Hey love, let me tell you whats been happening with Sophie. She was standing in front of this peeling shopfront that read Café Hearth the letters were all crooked, the H looked like it was barely holding on. Right by the door were a few dead lilac bushes, a rubbish bin and a pair of pigeons soaking up the autumn sun.
Alright, new life, she muttered, and slid the key into the lock.
The new life smelled damp, a bit mouldy and like old spices. Sophie sneezed, cracked the windows, took a deep breath and rolled up her sleeves.
Youve lost it! her mate Emma shouted over the phone. You bought a café? Here in this part of town? Did getting the sack really push you that far?
Its better to bake buns than to count other peoples money, Sophie sighed, wiping down the tables. Besides, Ive always wanted this. Remember how Granny used to bake?
Yeah, I remember. Dreams are one thing, a rundown shed is another, Emma replied.
Its not a shed. Its my bakery.
She named it Mandarin Loaf because Granny always added a pinch of grated mandarin zest to her cinnamon rolls. In winter the whole house would smell of mandarins and fresh dough, and Sophie wanted that warmth back.
The first week was dead quiet. The café sat on the very edge of town where only locals who knew the shortcuts ever passed. Sophie got up at five, mixed dough, baked, washed up, tested recipes. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla mingled with coffee. She placed a vase of mandarins on the windowsill and stuck a sign on the glass: Come in you wont regret it.
Granny, help me out, she whispered, laying out a fresh batch of fluffy snails.
Just then, as if on cue, Granny Eve from the house next door popped in that evening.
Youre baking buns here? I was walking by, caught the smell. Let me have a bite.
Sophie handed her a piece, Eve squinted, chewed and nodded.
Delicious. Real deal. Ill bring the girls over tomorrow for a game of backgammon. You keep the coffee brewing.
The next day three elderly ladies with stories as long as their scarves showed up. A week later, three university students stopped by. Then a courier, then a mum with a pram. Word spread quietly but steadily through the neighbourhood.
Sophie refreshed the sign. Instead of Hearth it now read MandarinScented Bakery. One of the students, Sam, gave her a hand.
What are you, a designer? he asked.
Not yet. Im still studying. But your buns are divine I want the sign to look just as good.
For the first time in ages Sophie felt she mattered to someone. That evening Sam brought his friend Katie, a photographer. Were thinking of setting up social media for you, she said. Sophie almost burst into tears.
Hello, a shaky voice called from the door. Sophie
She turned. In the doorway stood Luke, her ex. The same bloke whod vanished a year ago, saying he needed to think and ended up off with a colleague.
What are you doing here? Sophie asked, dry as toast.
I heard you opened a café. Thought Id have a look, he said.
Looked. Bye.
Wait. We used to
You once told me I was too boring. Now youre bored, huh?
He forced a crooked grin. Not that. I just heard youve invested a lot. You know, until were officially divorced, everything youve bought is still joint property.
Youre serious?
I dont want a fight. Maybe we can strike a deal? Ill help with renovations for a cut of the profits
Sophie stayed silent, then slipped off her apron, walked to the door and flung it wide.
Luke, the doors over there. Get out. And dont ever come back.
He took a step forward, but Granny Eve and her friends appeared in the doorway.
Oh, whos causing the ruckus? Off you go, love. This is a ladys domain.
Luke muttered something and shuffled off.
Who was that? one of the ladies asked.
An ex, came for his share.
Doesnt look like hes any good for it, Granny chuckled, grabbing another bun from the tray.
Sophies mum called later. Whats going on? Luke called me. He said you shouted at him.
Mum, he showed up demanding a share of the café. Do you think thats fair?
Well, hes practically your husband. Maybe youll get back together. Youre not getting any younger
Mum, I started this on my own, from scratch. Im happy. Can you just be happy for me?
Im worried, love. The cafés in a rough part, the divorce, the savings barely anything. Thats not a life.
Its my life, Mum. I chose it.
Fine, if you burn down, dont call me.
Sophie hung up, sat at the kitchen table staring at an empty mug.
Can I come in? Katie peeked in. We just finished the shoot You alright?
Sophie wiped a tear. Just thinking. Granny always said: if the dough sticks, you have to be patient. Its not ready yet.
Youre strong, Sophie. Weve got your back.
Katie gave her a hug and pulled out her phone. Look, we posted the first photos. Already a couple hundred followers.
Spring brought a line of folks waiting for the mandarin buns that stretched round the corner. New items appeared: poppyseed rolls, cottagecheese twists, apple strudels. The bakery buzzed with life.
One evening a gentleman with a bouquet knocked on the door.
May I? he asked. Im the father of that Katie. Shes moved to Manchester, but she tells me everything. Im a retired baker, got nothing to do now. Could I help?
Sophie smiled and nodded.
From then on, every morning they kneaded together. He told stories, she listened and learned. Occasionally strangers would drop by some just to eat, some to hide from the world.
Hey Sophie, its Emma again, her phone pinged. Ive been thinking maybe I should quit accounting altogether?
You still love buns?
More than you can imagine. Want to work with me?
Sophie looked around the bright, freshly painted space, tables full of customers, mandarin scent in the air, a folder of expansion plans on the wall.
Ill take you on. Just buy your own apron, she laughed.
Outside, a gentle spring rain pattered on the windows. The bakery lived, people came in and stayed. For the first time Sophie wasnt scared of the future, because she finally had something real.
Shed start her day before the alarm, hear the tram rumble outside, feel the rain tap the sill. The café woke with her a socket clicked, the coffee machines green light flickered, the old fridge hummed.
Almost seven months after opening, she still marveled at how a dream turned into a real place.
Downstairs, Nicholas Peters Katies dad was already at work, firing up the ovens, checking the starter, tinkering with new recipes. Sophie slipped barefoot into the kitchen.
Morning, boss! he chirped, not looking up from the dough.
Morning, wizard. Whats on the menu today?
Walnuthoney snails and pumpkin strudel for the connoisseurs.
Sophie nodded, poured herself a coffee, and settled by the window. The air smelled of flour, caramel and rain. In those moments she felt every effort was worth it.
The bakery had even taken the next door, set up a tiny kids corner, added a bookshelf, and a piano that an elderly neighbour had gifted. My husband used to play it, now let it live on its own, the neighbour said, hugging Sophie goodbye.
Someone should put a statue of Sophie outside, Nicholas joked, shaking flour from his hands. Her buns could cure anything.
One day a sharply dressed woman in her forties entered
