A Recipe for Romance

The air in Robert’s bakery, usually thick with the comforting scent of yeast and sugar, now hummed with a nervous energy. It wasn’t just the impending bake-off; it was the presence of Linda, a whirlwind of clipboards and colour-coded schedules, who had descended upon his usually serene workspace like a very organized, very beautiful hurricane. He’d tried to be polite, he really had. He’d even offered her a slightly lopsided muffin, which she’d eyed with the same suspicion one might reserve for a ticking bomb.

“Robert,” Linda’s voice, crisp and efficient, cut through the gentle clatter of baking sheets. “Have you sourced the artisanal lavender for the Earl Grey shortbread? Mayor Thompson specifically requested it, and it’s item 3B on the supplier list.”

Robert, who had been attempting to delicately pipe a rose onto a rather precarious-looking Victoria sponge, jumped. A blob of buttercream landed squarely on his nose. “Lavender? Oh, right. I, uh, I think I saw some… somewhere.” He gestured vaguely towards a shelf piled high with flour sacks.