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Saturday morning dawned much earlier than Dean would have liked. It took strong, black coffee and a shower to make Dean even begin to feel like a real human. It was paperwork day. He hated paperwork, but as he was a business owner, it was necessary. Numbers weren’t really his thing. Nevermind he had an MBA. He could run a business, but taxes? No way. That’s what an accountant was for.
“Boss, how long are you in for today?” Charlie, his tech guru, best friend, and found little sister asked. "I wanted to know because I have some new social media ideas and website designs for you to look over."
Dean strolled toward his office and shook his head, “Not that long Charlie. Probably only five hours or so. Time to get inventory done, make sure all the appropriate orders, and payroll are taken care of. That’s it. I have to be out of here by 3:15.”.
While numbers were out of his sphere, he craved having control over inventory and making sure all the restoration cars were getting the best he could afford. Client cars were easy. He was a simple man; he ordered what was needed and then applied the mark-up to make payroll, etc. The best days were when he wasn’t in the office at all but waist deep in a junked car working to bring out its beauty.
“Handmaiden, you rarely leave early, plus you’re in nicer clothes than your usual old shirt and jeans. Do you have plans you aren’t telling me about?” Charlie practically shrieked as she slid across the floor to gaze right up into his eyes.
“What did I tell you about calling me that here at work?” Dean admonished her, blatantly ignoring her reference to the date part of the exclamation.
“That doesn’t answer my question. And fine, whatever,” she said, tapping her toes while looking expectantly.
“Ok, but just the basics, because I don’t know much at this point myself,” Dean acquiesced. “Remember the pie I took to family dinner last night? I’m meeting the owner of the shop this afternoon. He wrote his number on my coffee cup when I was in the bakery earlier this week.”
“Oh a date!” Charlie squeed as she jumped up and hugged Dean’s neck. “I’m so happy for you. It’s been too long since you did something for yourself.”
He wasn’t going to get his hands dirty working with that beautiful ‘67 Mustang as early as he wished, but given his meeting with Cas this afternoon at the pizza shop, he was glad he wasn’t getting dirty today. It wasn’t the easiest thing to get the grease and old stains and smell off.
“I’ll give you a pass," Charlie agreed, "because I know you haven’t met anybody in ages. You’ve made every game night, so I know something’s off, but I want deets tomorrow while we play”
“Gotcha, now I have work to do and so do you.” Dean left her in the foyer of the shop and headed for his office.
~~~~~~
On the other side of town, Cas always rose with the birdsong instead of waiting for the alarm to go off and had a cup of tea before heading to Pies by five. He liked opening in the morning. It allowed him all the smells of fixing the sweet fillings, then smelling the product baking.
“Good morning, Gabe. Here's my plan for the morning.” Castiel brought out his list. He already had his chef’s whites on and was ready to get started. “Apple, cherry, blueberry, mixed berry, for mini and large pies to get started. As usual, I thought I’d leave the accompanying treats and quick breads for you. Alfie and Kevin the cookies and other sweets that don’t take that long to make.”
Gabe took a minute to think about it. “Hmm, banana and strawberry-almond for quick breads, our usual assortment of muffins, a variety of scones based on the berries you are planning to use, plus chocolate because I can’t resist. And then the other two can choose what they want to make when they get here.”
“That sounds fine. I’ll have some of the more popular pies ready by late morning – probably pecan, pumpkin, and a quiche of some flavor. Remember, I have to leave at three o’clock today,” Castiel reminded him, while fidgeting with the note paper in his hands.
“Why’s that Cassie? You are never one to leave the bakery early, especially on a Saturday,” Gabe prodded. “Finally going to loosen up a bit?” He ribbed as he grabbed his chef whites.
“Because I have something I want to do this afternoon, I do ask that we all keep each other informed when we want or need to leave, but I’m not your ten year old brother anymore,” Castiel countered and grabbed the flour. “I believe when I asked you to open Pies with me, it was because we were discussing the opportunities of it being a family business, not so you could lord over me our age difference any more.” Castiel was still irritated.
“Ok, ok, it’s too early to be all uppity. You just don’t ever lead off the morning discussion of goodies with, ‘by the way, I’m leaving early’,’” Gabe tossed out as he turned away to change.
“This is true.” Castiel softened his voice. “I will admit, Gabriel, I am meeting someone at the pizza restaurant at the end of the block later today.”
“You mean I was right!” Gabe slapped his thigh and spun around to face his little brother. “What brought this on?” he asked.
“Earlier in the week when I was working the front counter, a handsome gentleman came in during that torrential rainstorm we were having. He was pleasant, both in voice and appearance, and I wrote my number on his coffee cup.” Castiel waited, not knowing what his brother’s reaction would be.
For once, Gabe didn’t make a joke or try to needle his brother about asking someone out. “I’m happy for you, Bro. Opening this bakery has been your dream and your goal for years. I think it’s great you saw someone and acted on it.” After a pause, he added, “You deserve it.”
This time when Gabe turned around it was for good, and the morning baking began.
Castiel began on his pies. The act of getting his hands into the dough always brought him comfort. As he mixed, chilled, and rolled out the dough, he reminisced about growing up baking beside his mother.
“Remember son, the secret to a good pie crust is cold butter and ice-cold water,” Cas heard his mother’s voice in his head. He remembered her teaching him to make the dough, fillings, and even the decorations that would go on top. He thought about how far he’d come. He had made his first dessert at five years old, proudly presenting the apple pie after supper that evening. Nobody said anything when the crust wasn’t flakey or had too much salt. The filling wasn’t even set. When he mastered making a perfect lattice his mom smiled down on him with such joy in her face. Those days were the best days.
Castiel finished his baking for the day, plus his front counter duties, and retired to the office to change for his date with Dean. He was very thankful he had several sets of extra clothing at the bakery because his chef’s whites were filthy. He set off at 3:20 for the short walk down the block to the pizza place. Uncharacteristically, Gabe never said a word, just wished him well and expected a full report later.
~~~~~
Dean finished up with the inventory and reports about 2:30. Confident that every car in his care would have every part it needed this next week, he closed his computer. Checking his appearance in the full length mirror, Dean thought to himself that this wasn’t a meeting, it was a date. A date. He hadn’t had one of those for long enough that he was nervous. Sure, Cas made the first move by leaving his number on the cup, but it was Dean who followed though.
“Charlie, I’m outta here. Hold down the fort until closing time?” Dean called as he closed his office door.
“Cool beans. Nothing to worry about here,” she replied, giving him the peace sign as he walked by. There were only a few more hours of their normal work day. Most of the mechanics had gone home and if anything, there would be walk-ins or calls for a tow. Charlie had been with Dean since they met in college. He had total trust that his business would be in good hands with her.
Zeppelin blared from the speakers as the Impala pulled out of the parking lot. The lyrics reminded Dean that he hadn’t met anyone new in a very long time. “You can do this… You can do this,” he told himself.
He arrived at the restaurant right at 3:30. He was raised not to be too early, and not to be late. Today he wanted to be there right on time.
~~~~~~
Castiel was already seated in a booth when Dean walked in. There was no mistaking Dean’s tall, bow-legged walk. Nor was Cas likely to forget the green eyes that made such an impression the first time he saw them.
Cas watched as Dean searched the restaurant when he walked in. He could see when Dean saw him. He waved Dean over as discreetly as he could.
“Hello, Dean, I was almost afraid you would cancel meeting me here today.” Cas rose as he shook his hand. “I’ve already ordered drinks for us, I hope you don’t mind.”
Dean returned the hand shake and slid into the booth facing Cas. “No, I don’t mind at all. Thank you,” he said. Dean took a minute to observe that Cas’ hands were large, but soft. It surprised him because he knew how rough being in a kitchen could be on skin. He noticed while his own hands were more slender, they were rough and calloused all over, from knuckles to palm.
"I was afraid you’d cancel." Cas said.
“I almost did,” Dean chuckled, but he made sure there was a hint of mirth in his voice. “I wasn’t sure I could meet someone unless I was satisfied they were a competent baker.”
Rendered speechless, Cas wavered between being angry and dumbfounded. “What do my baking skills have to do with this?” He was finally able to vocalize. “The fact I *own* a bakery should show you that I am capable of producing a highly delectable product. I’ll have you know I worked for years to perfect my pies.”
“Just because you own a bakery doesn’t mean that you can make a mean pie,” Dean responded. He then realized that Cas didn’t hear the lightness in his voice. “I’ve been in plenty of restaurants and bakeries that say they have the best of whatever, but it’s not. And as you can see, you make a mean pie or I wouldn’t be here.” Dean followed up with, hoping to soothe the ruffled feathers he’d made. He hadn’t meant to upset Cas, he was trying to banter, but obviously Cas didn’t get his humor.
“I’ll have you know I went to culinary school for baking and pastry, as did my co-owner and head pastry chef brother,” Cas said, his voice sounding pained.
“Cas, calm down. I meant that as more of a joke,” Dean spoke as he played the silverware in front of him. “I ate the entire blueberry pie when I got home. It was awesome. And the cherry pie was a hit at family dinner last night. I didn’t even get to bring any home.” He made sure he whined a little at the last part. “I really do love pie, Cas.”
“But why does my baking skill have anything to do with you choosing to go out with me?” Cas still didn’t understand Dean’s point in bringing it up. He still wasn’t confident he shouldn’t get up and walk out. He knew he wasn’t “up” on all the modern slang and didn’t “get” jokes like other people did. He was concerned he had made a wrong choice to put his name on that coffee cup.
“Slow your roll there. I bake too. I have since I could stand on a stool next to my mom in the kitchen. Pies are the best thing ever invented. But I love to do breads, international recipes like pasties, and well, basically anything with a crust,” Dean replied. “I also like to cook, use spices, and experiment with different cuisines and recipes. But I’m not a chef.”
Cas had ordered Cokes for both of them. Their drinks were delivered and in that small bit of silence, Cas realized Dean was just trying to start the conversation, not make him upset.
Cas was relieved and pleased that his baked goods were received so well. “Since it appears you are not a professional chef, what do you do?” Cas asked inquisitively as he took a drink.
“I am a mechanic and specialize in car restoration. I have a shop that has both a regular repair side and a total restoration side,” Dean proudly responded as he put a straw in his own Coke. “I've worked there since I was in high school and took over after the owner retired.
“That must be very time-intensive, having a total car care business,” Cas came back, surprised.
“It was much worse balancing the two when I was in college. I started as a mechanic in high school, but I really loved restoring cars,” Dean explained. “I wanted to find a way to do both. You see the shiny, black muscle car right in front of the restaurant? That’s mine.” He preened as he pointed out Baby through the window.
“That’s your car?" asked Cas, awed, rising up a bit out from the bench seat to take a better look.”
“Restored her myself. She’s a ‘67 Chevy Impala I named Baby. I got her in a salvage yard after she’d been in a head-on collision with a semi. She was my first total reconstruction and I’ll never let her go,” Dean excitedly rambled on.
“I also learned baking standing with my mom at our kitchen counter,” Cas happily told Dean about his childhood baking experiences. “Anytime she wanted to make anything, I was right there next to her. I couldn’t learn fast enough.”
Dean half-smiled as he saw Cas’ hands mimic working with dough as he talked.
“Mom taught me to bake and before I went to college I had most pies and sweets down.” Dean nodded to Cas. “Breads, not so much. I still had a lot to learn.” He laughed. “I did learn a few more recipes from her, but most everything after that I had to figure out on my own.”
Cas understood the struggle to master baking breads. “We learned about every kind of pastry and baking technique in my culinary classes. I learned there was so much more to bread to make it come out with the right texture and crust,”
Dean laughed, “When I was away for my undergrad I finally mastered breads, but only after so many batches of killed yeast, bad experiences with rising times, and let’s not even talk about the resulting batches of cooked bread I had to throw out!”
Dean caught one of the wait staff’s eye and had a second round of drinks brought.
“I think the most treasured memory I have is the day of graduation from the Pastry/Baking Certificate program. My mom passed down the family recipe box to me,” Cas said, remembering the feel of the antique box, the faint smells that had soaked into the wood, and running his fingers over the old cards. “It contained recipes that went back at least three generations. I can’t tell you how honored I was to receive a gift that had my great-grandmother’s recipes in it. I use those same recipes today.”
“I hear that. I was so proud to be able to bring Baby home to Uncle Bobby and say ‘I did this’ and he slapped me on the back and told me I did a good job,” Dean said proudly. “My dad’s a cop and my mom stayed home. With a baby brother going to school to be a lawyer, they were happy for me, but it didn’t mean as much because they weren’t as into cars as I was.”
Cas nodded, turning his drink glass in his hands. “After graduation, we took on jobs as line-cook, sous, and assistants to earn enough experience to one day open my own shop. Gabriel, my brother, had been to culinary school too. He had more experience since he has a full degree in culinary arts, but found his love in sweets.”
“So he’s the one who makes everything else in your shop?” Dean asked.
“Yes, he’s better with hand-held pastries than I am. He likes to experiment with flavors,” Cas agreed. “I make all the pies, he makes the sweets, including the cupcakes and quick breads. He made up all the cookie recipes too… Well, those that weren’t already in our family box. We let our other employees make the cookies since they take less time.“
Cas smiled proudly. “The division of labor seems to be working well. Gabe and I work the longest hours in the kitchen, but we take a turn at the counter too.”
“It’s hard to turn over important things. I worked my way up the chain at my uncle’s shop, so I guess I had more time to get used to it. ” Dean said. “I was a plain ol’ mechanic all through high school. Bobby taught me all the basics, and we planned that I would go to school for a four year degree in Automotive Technology.”
“I didn’t know they had that degree.” Cas sounded surprised. “By the way, you refer to your uncle by his first name, that’s not usually accepted. Why do you do it?”
Dean shrugged. “Bobby is really laid back. He doesn’t like titles. He’s just Bobby, he just happens to be my uncle as well. As for the degree, yeah, it’s not all that common, but I was able to find a good program only a few hours from here. It had a focus on restoration too. I jumped at it.”
“Looking at your car I can see why,” Cas nodded toward Baby on the other side of the window.
“The whole plan was that I would eventually take over the shop. Bobby didn’t have any children and my brother and I were close to him. His wife died of cancer early on and he didn’t remarry. He said he enjoyed being an uncle to us,” Dean explained.
“Gabriel and I had a plan too. We used the years working in other restaurants and pastry shops to teach us how to run a business, and save money to open Pies together,” Cas said. “It’s now been open for three years.”
“My Capstone project for my degree was to do a complete restoration from the ground up. Baby was sitting in a graveyard of cars in a salvage yard because she was mangled from the wreck. The school bought her dirt cheap on the condition that if I passed, I could buy her for the salvage yard price and she’d be mine.” Dean took a long sip of his drink.
“That’s really amazing Dean,” Cas said, and meant it.
“The work really began once I got home,” Dean remembered the long hours, greasy shirts and torn jeans. “I worked full time as manager of the repair shop and started the restoration side. We had about five other employees at the time. The big thing was Uncle Bobby had a condition for me inheriting the shop. I had to have an MBA.” Dean said. “He didn’t believe I could successfully run it in today’s world without one. While I was doing all my other duties at the shop, I went to school full-time. I can already see the advantage it’s given me in the daily running of the business.”
“Yes, I can see how it would,” Cas nodded. “All the years working in the business watching shops and employees get run into the ground because of bad management made a huge impact on my brother and me. We didn’t want our business to close because we made too many mistakes. We took everything we learned, including getting a professional to help us with the accounting side, to try to start Pies off right.”
“About five years ago Bobby finally turned the whole business over to me. I turned a profit on the restoration business in two years. I was always able to convince people to trust me with their prize cars when I showed them Baby.” Dean gestured toward the Impala. “We gained a following by word of mouth, mostly. My best friend Charlie made a bunch of stuff to show off our work.” He pulled up their website on his phone and turned it to show Cas. “That’s all our show pieces so far.”
Cas nodded appreciatively. “That’s wonderful Dean! We are just now showing a profit at Pies. I know it had a lot to do with the business acumen Gabe and I learned while working other jobs. I still share an apartment with him to save money.”
“I was able to buy the business right out from my uncle thanks to the whole operation running smoothly. I live in a bungalow in one of the older areas of town and it’s not far from the shop, which is nice because I spend much of my time there. And that’s the story,” Dean finished, raising his hands, palms out.
~~~~~
“Dean, do you realize it’s been over two hours and we haven’t eaten yet?” Cas said. He hadn’t eaten lunch and his stomach was letting him know.
“Seriously, Dude?” Dean’s eyebrows rose. He too hadn’t eaten more than a sandwich, knowing he was going to a pizza restaurant. His drinks were gone as well.
“We’ve been at a restaurant without eating for longer than I ever have been. Now that’s wrong.” Dean spoke as he rose. “Come on, let’s get something. My stomach is growling.”
Cas rose, and couldn’t quite meet Dean’s eyes. “I knew I was meeting you and, to be honest, was too nervous to eat,” he softly confessed.
Dean heard that revelation and his heart stopped for a moment. Surely Cas wasn’t as tied up in knots as he was?. Thankfully they hadn’t ordered yet. He was sure the wait staff was pretty miffed at that, but it wasn’t crowded, so he didn’t care. Dean had an idea and went with his gut.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean suggested, “Why not just get out of here and I’ll make you dinner?”
Cas looked at him and replied, “No, Dean, you don’t have to do that. We can just order pizza and keep talking.”
“Do you really want pizza for dinner?” Dean asked, playing a hunch
“Not really. If it wouldn’t be a bother, I’d love to have dinner with you,” Cas replied sincerely. “I’ve had a fascinating time with you so far today. I don’t want it to end yet.”
“Then let’s hop in Baby, hit the store, and we’ll go back to my place. You’ve been baking all day, and all I did was business paperwork, so you can put your feet up and we can talk while I cook,” Dean said, seizing the moment. “I’m not ready to say goodbye either, and I want something more substantial than a couple of pieces of pizza.”
“That’s good. Let’s swing by the bakery and see what’s left over. Get a sweet or two for dessert,” Cas supplied helpfully, happy they were extending their date into the evening hours. This was beyond what he was expecting when he walked down to the pizza restaurant earlier that afternoon. Cas ran into the bakery and walked out with an apple and cherry pie. “I thought these would go well with whatever cuisine we have,” Cas held up the boxes.
Dean laughed. “Alright then, let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into.”
What was supposed to be an afternoon “meeting” at a pizza restaurant, had now turned into a full-blown date. Neither of the men knew what to think of that. They rode in silence, Each was lost in their own thoughts about how the rest of the night would go.