"Okaaaay, a slice of black forest cake for the gentleman," Chester says, carefully placing the plate in front of the man. "And for the youngster, a chocolate croissant."
"Thanks mate!" The young man exclaims while the boy of no more than five years grins at him; three of his bottom front teeth missing.
Today's a rather slow day in terms of customers as they were the only ones in the shop.
Man and boy sport the same ginger hair and similar facial features, so Chester safely presumes that it's a father and son duo. The man looks like he's in his early twenties.
"You're welcome!"
As Chester turns to head back behind the till, the lad grabs his chef's coat. "Hey, guess what," he whispers, the eagerness to share whatever information makes him squirm in his seat.
Chester casts a curious glance at the father and he smiles and shrugs.
"Hmmmmm, you tell me buddy."
"I just won my first dance competition!"
"What?! Oh wow, that's such an accomplishment. Congratulations! Give me a high five."
[The smacking noise of their palms connecting fills the shop]
That explains the outfit, thought Chester. He's wearing a pair of black leggings and a white v-neck top.
"Yeah, when he was younger he always danced around the house and we thought it was the funniest thing ever. Then his friend Jessica joined a ballet academy and he wanted to go too. It's a bit--- out there... you know how it is, what other people think of these things. But whatever he wants to do, I'll support him all the way."
"That's exactly how it should be. I'm Chester."
"I'm John. And this kiddo right here is Jefferson," he says, tickling the boy in his ribs, making him squeal...
*****
While cleaning up the kitchen later that afternoon, Chester couldn't help but feel jealous of little Jefferson. He didn't have that level of support from his own pops when growing up. He lived on a relatively large farm with his parents and his younger sister. His mom Bettina, grew a wide range of vegetables like tomatoes, cucumbers and sweet potatoes, amongst many others, while his dad Stewart was in charge of the livestock. Chickens and sheep. They both had their own stalls in the farmers market in town. So while Mom sold her veggies, pops sold meat.
But the thing is, his mom also sold some pastries that she would bake the night before. And he and his Sister Patricia were her little helpers. Unfortunately, one night when Chester was seven, he blurted: "I want to be a baker like you when I grow up Ma!"
Overhearing this outburst, Stewart came barging in the kitchen. He spotted Chester standing on a stool so he could reach the counter top and he towered over Chester. Staring down at him with those menacing green eyes. "What's all this talk about baking? Now you listen to me young man, I brought one son and one daughter into this world. Baking is a woman's job. Men who bake are sissies and punks, and I ain't got no place in my house for such. You're gonna do real man's work and look after the farm. Nothing less. Do you understand me boy?"
"STEWART!" Bettina grumbled.
"I ain't talking to you. Shut your mouth before I smack you!"
With his index finger touching Chester's nose, Stewart repeats "do you understand me?"
In a quivering voice Chester says "yes Sir."
He forced himself not to cry until he was in the comfort of his own room later that night.
So said, so done. During his teen years, Chester did what was expected of him. Everyday before school, he would feed the chickens, then walk in excess of 2 miles behind about 300 sheep; taking them down to the pastureland near the river so they could graze. Then after school, he walked them back home. Weekends were for cleaning the sheep pens and chicken coups. That was the worst part. Even when he took long showers afterwards, the scent of sheep shit and chicken crap would still linger.
When he reached his twenties, his dad's alcoholism caught up to him and he had his first heart attack. But the silly old man still couldn't leave the whisky alone. Two weeks later, he had another one. He died that time. And the grief of it all caused his mom to follow him not long after.
When they passed, Patricia ran off with some older man who's been sniffing around her since she turned 18.
So it's been Chester by himself since. He sold his Daddy's farm and estate and got a decent amount of money, and with that, he opened his own bakery. Like he always wanted.
But now that he's in his thirties, he's unable to keep up with the demands of the job and decides to post a "help wanted" sign in the window.
*****
The next day, Chester wakes at the usual 4:30 a.m. He heads straight to the bathroom and strips to take his morning dump, then right before he heads to the shower, he brushes his teeth. There's a large mirror right above the face basin and everyday, Chester examines his entire body. Still not coming to grips with his new appearance. Gone are the days of having an athletic, sculpted physique; Brought on by all the physically demanding tasks of farm labor. Now, as he eyes his reflection, a stout man stares back at him.
Hefty arms. Meaty thighs. And it's common knowledge that a baker must carry out taste tests to ensure that his products meet his standards. Well, a slight protrusion of his belly tells the tale of a man who sometimes gets carried away...
He keeps his hair cut close to the scalp and his face clean shaven. If he didn't, he'll be an exact replica of Stewart and he doesn't want that. He wants his own distinguished identity.
He arrives at the shop around six and gets to work. The night before, he prepped cinnamon rolls, croissants, danishes and pretzels and so, he started with the easiest task: He plops them into the oven first. Next, he makes the cake batter. While weighing the flour, he hears a distant knocking--
He sets the bag down and walks to the front of the shop. A bit surprised to see who's standing outside.
He unlocks the transparent glass door.
"Hey, John. I actually don't open until--"
"Oh I know. I just wanted to see if you still needed another set of hands. I just saw the sign and I saw your car so I figured you were here. I work four days a week and I'm pretty bored on the other three. So I figured why not."
Chester is wowed at the sight of John. It looks like he was jogging earlier judging by his attire. His white t-shirt is so saturated that it became slightly see-through, giving Chester a nice view of a hard, flat stomach, while mid-thigh blue shorts show off a pair of nicely toned legs.
With his eyes now back to John's face, he sees it's slightly flushed from the exertion. He has wind-tousled hair. Dense eyebrows. A pair of thick-lashed brown eyes. A strong pointed nose. A rigid, angular jaw. Pillowy pink lips.
"Uhhhh..." [Chester stammers]
"I like desserts so it's only right that I learn how to make 'em!"
"How soon can you start?"
"I'm off today. Let me just go home and take a shower and I'm all yours."
"I guess you're hired."
For the first couple of weeks, Chester kept John away from the ovens and the ingredients. With the inflation of everything, he couldn't afford botched batches of goods. He assigned him smaller tasks like cleaning and packing the display shelves.
But John would always stop what he's doing to watch Chester do his work. Like frosting a cake or kneading the dough. Being under his gaze made Chester edgy. Unfocused.
Having someone in his personal space was new for him. He's been a solitary man since moving away from the farm; he was so engrossed in his work that he simply couldn't find the time to go out and make friends.
But as time progressed, he and John got pretty close. Close enough that John relied on him for advice to workout relationship problems at home. Close enough that every now and then, they'd share a few drinks down at the pub and have the occasional dinner.
Eventually, Chester taught John how to bake cakes and a few straightforward pastries. He caught on pretty quickly and soon enough, his creations met the requisite criteria for selling to the public. And as John's knack for baking became more prominent, Chester became more aware of the romantic feelings he has for the younger man. Sometimes John would catch him staring longingly and he'd smile and say: "What?"
"Nothing," Chester would hastily reply. And whenever John had to work, he missed him so fucking much it hurts.
He almost made a fool of himself one morning. The previous night, he and John did some late night partying and they came to work the next day sleep deprived. He was so out of it that he touched a hot tray with his bare hands; a tray he took out of the oven less than five minutes prior.
"Fuck!" He yelled, and John rushed over.
"Shit are you okay? lemme see." John fussed over his hands, making sure to run them under cold water. After that, he had them sit at a table so he could bandage his palms. Something as simple as John touching his hands caused an electrifying zing to whoosh through him. While John was concerned with the intricacies of playing doctor, Chester surreptitiously eyed his face. He still could not get over how handsome John is. The voice in his head said "kiss him Chester, kiss him now." And he almost did but John's ringing cell phone saved him from making an irreparable mistake.
Then there are the days his girlfriend would drop by unexpectedly and they'd be all lovey-dovey. It made him want to throw up.
It's like having John in his life woke up something inside of him that's been dormant for so long. His repressed sexuality. He was so accustomed to hiding his true self from other people, especially his Pops. Even when he moved away, he still didn't acknowledge that part of his being. But with John, everything's coming to the surface. Like a pot that's about to boil over and make a mess on the stove. Some days he'd be on the cusp of confessing his love to John. And then when he doesn't follow through, he feels like he's in a sinking boat running out of time.
So tonight, after an exhausting day at work, he wanted to fall asleep as soon as possible. And to achieve that, he took 3 shots of whisky. The same brand his daddy always bought. How ironic.
Clad in a pair of blue briefs, he gets under his blanket and closes his eyes. He enters into a dreamless sleep for a few hours, but as morning approaches, his vivid imagination comes alive...
[Chester's cell phone rings]
"Hello?" [Chester answers groggily]
"Good morning! Would you like to come on a morning jog with me before we start work?"
Why does he sound so chirpy at four o'clock in the morning?
"John, I'm still in bed." [Chester yawns]
