Baker

11. 12. 13. She counted silently, leaning against the counter with her head heavy in her hands from lack of sleep the night before. Agh, she wanted to go back to bed, to lay her head on her heavenly pillow, to kick the man out of it if he was still there so she could stretch out and fall asleep. 

26. 27. 28. The turns of the stand mixer rhythmically thumping the dough were a familiar, lulling sound - no aid in resisting her desire to sleep. 

34. 35. 36. She liked to think she was exact- that the dough would be turned the same number of times as the batch before, the same number as the batch to come, day after day to match the consistency the patrons expected. 

47. 48. 49. Counting in her head was a habit more than a necessity by now. She knew she didn’t have to count as much as she needed to feel that the dough was ready. She let her thoughts wander back to that man that may or may not still be in her bed. She hoped not, he was not a good lover after all his bragging. Basic, boring, over before she was done. 

62. 63. 64. Her mind shifted to needing to wash the sheets. The task hardly seemed worthy of the time she’d spent between them last night. Had she thought of that beforehand, maybe she wouldn’t have taken his hand as they left the bar less than 3 hours ago. Too late now. She yawned and swore a promise to herself to think of it next time.

73. 74. 75. At least the dough would be good. 

She absentmindedly reached to turn off the mixer as it completed 80 turns.