that baking and decorating was a form of art. So, I patiently listened to him rant and then explained that I whole heartedly agreed and assured him, rather proudly, that I was an artist myself and had taken a one week course in all matters dessert, from few of the most renowned pastry chefs in the world, in Paris. To which, he just laughed in my face, dismissing me as a spoilt rich girl, claiming that it takes more than a week to master the art. Undeterred I asked him a chance to let me decorate one of his cakes to prove to him that I could do it. To which, he again waved me away, claiming that he wasn't going to 'waste' one of his delicacies over a 'snob who always got what she wanted' aka me. But, I have never been one to back down from a challenge. So here I am, bright and early, exactly fourteen hours later with a raspberry pink velvet cake all gracefully decorated up, determined to get David to hire me.

I smile at the guy at the counter, "Is your boss here?" I ask. He gives an uncomfortable nod and goes through the 'staff only' door to get David.

Not a minute later, David himself barges through the same door, with an annoyed look on his face, and when he sees me, his scowl deepens. Not bothered by his sour expression, I flash him my brightest smile, " Good morning, Chef!" I chirp.

He let out an exasperated sigh, "what do you want?" he asked. "Oh! Nothing really, just wanted you to show that I understood art." I replied, placing the neat baby pink smooth cardboard box with cute little darker pink bows and beige pearls stuck on its two diagonal corners.

He raised an eyebrow at the box. Taking the small action as a sign, I opened the box carefully and took out my cake and held it up at him, "Since you wouldn't allow me to demonstrate on one of your cakes, I made and brought my own cake, all dolled up." I explained, truly proud of my work.

When I saw him scrutinizing the cake with a blank expression, doubts started creeping in. Was it not good enough? So, I hurried to explain, " Well it's just basic since I didn't have many tools, but I can assure you that I can do a lot more detailed ones than this.. "

I was cut of mid explanation when his rough and stern voice spoke with authority, " I expect absolute punctuality and discipline. No slacking off during work hours, 7 am to 5 pm, you get three 10 minute breaks and an hour long lunch break. If you wish to take a leave, you have to notify at least 12 hours prior. You can't take the desserts for free just because you work here. You can use your phone during your breaks. You get 20 rupees for each standard one kg cake, 50 for custom made ones, and between 60 to 80 for the tiered ones, depending on the design and size. Any questions? "

Internally jumping with triumph I decided not to goad him and gave a small smile, "Understood chef. When do I start?" I asked. He nodded back in return, and gestured towards the staff only door "right away," he said.

Flashing another smile his way, I steeped behind the counter and just as I was reaching for the door, he spoke again, " and remember, this is only temporary. "

I turned around and spoke with a grin, "wouldn't have it any other way," then walked through the door, towards another new, exciting and colorful journey. Oh! And this one's yummy too!