Sweet as honey

Cassidy Holloway - Owner of Sticky Fingers Bakery

[delish-eats]

Saffron Pistachio Cardamom Butter Toffee with Rose Petals | Recipes From A Pantry

[cassidyholloway]

donovan-wells:

He only half heard her as she rambled about the bike and its age and its lack of new breaks. Something about the moment had made him still, staring at the rusty thing leaning against the wall of the shop. It wasn’t yellow, but it was a bike, broken and pleading right there in front of him and his thoughts drifted to the mysterious canary-coloured one that had shown up at his doorstep with knifed-in initials and cracking handle bars…. 

But then she was smiling and introducing herself, asking to be sure she wasn’t putting him out, and he was yanked back into regular orbit, looking at her with only mildly dazed eyes before glancing around the shop and the empty lot beyond the garage door with a shrug. 

“No. The weather’s keeping people in. No one else is even here—in for a pretty quiet day, I think.” He gestured vaguely to the car currently propped up that he’d previously been working under. “I’ve got the one job, that’s it, but she’s gonna need a few more hours and I’m already due for a lunch break. She won’t be going anywhere.” 

He gathered the wherewithal to smile at her, though he wasn’t sure from where, fixing her with his gaze, finally, and waving away her gratitude. “What’d you think I do? Kick you out into the monsoon with a broken bike?” He snorted. “Don’t worry about it.

Wiping his hands once more on the rag before setting it aside, he headed for the door into the office of the shop, and held it open for her. Then, stepping in after her, he lead her through a small back room and into one with a sink, a bit of counter space and a small fridge.  “Wait here. I’ll grab you something to wear and you can get out of your, uh, wet shirt.” 

A full-fledged adult, he shouldn’t be awkward anymore, talking to girls about taking off their clothes, and he shook his head at himself. He clearly had spent too much time alone, over the years. Not that he’d ever been particularly socially ept in the past, but he swore he was getting worse with lack of practice. 

Slipping form the room and disappearing into the back, he left her be a moment.

Cassidy couldn’t help but smile when he referred to the car waiting for him as a she. Why did people do that? She’d never really understood. Maybe it was because she’d never had a car of her own, but nothing about the vehicle waiting for Wells seemed overtly feminine to her and yet it was a thing that seemed almost universal. Cars, boats, motorcycles, maybe even planes and trains for all she knew, all these various modes of transportation were referred to as she. 

Maybe I should make my bike a boy, just to be different. 

Her cheeks flushed slightly as he asked what she’d expected. “Honestly? Yeah, kind of. I mean, it’s not really your job and you certainly didn’t have to help. I appreciate it a lot.” It was small acts of kindness like this that helped remind Cassidy that God was watching out for her, that people weren’t nearly as bad as they seemed sometimes. She’d figure out a way to repay Wells for his kindness. 

Brushing her wet hair over her shoulder she followed him through the shop’s office into what appeared to be some kind of break room, waiting like she’d been instructed. Her blush grew brighter as he mentioned removing her wet shirt and she looked down at herself. The wet shirt had stuck to her stomach when she’d crossed her arms and she pulled it away from her body now. At least it was a dark enough color that it hadn’t become transparent when wet. But...the way he phrased his sentence made it almost seem like he expected her to take it off before he returned with something dry. She shook her head as he walked away, scolding herself for what was surely a misinterpretation of phrasing. Wells seemed almost as embarrassed as she was. 

Instead of removing her shirt, she leaned over the sink, ringing out her hair and twisting it into a tangled, messy braid. She rang out her shirt next, lifting the hem over the edge of the counter and twisting as much fabric as she could while still wearing it, then letting it fall back down around the top of her jeans. She didn’t know how much time she had before Wells returned, but she made use of a couple paper towels she found on the counter and did her best to off and stop dripping on his floor. 

[cassidyholloway]

lucypalmer:

Cassidy says: “I don’t know if you remember me…” 

And Lucy balks at Cassidy. Is she joking? Or just audacious? 

Lucy wants to say: “Remember you? I don’t know if you remember me. I don’t know if anyone remembers me. I don’t know if I remember me.” Still, silence she keeps, and Cassidy speaks on and on, first in haphazard apologies, and then gentler, like the way someone might speak to a spooked horse. Finally, she trails off, and Lucy is unsure of what expression to wear. 

Of course she remembers Cassidy. She wants her face to say: Yes, I remember you. She wouldn’t have considered herself a regular, per se, but if there was any place in Foxcroft she frequented it was Sticky Fingers. Sometimes her mother would send her there to pick up croissants for lunch, after photography but before the darkroom, as it so often went. The smell inside that bakery was other-wordly; it had always suspended Lucy in a transparent cloud of sugar. She’d taken polaroids of every cupcake before she’d eaten it, and pinned them all above her bed. 

Instead, her face reveals nothing. Lucy is unsure, in that moment, of how to work the muscles around her mouth into something soft or inviting. Facing Cassidy as she is, the sun slants harshly in her face, making her squint in a way that probably makes her look angry or confused. She knows these things and cannot find a way to control them. She knows her body and does not know it at all. So instead, she stands stupidly, suddenly hyperaware of her arms numb at her sides, her trembling knees. 

What is Cassidy doing on Sweetwater Road? Lucy wants to ask. Somehow, the way the sun bronzes Cassidy’s auburn hair makes the whole street feel warmer, less “gates of hell” and more “small-town stroll.” At least, Lucy thinks so. The silence is long and palpable as she stares, first at the brightness of Cass’s face, and then around the street. 

“I know your bakery,” Lucy says, finally, finally, but without really meaning to. Her mind and mouth run on different frequencies; things she thinks minutes beforehand take their leisurely time in reaching her mouth. She tries for a smile without showing any teeth. “I love those black and white cookies you make.” 

Her lower lip found it’s way between her teeth as the silence stretched between them and she found herself wondering if she should apologize. She didn’t think anything she’d said was offensive in anyway but Lucy seemed confused or maybe annoyed by the intrusion. And really, who could blame her. The poor girl had been through so much, and Foxcroft was such a small town that everyone knew. She had probably come out her to get away, get some space and distance and then Cassidy came crashing up and ruined it. Yep. Definitely needed to apologize. 

She’d just opened her mouth to do so when Lucy finally spoke. 

“Yeah?” Cassidy asked, smiling gently. The cookies were good; she hadn’t made them in a while. She made a mental note to make a batch and send them to the Palmer’s house. “Well, you’re always welcome to come by. I tend to be busy in the mornings, but it slows down once everyone heads to work or school or what have you. I like having company in the shop.” 

Small wisps of hair that never seemed to stay in her ponytail or braid blew across her face and Cassidy tucked them back behind her ears before shoving her hands into her pockets. “I don’t usually get a lot of company out here... I just dropped some stuff off at the church, is that where you’re headed?”

[cassidyholloway]

donovan-wells:

She looked kind of pathetic. Drenched to the bone and shivering, hair falling in thick strings alongside her face, she looked like a stray dog left out in the rain. Her pout and large watery eyes amplified the analogy. Anyone could feel badly for her and her broken down rusty bike. 

But there was an energy about her—a certain haywire wildness. Like she was about two feet from a breakdown, toes teetering over the edge, dirt falling loose out from under the soles of her feet, floating out of sight into a darkness beneath her. She had that look about her that said she usually kept it together. She usually put on a happy face and made due with whatever forces came her way, kept her head down and strode on. But there was something in her eyes, and reverberating off her edges like a fraying wool coat—she’d been running on fumes too long, and desperation now seeped from her engine like an oil spill. 

He knew what that was like. He knew what running until his lungs were shrivelled and misused, was. He knew what it was like to see in triples, to cough up blood from the strain. He’d been running a long time, and so much of his path was a lie. People get good at deceiving themselves. And Wells was almost as good at it as he was at deceiving other people. Almost, but not quite. He sometimes wished he was better. 

It was a moment of standing stalk still, a bewildered frown on his face, before he snapped out of it and hurried out into the rain to give her a hand. “Yeah—yeah, of course.” Taking the bike from her shivering hands, he lifted it by the centre rails and carried it inside the garage, gesturing for her to follow. “Come on in—it’s fuckin’ miserable out here, yeah?” 

He cracked a grin at her, and as they stepped inside, he set down the bike against the wall, and crouched down to give it a quick glance. He fingered at the loose chain. “I can set this back on for you—but you probably need a new chain. This one is looking pretty sad and it’s going to keep giving you grief.”

Looking over his shoulder at her, he stood up again. “Look, uh, do you want to come inside first? You’re soaked and probably gonna catch your death. I probably have a sweater you could throw on if you want, and we’ve got a kettle. Warm you up a bit, then we can worry about this? I’m Wells, by the way.”

For a moment he stared at her like she was a lunatic and Cassidy expected to be sent off to find a bicycle shop. Her bike had seen better days, there was no doubt about it, but she did her best to keep it in good working order since it was her main method of transportation. She wouldn’t blame him if he sent her off, it was outside his job description. Before she could apologize, though, he was inviting her in, carrying the bicycle out of the rain. Relief rushed through her like a freight train. 

“Yeah...we’ve had nicer days, weather wise,” she agreed, wrapping her arms around her torso when they were no longer needed to support the bicycle. Following Wells inside, she glanced around the shop. Various tools and machines lined the walls and she could identify very few of them. Screwdrivers and wrenches she recognized, but the rest were outside her experience. The only place she was handy was a kitchen. She could barely keep up with her bicycle, it had to be infinitely more work to maintain a car. 

She hovered behind him while he examined the chain, rubbing her arms to try and dispel the chill that had permeated to her core. Little drips of water fell from her clothes and hair like she was her own little raincloud soaking the concrete floors of the garage around her. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as he spoke; he could fix it but it was a bandaid. Well, that was better than nothing. She’d have to figure out where to get a new chain and how to put it on, or more likely who could do it for her. “Makes sense. It’s kind of old. I’ve had the bike a long time and I don’t know that the chain has ever been replaced. My dad might have done it once when he fixed the brakes? But I couldn’t say for sure.”

Cassidy took a small step back when he stood, expecting him to give her a price to fix it rather than an offer for tea and a sweater. Green eyes blinked up at him and she gave her first real smile, feeling some of her tension bleed away. “That would be nice. If you’re sure I’m not putting you out? I’m Cassidy. I don’t always look like a drowned rat but, uh, it’s been a rough morning. I broke a dozen eggs and I was going to get more and then there was this car and a puddle and then...” her voice trailed off and she shrugged, gesturing to herself sheepishly. “I really appreciate you helping me out. You’re a life saver.”

[cassidyholloway]

HOMEMADE MARSHMALLOWS: EARL GRAY & LAPSANG SOUCHONG SALTED CARAMEL

[cassidyholloway]

Ricotta Blueberry Tart with Honey, Lemon, & Lavender

[cassidyholloway]

lucypalmer:

Lucy rises like the mists above the dew-laden lawns. Hovers for a long while in the doorway and then departs, wraithish. There’s a bubbling sensation in her chest– one which she takes note of– as she crosses the street. Parallel to her mother’s house, the world seems cracked open: the biggest she’s known it to be in months. That is, counting the months in which she knew nothing– or knew too much, and now knows nothing. She stares doeishly at the painted front door, but after a moment continues on down the road.

The pieces of Foxcroft– the ones she has always known, always existed peripherally to– have been inching back towards her. The night of being found was like feeling the world tilt on its axis. She’d been unable to determine how she’d ended up in one place from another; to understand the time that had elapsed since Levi’s worried face cast over her to the glaring cast of the lamplight at the Police Station; to distinguish from there how long it then took to return home. Sensation had been overwhelming: light, touch, soft, bright, scratchy, loud, wet, wet. Exhaustion had bogged her limbs. At her mother’s house, she had rested now for days with a slowly recurring understanding of time & its passing. Now, she’s mostly moving in tandem with it, with the way she previously understood hours, days, and weeks. A few motions here and there are off, like she’s missing the steps in a choreographed dance: her sleep schedule, her meals. But mostly, she moves in a familiar way, routine settling back over her like a quilt. Save for the gaping hole of time and space in which she was maybe not even a person at all, Lucy likes to think she is mostly like before. 

She took back the world in chunks: the living room, then her room, her mother’s. She has yet to approach the dark room– a place so pregnant with memories that even the whole of Foxcroft seems an easier place to go. Which is why she now trips down the sidewalk, quietly, and somewhat without direction. Another chunk regained– although was Foxcroft ever hers? Not before, she knows it wasn’t. But now? 

Lucy doesn’t intend to end up close to Sweetwater Road– she expects her feet to fall in line with the paths towards Dark Horse or Sticky Fingers– the places she most frequented pre-SWAMP. But now she stares down the pitted street, somehow creepier by day, winding towards the steeple, which bisects the sky like a knife. And now she hears footsteps behind her, distantly but even & approaching. She sucks in a breath, not at all prepared to face whoever it may be. 

Technically, Sticky Fingers didn’t deliver. There just weren’t enough employees and Cassidy didn’t have a car, not to mention that there was very little demand for delivery in Foxcroft. It was the main reason Cassidy managed to get buy without a car; things just weren’t that far away. There were, however, exceptions to the rule. 

Since Hazel’s death, Cassidy had been making deliveries, mostly anonymous even if the Sticky Fingers packaging was a heavy handed clue. She brought something to the families of those who’d suffered losses and those struggling to make sense of them. The baskets of treats had gotten smaller as the list of people she wanted to offer support to grew longer, but she managed to make ends meet somehow. Sometimes it felt like that story in the Bible where Jesus fed five-thousand people with a few loaves of bread and two fish, though she certainly hoped she wouldn’t need a miracle of that magnitude. 

She had just finished making a delivery to Foxcroft manner, pink bakery box full of croissants, bread, and a few experimental creations when she decided to take a detour. The last time she’d walked down Sweetwater road there had been wild raspberries growing in the field that bordered it and she was curious about whether they were still there. If so, she intended to harvest some to use in her kitchen. The more money she could save, the better. Her little window box garden grew many of the herbs she used at the bakery, but so far no fruits. It might be something to consider. 

So absorbed in her thoughts, Cassidy hadn’t realized she’d been coming up on another person until she was nearly on top of them, apologies spilling forth like water from a dam. “Oh! Goodness, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you or anything. I wasn’t paying attention,” she said as realized who she’d stalked down the otherwise empty road. Her cheeks turned pink. Nicely done, Cass, probably scared the poor girl half to death. “I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Cassidy Holloway? I run a bakery in town...” she added, starting to ramble in an effort to put the other girl at ease. 

[alyciajdebnamcarey]

[cassidyholloway]

Jack Daniels Honey Whiskey Cupcakes with a Bourbon Drizzle

[adcedit]

[cassidyholloway]

donovan-wells:

He used to love the sun. The summer was what he’d lived for; falling asleep in the comforting touch of it, the heat-soaked rocks warming between his shoulder blades, down his spine. Even Whitney’s bouncy-hipster music hadn’t bothered him then, too relaxed to do anything but dozily tune it out. He’d lived for the days he’d needed sunglasses, for when Whitney would laugh and tug at the strands of his hair curling out from under his hair—nag him it was time for a haircut. 

Now he preferred the rain. The density of it had a different kind of comfort. It smothered him with its humidity, made his lungs feel less like they might evaporate into the nothingness that he felt these days. It kept him grounded, made him feel like it was easier to keep his feet on the ground. Put one in front of the other and just keep on moving. 

And it didn’t remind him of Whitney. 

Well, no more than anything else did—though everything did, because he could no sooner stop being aware of her absence than he could stop being aware of his presence. 

The smell of the rain painting the asphalt charcoal drifted in on the breeze and into the open garage. It cut the thick smell of oil as he worked, trapped under the same hood he’d been since nine yesterday morning. He hardly had a hope for this junkyard bound pickup—even if he got it running again, which he wasn’t convinced he could, it wouldn’t last more than another twenty miles before it sputtered and tapped out one final time. 

He’d have given up by now were it not for the gnawing consideration that maybe twenty miles was all this person needed. Sometimes it’d been all Wells had needed. Enough to get the next town over. Make a change. Wash clean whatever the rain wouldn’t, anymore. 

But his knuckles were sore, his fingers black, and he picked up a hand-cloth as he resurfaced from the land of mechanical—he needed a break. Maybe a sandwich, though eating had a way of feeling like more of a chore than a pleasure, lately. 

It was when he turned his back on the dying Ford, that he noticed someone standing in the lot outside the garage door. Squinting into the light of the cloud cover his eyes hadn’t yet readjusted to, he stepped forward slowly, dragging his fingers through the rag, though it would do little damage to the state of his hands at this point. 

“Hey. Can I help you?”

Living in swamplands meant that rain was a rather persistent weather condition. Typically, Cassidy didn’t mind it but as nothing had really gone right today the weather just seemed to be adding insult to injury. Jack had been in a bad mood this morning, she had a dark bruise on her upper arm to prove it, but she still felt worse with him gone than she did when he was with her. He stormed out and seemed to literally take the sunshine with him; the rain had begun not long after. 

As if the fight wasn’t enough, she managed to knock an entire carton of eggs off the counter and onto the kitchen floor, leaving none of them salvageable for the recipe she’d been working on. It was something new she’d been toying with since new recipes had a way of pulling her out of a funk, but this funk was really persistent. She couldn’t wait out the rain, it looked to be one of those slow soaking rains that lasted all day rather than a good storm with lots of thunder that would blow itself out quickly. 

Cassidy tugged on her jacket and pulled her hood up over her braid, hoping she wouldn’t get too drenched as she rode her bicycle to the store to get more eggs. Not two blocks later a car speeding down the wet road hit a sizable puddle and sent dirty water cascading directly over Cassidy’s entire body. She swerved her bike belatedly, jerking the handlebars to the side and causing the ancient thing to make an uncomfortable grinding sound. The chain had come off the gears again. 

“I should’ve just gone back to bed,” she grumbled to herself, dismounting and wheeling the bicycle to an overhanging roof to try and get a look at the chain. Soaked through and freezing, she couldn’t get the chain back where it belonged to make the bike rideable again. Part of her just wanted to kick it, but she knew that wouldn’t help. The voice from inside the doorway startled her; she hadn’t realized she’d rolled the bike up to the mechanic’s doorway. Maybe God was trying to remind her that good things could happen even on bad days. 

“Uh, maybe... I don’t have a car for you to look at or anything, but I don’t suppose you know anything about bicycles do you?”

[cassidyholloway]

Peach Curd & Rosewater Tartlets with Basil Whipped Cream and Nasturtium Flowers

[cassidyholloway]

neilmonroe:

“You know what?” he chuckled, casting her a sideways smile as he swept her grocery bag into the pretty little basket – he noticed it’d been decorated with flowers, and warmed inwardly as he wondered if there was anything she touched that didn’t represent nature, or growth, or goodness (except, perhaps, him) – and started to wheel the bicycle alongside them. “I think you’ve convinced me. You started to sound a little like Caesar at the end, mind,” he added with warmth, “but I appreciate a little zeal.” 

He hadn’t felt so good for months: walking in the quiet, early-evening streets with Cassidy, the last of the day’s heat fading into night’s coolness but still there to warm his face. Hearing her wax lyrical about candy – how had they even gotten to that point? – and hearing himself laugh. It would’ve bewildered him, had he stopped to chew it over, but he refused. It was just so easy, see. So natural. And if he stopped, allowed himself to do anything other than float along with it, with Cassidy and the quietly rustling grocery bags and the slightly creaky bike-chain, he knew that he’d ruin it. The little niggle of doubt did linger in the back of his mind – you shouldn’t be here; you shouldn’t be laughing, shouldn’t be happy; do you want her to end up dead, too? You’ve killed everything else you’ve touched – but he let her words drown it out.

“It’s a pity,” he said, picturing a young Cassidy and Levi careening down the street, “That sounds like a pretty efficient mode of transport. Who needs taxis when you have a bike’s handlebars, right?” 

The sweet scents of Sticky Fingers wafted down the street towards them, taking him back to the other times he’d ventured inside, either with his hands in his pockets or intertwined with Hazel’s. A faint colour rose to his cheeks as he realised he was eating for free there again tonight, just as he had years before. Neil stopped the bike just outside the bakery, leaning it carefully against the wall between the flowery window boxes. He lifted Cassidy’s bag out of the basket and unhooked his from around the handlebar, turning to her gingerly – the door was just to his left, but he didn’t want to barge on into her home. He was already intruding enough – the sight of his scuffed shoes, shabby coat and dark-circled eyes against her neatly-painted, bright and feminine store front manifested that pretty plainly. They looked like odd company together – but he reminded himself that she’d invited him, that he was welcome there. He just had to try to believe it.

“After you?”

“I was going for Marie Antionette, but I’ll take it. I seriously considered naming the bakery Let Them Eat Cake but a) I didn’t want to get beheaded, and b) I don’t actually make that much cake. Which, of course, leads us back to point a,” she shrugged and grinned. Honestly, she couldn’t imagine Sticky Fingers with another name anymore, but she’d been so nervous before actually opening the bakery that she’d had a huge list of potential names that she and her mother had spent hours creating and narrowing down.

“Unfortunately, I eat too many of my own creations to fit on anyone’s handlebars these days,” she added, blowing out her cheeks and bowing out her arms to make herself look bigger than she was. In truth, she knew she was on the small side, the comment was more for comedic effect than anything else. She was no model, but she wasn’t overweight. 

When they reached her front door, she let Neil gather the bags and left the bike leaning up against the front while she made her way to the door. There was a back way up to her little living space above the bakery without actually having to cut through the business, but Jack used it far more often than Cassidy did. The door swung open easily before them and she moved inside, ushering Neil along with her. It was late enough that there were no customers and the two of them were able to enter unencumbered by anyone else. “The downstairs kitchen for Sticky Fingers is probably the best place to do real cooking, it’s what I usually do since upstairs is kind of cramped and ridiculous. So unless you have any objections, come on back with me and I’ll start dinner,” she said, leading the way behind the counter. “Oh man... now that I’m about to start cooking I’m super hungry. We may have to do dessert first while the food cooks.” 

She kept the chatter going to keep Neil from feeling strange about coming behind the counter and into the kitchen of the house-turned-bakery. Sometimes it threw people off that she really lived and worked in the same place, but the remodeling that had been done out of necessity to make her business viable had only made the little white house more her own than before. In her mind it made perfect sense and wasn’t awkward at all and in most cases she could get others to see it the same way. 

“Help yourself to whatever appetizer looks good,” she said, gesturing to the bakery in general. 

[cassidyholloway]

levifletcher:

Levi laughed as his eyes wondered around the studio before landing on her once again. “I could never ask you to actually do that. I’d hate having you be an accomplice, stuff like that spreads quickly around a small town like Foxcroft. It’d only take a few hours before the whole place thinks I’ve corrupted their sweet little baker.” There was a tilt to his head as she really considered that a win. “I rather be working as the janitor here before I’d ever let you think that this old junk is more important than you.”

He said what he said and he had meant it. Every single word. Levi could never ask Cassidy to do a single thing for him because she had already done so much, more than she might know. And he knew that she had meant what she had said and that made him only want to stick to his word more.

“I think I might still have a scar or two on my leg. That damn cat was awful, you would’ve thought we would had learned our lesson. We were persistence, that’s for sure…” Picking up on her gesture, he nodded before he turned around on his heels leading her towards the back of the studio. “Well there’s not too much for you to break in there, but I’m sure you’ll find something.”

Cassidy blushed, feeling as though the warmth of his statement went right from her core being to her face. Levi had been out, he’d seen the world while Cassidy had spent her life in Foxcroft. There were the occasional trips to “the city” for things you just couldn’t get in their tiny town (prom dresses, the used industrial oven that currently dominated Sticky Finger’s kitchen, etc) but she’d never been out of the state and probably hadn’t gone more than fifty miles or so from home. Sometimes it felt like they were too different, that their desires and the world in general would force them apart, no matter how close they’d been as children. Having him tell her she was still important to her meant more than she could say.

“As long as I can still make cookies, I don’t think anyone will mind,” she said, shaking her head and focusing on the more lighthearted part of his words. If she tried to thank him for caring she’d end up stumbling on her words and feeling like an idiot. Instead she took his arm as he lead her toward his work area, giving his bicep a gentle squeeze that she hoped conveyed how she felt. 

“I’m sure I can. I have faith in my ability to be entirely graceless,” she laughed. “Okay, so I know nothing about radio except how to turn mine on. I want you to teach me something. Please. I meant to preface that with please.” 

[cassidyholloway]

cassidyholloway:

Fiasco. It was the only word Cassidy could come up with to describe Adam Foxcroft’s funeral. An utter fiasco. 

Willa Potter had brawled on the dais with Amelia, a very drunk Neil had opened the casket… She watched as both of them got hauled off by the police and wondered just what the hell she was supposed to do now. What was the proper etiquette? She wasn’t really a close friend of the family, in truth she’d come more as moral support for those that were and because, well…because the whole town was going and it felt like the right thing to do. Now, though, did she just go back to the bakery? Or would that be more impolite than attending the continuation of the service at the Foxcroft’s? 

She chewed her bottom lip, plucking at hem of her borrowed black dress. She didn’t own one that seemed nice enough for this kind of thing so she’d borrowed one of her mother’s. Maybe it was best to go and offer her condolences, make a quick appearance, then get out of the way so that those who needed the time with the family and loved ones could have it. 

Decision made, Cassidy stopped by the bakery and packed up a quick basket of things she could leave for the family. It seemed like bad manners to show up empty handed. As she walked, she contemplated the events of the funeral again. Was it really such a surprise that the casket was empty? It had been several months since Adam had passed away… perhaps the body had to be cremated and the casket was more symbolic? Though, even Amelia had seemed surprised when there was no Adam in the coffin. Or, perhaps she’d just been surprised that someone would have the audacity to open it. 

Cassidy sighed, staring up at Foxcroft manner before she truly felt ready. The front door was ajar, another group of mourners entering so Cassidy slipped in with them and paused in the entryway. “Do you know where the kitchen is? I figured I’d put this there for them…” she said, lifting the basket slightly. 

[cassidyholloway]

Apple Cardamom Cable Knit Pie - Inspired by @neilmonroe 

[cassidyholloway]

Fiasco. It was the only word Cassidy could come up with to describe Adam Foxcroft’s funeral. An utter fiasco. 

Willa Potter had brawled on the dais with Amelia, a very drunk Neil had opened the casket... She watched as both of them got hauled off by the police and wondered just what the hell she was supposed to do now. What was the proper etiquette? She wasn’t really a close friend of the family, in truth she’d come more as moral support for those that were and because, well...because the whole town was going and it felt like the right thing to do. Now, though, did she just go back to the bakery? Or would that be more impolite than attending the continuation of the service at the Foxcroft’s? 

She chewed her bottom lip, plucking at hem of her borrowed black dress. She didn’t own one that seemed nice enough for this kind of thing so she’d borrowed one of her mother’s. Maybe it was best to go and offer her condolences, make a quick appearance, then get out of the way so that those who needed the time with the family and loved ones could have it. 

Decision made, Cassidy stopped by the bakery and packed up a quick basket of things she could leave for the family. It seemed like bad manners to show up empty handed. As she walked, she contemplated the events of the funeral again. Was it really such a surprise that the casket was empty? It had been several months since Adam had passed away... perhaps the body had to be cremated and the casket was more symbolic? Though, even Amelia had seemed surprised when there was no Adam in the coffin. Or, perhaps she’d just been surprised that someone would have the audacity to open it. 

Cassidy sighed, staring up at Foxcroft manner before she truly felt ready. The front door was ajar, another group of mourners entering so Cassidy slipped in with them and paused in the entryway. “Do you know where the kitchen is? I figured I’d put this there for them...” she said, lifting the basket slightly.