eat

Kelly had crossed the street several times already, crisscrossing her way down lex into the lower 40s and finally 30s. Had she been tailed by police or private eyes, the follower would have suspected she knew: the erratic movement, the stop at every corner even with no light, the jerk of her head.
she was not followed. there was no one to observe the furtive glances shot at certain shop windows, or the akward shuffle she would make when she would half turn in the doorway and then quickly walk away. At each entrance a new deterrent blocked her. The jingle from the door opening. The sudden turn of all the patrons of a bakery to look at her, standing-
she mumbled and left.
Close to 14th street, she got trapped. The door was not flush with the side of the building but instead was recessed. She had seen, perhaps absurdly, the that there was no bell attached to the door. The door was glassed, andas the inside was hot from ovens, steamed just slightly. She stepped away from the bustling of the street into the enclave. The smell of the bakery was indecernible, but the heat came off in waves. The mist on the door clung to the middle, and at her height she could see in, could see the golden tops of buns, brightly decorated cupcakes and napoleons. She leaned in on the warmth of the door, almost pressing her face to the glass, when a man, a few inches shorter and several years older moved into the condensed space of the enclave with such sudden force that she was barreled past the door and inside.

The warmth within was between tropical and womb-like. A window cracked open and the swinging door to the kitchen kept the heat moving in wafts. The walls perspired. The man peered at her. He had apologized effusively and with a strong accent, but dazed by the sudden rush of being in, she said nothing in response. Her gaze did not even remain on his face in a pretense of politeness, but wandered around the shop. Which reminded her suddenly, and so completely of not a bakery but a butchershop.

The counter girl's smile was genuine, but growing thin with being ignored. Kelly realized the man was trying –and failing—to allow her to order first. The girl too with her absurdly round curls and round cheeks and round eyes, was paused and waiting. Kelly flushed and pointed to a lemony looking tart with gelatanous looking fruit dying across the top. She didn't bother to try and say the name on the card and purposely did not reflect on the calorie content, the fact that the sugary crust around the side would turn her stomach.

To her horror girl asked how many and she said 6 no 5. The man, finger tips lost in his bushy mustache didn't seem to notice. He was looking at the thin italian wafers on the top shelf. Kelly strained to keep her face from grimacing and watched as the bubbly girl selected the tarts, arranging them in a pink cardboard box.

“It's –they're-- for a party,” Kelly volunteered.

“Oh,” the girl trilled politely.

“Do you think I should get something else?” She could feel the desperation, the drive to convince this counter girl of her sociality scaling her as necessity. The girl cooed that the tarts would be a hit.

“I'm just not sure it's enough—I don't want to have to cut them, their so pretty just like that.”

“Oh well how many people?” Kelly felt her hands thick, enormous, swollen, traveling to her bag, she kept her gaze on the girl, unsure if she willed herself, or was unable to avert her eyes. “I'm not sure—you can never tell, who actually will show up, who might bring someone--”

“carnation” the man recommended.

“No, no,” Kelly tried to sound definitive, “I have flowers, or someone might bring them”

“For the guests.” And she realized he meant little carnation shaped entities on the bottom rack of the display case, the shape created out of pure confectionary sugar.

“They're smaller than the tarts,” trilled the counter girl and Kelly thought she heard a vague southern twang.

“Six then. People can have two,” she rushed out with the second part of her request. There was a pause as the girl scraped the carnations from the metal, and then the door burst,with several chattering middle aged women filling the small space of the bakery.