I Don't Have Time For Cake!

I always hated weekends. Loathed them. Absolutely couldn't stand them. The fact is, as a busy person, I don't have time for weekends. The way everything winds down and everyone just stops doing anything productive because "somebody" in their so - called infinite wisdom figured we all needed a couple of days off, oh puuulll-eeeze!

Every Saturday was just like the one before it, and the one after it. I wake to the sun shining through my window and the deafening silence of nothing. The morning streets are quiet as the world sleeps in and then slowly meanders through the the next 48 hours. There's nothing but me and my thoughts. I hate that.

It was always the same, haul myself out of bed, grab a shower and head down to Gerry's, a cute little bakery and coffee shop, for a coffee and then to the office to get some work done.

It's an unseasonally chilly morning. I like that. It means there'll be less people out and about. Less people in my way, walking slowly, or worse yet, stopping dead in front of me to catch up with some moron they haven't seen in 30 years.

"Large coffee to go," I tell the guy behind the counter, "black."

"Large coffee to go, black, " he repeats, then adds with a wry smile, "PLEASE."

You can't be serious! As if I have time for a smartass barrista. I'm over here trying to get my coffee so I can squeeze in some work so I can make partner by the time I'm 40 and that's in exactly 15 months and 3 days, so excuse me if I'm a little short on the niceties. I smile back though firmly clenched teeth, "please."

He hands me the coffee. "Can I interest you in a slice of chocolate cake to go with that coffee?" he asks, pointing to the refrigerated case below the counter, "it has a delicious cream cheese icing." He almost sings the part about the icing, as if that's going to tempt anyone.

I stare at him hard for a second. Of course I dont want a slice of cake. Do I look like I eat cake? If I'd wanted a slice of cake, I'd have ordered one. It's a bakery after all, so if I want cake, don't worry, buddy, I know right where to find you. This guy is really starting to get on my nerves. I shake my head, "no just the coffee,"and toss a handful of change on the counter.

"You sure?" he smiles broadly showing a massive row of perfect, gleaming white teeth.

I've had enough now. I've tried to be polite. "I am quite sure, thank you," I snapped, "but should my cake needs change, you'll be the first to know!" I turned on my heel and strode toward the door.

"I'll be here," he called with that same sing-songy voice.

I made a mental note to stop in after work to report him to the manager. I got to the office at 9:04. Great, 4 minutes late, 4 minutes I'll never get back thanks to that infuriating cake guy. I sat down at my desk and mentally rearranged my day to account for the lost time. "Okay," I figured, "I'll work until 2, take an hour at the gym downstairs and then head home. I'll be ready for another coffee by then."

Work went better than I'd expected. I got quite a bit done and I had the entire place to myself. But, I had lost track of time, it was 3:30 before I had looked at the clock. I hurriedly dictated a couple of letters and a set of instructions for my secretary and flew out the door to hit the gym. And by 4;45, I was out and headed back to Gerry's.

I walked up to the counter and ordered my usual black coffee to go as I scanned an email on my phone.

"You could at least do me the courtesy of looking at me when you order," a male voice challenged.

I looked up. It was him. That same annoying middle aged twit in bakers' whites from this morning. "Get me your manager!" I growled.

"You're lookin' at him," he quipped.

"Of course I am," I thought bitterly, "well then, get me the owner."

He shrugged, "still me," he reached a large hand across the counter, "I'm Gerald, as in Gerry. Owner, pastry chef extrordinaire, at your humble service."

I stepped back, shoving my hands in my pocket, "you have some nerve!" I started. "I came in here this morning for coffee, not a lecture on manners..."

"Yes," he smiled, "please, allow me to extend my sincerest apologies," his voice dripped with sarcasm.

My blood had pretty much reached boiling by this point. "Look," I spat, louder than I had intended, "I don't want your apology, I don't want any of your damn cake, I just want my coffee! Do you think you can manage that?"

The smile faded from his face. He looked disappointed, almost crestfallen. "Of course, sorry," he grabbed my coffee, "please, accept this, and a slice of cake on the house, as my apology. I didn't mean to offend you, I just get so tired of rude jerks coming in here, I guess I turned into one myself."

"Fine, whatever," I agreed hastily. I mean if he wanted to give me a piece of cake, who was I to say no? "I'll take a slice of chocolate, with the cream cheese icing."

He nodded, placed a huge slice in a take away box and I left. I have to admit, the cake was amazing! Moist, light, just perfect. The bite of the cream cheese set off the sweetness of the cake in a way I had never quite experienced. I began to feel bad for being so hard on the poor guy. Maybe I was a bit, ummm, intense.

The next morning, I decided I'd smooth things over. I went in at around 8:00 as usual and there he was. He grinned as I approached the counter.

"Look," I began, "about yesterday..."

"No hard feelings," he laughed casually, "we all have bad days." He held out that big hand again, "let's shake on it."

I took his hand. Something happened. For the first time, I saw him. I mean I really "saw" him, his twinkling blueish-green eyes, the tiny lines around his mouth when he smiled, the pinkness of his cheeks. He was blushing. And he was really quite handsome, not in that conventional way, but still, handsome. I imagined from his tall stature and wide shoulders that he might have played football in his younger days. I could feel heat rising in me and filling my face as I gently slid my hand from his.

"Coffee, black, to go?" he asked.

I'll have it here," I whispered, almost breathlessly. I barely realized what I said until the words were out of my mouth.

"You have time for cake?" he offered, winking, "on the house..." There was that sing - songy voice again. This time it wasn't as annoying. It wasn't annoying at all. It sounded almost lyrical.

I nodded. I'd make time. I pointed to the freshly baked chocolate cake with cream cheese icing in the showcase.

That was 10 years ago. I laugh now thinking back to that weekend and the person I was. I made partner about a month after that. And a year after that, I left the firm, married Gerry and started working with him in the bakery.

I sometimes find myself just watching him at work, thinking about that weekend, like I've been doing today, and wondering what my life would have been like if I didn't take the cake. I shudder to think. It all seems like I was living someone else's life back then. All I know now is that I don't hate weekends anymore, and I always have time for cake.