Ducking out of the rain through an emerald green door, William Kaur crossed his bakery’s darkened service area to a warmly lit office. It was as dry and cozy as he left it where his young manager was hunched over the second desk by the back wall. The other employees had already gone home.
The manager, Maxwell, looked up.
“Any calls?” said William, as he slapped his hat and coat on the tottering coat rack behind the door.
“Mr. Sorenson came.”
William shot an alarmed glare at the younger man. For a moment he only stared. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Maxwell fingered the extra short pencil he’d been writing with. “He asked for you.”
That maniac doesn’t know how to do ‘nothing.’ William rushed to his own cluttered desk positioned beside his associate’s and ripped open the appointment book. Found the correct week, day, time. It was empty as anticipated. “He didn’t have an appointment.”
The quaint city of Jasbir was home to several schools and professions of the magical arts including the only two magical pastry chefs in the entire country: William Kaur and Norman Sorenson. They had become acquainted when William first set up shop in Jasbir. Since then, Mr. Sorenson made it abundantly clear that they could never be friendly.
William eyed him. “Did he give you trouble?”
Maxwell pulled a face as though he suspected his memory of lying. “I brought him in here so he couldn’t bother the customers. He sat on the bench by the door, looked at your diplomas on the wall… wouldn’t give a reason for coming.” He shrugged. “And then when I announced we were closing, he left.”
Is Sorenson capable of harmless behavior? William leered, incredulous. “You’re telling me he literally did nothing.”
“Er, well, I suppose not ‘nothing’ – he took your giant slinky.”
William whirled around to the empty ledge behind his desk and then whirled back in a rage. “And you let him walk out with it?!”