Oh, you in all your vibrant youth Who: Beau and Henri What: First meeting and cake decorating When: Sunday, June 12th Where: Canwyn's Tooth Bakery
If Beau really ever stopped to think about it, he might one day realize that what had begun as a chance whim of Hazel’s, teaching him the fundamentals of baking, had turned into something approaching a part time job. Not that he was being paid for it. Since that first lesson with the cupcakes he’d started to come by early in the morning every couple of days to play apprentice. He followed her commands and smiled at her jokes and learned faster than he’d expected to how to actually make something worth eating. Of course he was still nothing to her in terms of sheer skill. Batters came out lumpy, dough turned out over or under kneaded, he could follow her instructions all day long but he would likely never have her magic touch when it came to baking.
Decorating, though, they both learned fairly quickly, came quite naturally to him. Handbuilding and complex architecture were beyond him, but the cakes were different. What was colored buttercream if not a delicious sort of paint? Much like learning to create a design with only chalk as a tool, it was a pleasant challenge to learn how to translate his aesthetic visual sense to the real world. It wasn’t long before he was allowed to go to work on some of the cakes Hazel had baked herself when things were very busy and the shop could use the help.
On Sunday morning, Beau found himself decorating one such cake. Apparently a centerpiece intended for a very nice garden party being given by one of the Aurellian ladies in town. Beau worked behind the counter, taking up a bit of space at the far end of it to be out of the way while still having the advantage of the natural light pouring in from the large windows. There weren’t very many people out and about at that hour to see him at it, and so his artistic demand for adequate light and work space overrode his mild anxiety at being observed. After all, the few times he’d been seen, it seemed to be something of a draw to the Aurellians at least who tended to appreciate artistry in whatever form it came in. He wore the clothes he'd adopted as a sort of uniform for the summer, a light and comfortable Aurellian style shirt and tailored Clovennian trousers, covered by a simple blue and white (and blessedly frill-less) apron to keep the clothes neat.
He worked methodically, using a clean palette knife to apply colored buttercream like he might oil paint to a canvas. Purple flowers against a cream background, suitable for a summery garden party, he thought. Beau turned the cake carefully on a revolving tray, considering his next steps. In spite of all of his attempts at neatness, he still managed to get a streak of pale lavender frosting on his cheek, wholly unnoticed now. So focused was he, that he barely heard Mac when he said that he was going to step in the back to see about the bread. He hardly even looked up when he heard the bell above the door jingle softly as it opened, humming a snippet of piano music softly to himself.