Chapter 10 – New Hands at the Hearth

  The chalkboard outside carried a new line the next morning, scrawled neatly beneath the day’s specials:

  Help Wanted – Counter & Kitchen Assistant. Inquire within.

  By noon, the whispers had already begun. Students lingered by the board, nudging each other. Merchants muttered that the Ashbornes must be swimming in customers if they were hiring. Even a few rival café workers peeked at it on their way past, their expressions unreadable.

  That evening, after the shutters closed, the family cleared a corner table. The counter still smelled of cinnamon and duskberries, the ovens faintly warm behind them. Dorian sat with his slate ready, stylus in hand, while Cerys folded her arms and muttered, “We’ll see if anyone’s got steady hands, not just fast talk.”

  Alina perched at the edge of her chair, eyes bright. “I’m going to ask them if they like rainbow buns. That’s important.”

  “Not exactly the most pressing qualification,” Dorian said dryly, but he didn’t stop her.

  The first candidate arrived nervously, a boy no older than sixteen. He claimed he “liked the smell of bread” but admitted he’d never worked a shift in his life. When Dorian asked him to balance two trays, he wobbled so badly that one nearly toppled onto the floor. Cerys smiled kindly but wrote his name off the list the moment he left.

  Another came swaggering in—an older man who spent more time talking about how he’d “one day open his own grand cafe” than answering questions. When Lucien asked if he could commit to steady shifts, the man shrugged. “Depends if something better comes along.” Darius muttered something under his breath about wasted time, and that was the end of that.

  One young woman seemed promising until she admitted she only applied because she “liked hanging around cafés” and thought “it might be fun.” When she mistook salt for sugar while trying a quick prep test, even Alina winced.

  But then came Mira—a young woman with short dark hair and sleeves rolled high, introducing herself with quick words and an easy grin. She picked up two mugs from the counter without spilling a drop. “I’ve served at café’s and student halls,” she said. When Cerys asked how she’d handle a rude customer, Mira didn’t flinch. “Smile, serve, and let them stew in their own sourness. They usually crack before I do.” Alina giggled, already smitten.

  After her came Jareth, a man in his late thirties with quiet eyes and calloused hands. He didn’t waste words, answering Lucien’s questions plainly. When Darius set a duskberry and a knife in front of him, Jareth sliced the fruit into perfect, even segments without hesitation. “Worked in kitchens most of my life,” he said simply. “Lost my last post when the place downsized. I’m steady. Won’t let you down.”

  By the time the last candidate had left, the family sat in silence.

  “Mira’s quick,” Cerys admitted. “Could keep up with the counter.”

  “Jareth’s solid,” Darius said. “Doesn’t need telling twice.”

  “I like both,” Alina said firmly. “One to talk, one to chop!”

  Lucien leaned back, weighing their words. They could manage with one hire, maybe, but he kept seeing the crowded tables, the lines at the door, the customers they’d had to turn away.

  Dorian set down his slate with a soft click. “If you want to stay a corner bakery, take one. If you want to grow, take both. Growth means planning ahead. If you wait until you’re desperate, you’re already too late.”

  Lucien met his friend’s eyes, then nodded slowly. “Both, then.”

  Not every applicant had come with honest intentions.

  One young man seemed almost too eager, his smile wide and his answers smooth. He claimed he had worked in “several cafés” but his examples were vague—always “a place in the north” or “a busy shop near the docks.” Still, he carried himself confidently, balancing trays without a wobble and even offering polite suggestions for greeting customers.

  Cerys glanced at Lucien, her expression softening. “He seems capable,” she murmured under her breath. Even Darius gave a curt nod. “Better than the last fool with sawdust hands.”

  Lucien wasn’t so sure. Something about the man’s eyes—too quick, darting toward the ovens, lingering on the trays of pastries—set his instincts on edge.

  “Tell me,” Lucien said suddenly, leaning forward, “what drew you here? What about Ashborne Café made you want to work with us?”

  The candidate froze. For a heartbeat too long, his smile faltered. “Ah… well, the bread, of course. Everyone says your bread is…” He trailed off, fumbling. “…fresh.”

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  “Fresh?” Alina repeated, her brow furrowing. “That’s it? Not the stories, not the rainbow buns, not even the hand pies?”

  The young man stammered something about “liking bread in general,” but the moment had already cracked.

  Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “And which cafés did you say you worked at again? Be specific this time.”

  The candidate swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. “I… it’s been years, I don’t recall the names…”

  “Every server remembers their old café,” Dorian cut in flatly. “If you can’t, you weren’t one.”

  The silence that followed was damning.

  The Ashbornes thanked him politely, but when the door closed, Cerys whispered what they were all thinking: “He wasn’t here for work. He was here for information.”

  Another “candidate” followed soon after, a young woman with neat dressing and a charming laugh and a little too much polish in her posture. She answered quickly, almost rehearsed. She breezed through questions about handling customers and even impressed Alina by correctly naming every spice jar in the kitchen. For a while, she seemed the perfect fit.

  Lucien listened quietly, but something about her felt… off. Too smooth. Too practiced.

  So when Lucien asked casually, “What’s your favorite dish on our menu?” the mask slipped.

  The woman didn’t hesitate—her smile widened. “Oh, the rainbow cake, of course! Everyone loves it.”

  The café went silent.

  Cerys frowned. Darius arched a brow. Alina tilted her head.

  Lucien’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “We don’t make rainbow cake,” he said softly. “Never have.”

  The candidate’s face froze, the confident smile faltering. She stammered something about “must have mixed up the names” before hurriedly excusing herself.

  As the door closed behind her, Alina burst into giggles. “She didn’t even know about the buns!”

  Dorian’s expression hardened instead of amused. “Not a mistake. That one wasn’t here to work. She was sent to listen, to watch. A spy, not an assistant.”

  The family exchanged uneasy glances, realizing just how closely their rivals must have been watching.

  “Lesson learned,” Dorian said grimly. “Rivals won’t always come at you with open knives. Sometimes they’ll come smiling, asking for work.”

  Across Lanternreach, in the back room of Hearth & Hollow, the failed “candidates” stood stiffly before their manager. The air smelled of over-roasted beans and frustration.

  “You had one task,” the manager hissed, slamming the door shut hard enough to rattle cups on the shelf. “One! Get inside, watch their ovens, learn their tricks. And you couldn’t even keep your lies straight?”

  The young man tried to protest. “He asked me about what drew me there—I wasn’t expecting—”

  “Not expecting?” the manager snapped, eyes blazing. “Of course he asked, and you thought you could stroll in and prattle about ‘fresh bread’?”

  The young woman winced as his gaze turned on her. “Rainbow cake? Really?” He spat the words like sour milk. “You might as well have tattooed ‘spy’ on your forehead.”

  Neither dared speak.

  The manager leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Pathetic. I send you to bring me recipes, and instead you bring me embarrassment. Do you know what this means? They’re not na?ve anymore. They’re watching. They’ll be twice as careful now, thanks to your blunders.”

  He waved them away with a snarl. “Get out of my sight. And don’t expect your wages this week—you didn’t earn them.”

  The spies slunk out, pale and silent.

  Just when they thought the interviews were over, the final candidate stepped in—a tall, wiry young man named Elias. He explained that he split his time between helping his uncle’s pastry stall and studying accountancy at the Institute.

  When Lucien asked him to run a simple calculation of costs on Dorian’s slate, Elias did it without hesitation, even suggesting how ingredient waste could be tracked to save a few shards each week. He wasn’t as quick with the trays as Mira or as steady in the kitchen as Jareth, but his sharp eye for numbers stood out.

  “I won’t lie,” Elias admitted with a shrug. “I’m better with ledgers than ladles. But cafés need both, don’t they?”

  The family exchanged looks—impressed, but also aware they could only manage two hires right now.

  “He’s clever,” Cerys murmured.

  “Wouldn’t be bad having someone who actually likes keeping track of accounts,” Darius added.

  Dorian gave a thoughtful nod. “Not today. But don’t lose him. Growth will bring more than just hungry mouths—it will bring records, audits, and taxes. Better to have him in our corner when the time comes.”

  Lucien smiled faintly and held out a hand. “We can’t bring you on just yet, Elias. But if you’re willing, we’d like to keep your name on file. When we’re ready to grow again, you’ll be the first we call.”

  Elias accepted with a polite bow, leaving behind his contact tag. The moment he was gone, Alina whispered, “I liked him. He didn’t even flinch at Dorian’s numbers.”

  Dorian chuckled. “That one’s a keeper. Just not today.”

  Just when he was about to leave, Lucien suddenly called out, “Wait, Elias.”

  The young man turned, brow raised.

  Lucien hesitated only a moment before continuing. “What if… we started smaller? Not full-time. We can’t quite support another set of full wages yet. But part-time—helping us with the books, inventory, keeping the numbers straight. Would you be open to that?”

  Elias blinked, then a smile broke across his face. “Better than nothing? It’s better than perfect. I’d take any excuse to work with clean ledgers instead of chasing coin at my uncle’s stall. Part-time suits me fine.”

  Relief flickered through Lucien’s chest. He extended a hand again, and this time Elias clasped it firmly.

  “Then it’s settled,” Lucien said. “Mira on the counter, Jareth in the kitchen, and Elias… part-time, on the books.”

  Cerys raised her brows but didn’t object. Dorian even gave an approving nod. “A wise compromise. Numbers matter as much as knives, and it’ll cost you far less until you’re ready for more.”

  Lucien exhaled, then turned to Dorian. “Can you draft the contracts? One for Mira—front counter, full-time. One for Jareth—kitchen assistant, full-time. And Elias—part-time, books and inventory. If we move quickly, they could start tomorrow.”

  Dorian was already lifting his slate. “On it.” His stylus flicked across the screen with brisk, practiced movements. “Standard terms with Ashborne addendums: one-week paid trial, weekly pay, meal during shift, and a modest performance bonus tied to weekend revenue. Shifts will be posted three days ahead; emergency swaps require approval. No poaching of recipes or suppliers, and strict confidentiality—especially regarding the Ashborne recipe development notes. He glanced up. “Agreed?”

  Cerys nodded. “Add a clause about customer conduct—polite, no matter how rude the crowd gets.”

  “And safety,” Darius rumbled. “Knives, hot oil, ovens.”

  “Done,” Dorian said, already typing. “Aprons and towels provided, staff wash before and after shifts, no open drinks behind the counter, hair tied back. For Elias: part-time cap at twenty hours a week; access to ledgers, invoices, and supplier portals on a view-and-file basis—no payment authority without Lucien or my co-sign.”

  Lucien leaned over the slate. “Perfect. Send them for e-review tonight?”

  Dorian tapped three times; three soft chimes answered in quick succession. “Mira, Jareth, and Elias now have the contracts in their inboxes. They can e-sign on their wristlinks. I’ll get auto-notifications the moment each one signs.”

  As if on cue, the café lights hummed, and a new message blinked on Dorian’s slate.

  “Efficient,” he murmured. “Mira signed within thirty seconds.”

  “Tell her to come in for the morning shift,” Cerys said, unable to hide a smile. “We’ll break her in gently—with a crowd.”

  Another chime. Dorian’s mouth twitched. “Jareth’s signed. Starting tomorrow, prep at dawn.”

  Lucien felt relieved. “Elias?”

  A final chime. Dorian nodded. “Signed. Part-time. He’ll arrive after lunch tomorrow to shadow me and migrate the books.”

  “Good,” Lucien said, unable to stop the grin. “Send them all a start-time note—Mira at opening, Jareth in the kitchen an hour before, Elias past noon. Aprons and towels ready. And… welcome to Ashborne.”

  Dorian fired off the messages, then set the slate down with a satisfied click. “Contracts locked. Rosters posted. Tomorrow, you stop sprinting and start running.”

  Alina threw both hands up like a cheer. “We have a team!”

  Cerys squeezed Lucien’s shoulder. Darius gave a subtle nod. Now, the café felt less like a dam against a flood—and more like a ship being readied to sail.