Free The Baker by Serena Yates

the next generation or some such nonsense, so this bakery would not have been able to compete because nobody is getting my secret recipes just to win a competition.”
    “Not even if it would bring us a lot of free publicity and probably many new customers.” Ian faced his father’s angry glare with outward calm, which only deepened the man’s frown.
    “So I spoke to the mayor on Sunday and got him to change his mind.” Ian’s father pulled himself up into an even straighter posture. “The competition will now allow anyone to represent a business, not just the younger generation. That will allow us to be properly represented, by me, and our best-selling goods to win the competition.”
    Ian had never noticed how conceited his father was, but with his newfound distance, it became painfully obvious. The man was at the very least arrogant, probably veering toward deluded. He’d made it sound as if it were his right to win the competition.
    “Now, off to work. The bread won’t sell itself.” Without another word, not even waiting for Ian’s and Senga’s reaction, their father checked his watch, nodded, and walked off to open the store.
    Whatever he and his sister thought was clearly not relevant. Ian couldn’t wait to find out what the mayor would actually say. All he could do for now was hope that Matthew’s message meant what Ian hoped it meant, and that his father wasn’t as well connected and informed as he wanted to believe.
    When eight thirty finally came around, Ian and Senga joined their father in the employee room and listened to the mayor being welcomed to the talk show. A few general comments followed, then the interviewer asked if there were any interesting festivals coming up. The mayor launched into an explanation of Tartan Day, how it would allow the Scottish American community to showcase their culture, and how that would benefit all of Casper.
    Then he started talking about food and the competition. The mayor mentioned some of the Scottish-run businesses in town, including the Scottish Bakehouse. Ian glanced at his father and thought he saw him grow two inches, fueled by pride. But when the mayor started explaining the rules, saying that the competition would be open to anyone who wanted to participate, both businesses and individuals, the smug look on Ian’s father’s face vanished as if it had never been there.
    “What is he talking about?” Ian’s father switched off the radio, cutting off the mayor in the middle of a sentence. “That wasn’t what we agreed on.”
    No, Father, that wasn’t what you wanted him to do. I bet Mayor Tadman never said he’d actually do what you suggested. Matthew’s father was much too smooth for that.
    “Never mind, I’m going to win this anyway. Some would-be Scottish housewife isn’t going to beat years of experience, family tradition, and refined recipes.” Ian’s father looked at Senga, then Ian. “Well, haven’t you got anything to say?”
    Senga shook her head, not that their father was paying attention.
    “No, Father, I’ve got nothing to add.” Ian was proud he’d managed to sound cool and collected. Inside he was shaking with nerves. The thought of his father finding out Ian was planning to go up against him in the competition terrified him. He’d have to put that off as long as possible, since his life at work would turn into hell the second his father found out.
    “Didn’t think so.” Their father smiled triumphantly as he left the break room, clearly believing he’d won already.
    “Just you wait,” Ian whispered.
    Senga’s eyes widened. “You have a plan?”
    “Yep, I have a plan, and it’s top secret.” Ian lifted his index finger and pressed it against his tightly closed lips for emphasis. But he winked to lighten the mood.
    Senga giggled. Then she pressed her hand to her mouth, but it didn’t hold back the soft, amused sounds she made as her eyes twinkled with mirth.
    That’s better!

Chapter Seven
     
     
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