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=LG= Carter's Confections and Creamery - Los Gatos - California
Carter's Confections and Creamery is about as cute as its name (in pink, curlicued script over the eaves and on the front door) and its owner; it is tiny, but it makes up for lack of space in personality. The front door is flanked by two large window-boxed windows, and during store hours there are two little white-painted wrought-iron tables and paired chairs that take up part of the sidewalk to make a tiny patio. Inside, the decor is vaguely retro, pink-and-white with tiny tables and paired padded chairs, more comfortable than the ones outside. There are two booths, one below each window, in which the pink-and-white motif is repeated.
Directly across from the doors and the windows the counter takes up the majority of the back section of the store: it is split, with a glass-front display for darling baked goods on one side and a cooler for the ice cream on the other. (The cash register, usually manned by one of two cheerful and fresh-faced twenty-somethings, is in the middle, with a little section of free counter space.) The menu is a large hand-lettered blackboard, with prices listed for confections, ice creams, and the tiny coffee bar that lives behind the counter. Of particular note are the Kelsey special, a slice of cake (any flavor) with a scoop of ice cream (any flavor) and in the ice cream section, 'Aly's Flavor of the Week,' which changes mostly-weekly or at the owner's whim.
The kitchen is through a doorway behind the counter, and there are a set of stairs leading upward to the apartment upstairs, through another. Not behind the counter, but tucked away: a usually-locked door leads to the gender-neutral (if sparkly-signed) restroom.
(Exits : [O]ut )
While Carter's hours may not be on a strict nine-to-five rotation, the majority of their irregularities are based on supply and demand: this Wednesday the after-school crowd has been supplanted by a substantial after-work one, so the hours stretch later. There isn't a line at the moment, though there are signs that there was one not too long ago: a few people linger at the outside tables, and a handful of what looks like the actual nine-to-five set escape through the open front doors, to-go bags of ice cream and boxes of confections clasped in hands and tucked under arms. The pastry-pixy owner is manning the counter this afternoon, tamed and toned down in a Carter's-logo'd t-shirt of pink lettering on black fabric, fitted jeans of glitter-fabric denim, and Keds whose pale pink uppers match the lettering on her shirt and above the door. Her braids swing, the cash register chimes, and she carols, "See you again soon!" at her departing customers.
One of the larger cartons of ice cream --of the mint variety to be specific-- has been tucked under Zaza's arm, prepared for purchase. She takes advantage of the later hours, ducking in after a later shift at the hub and still dressed to kill in a pair of sky high peep-toes and a short dark wine and cream striped dress that has been belted at the waist, darting sharp pleats in contrast with slow arching curves. Her pendent glimmers subtly under the overhead light, hanging low on her breast, a dash of silver. A suit jacket hangs open over the ensemble, lips pursing while she contemplates the wealth of flavors available beneath the the frosted glass display, as well as the signage above. The "Kelsey special" draws a flicker of interest, the tall woman's pleasant expression momentarily slipping towards something more solemn. Her head tips a moment in indecision, stars dangling in her ears and flickering against dark curls. Finally, she turns looking at the braided woman at the counter with pale blue eyes. "What do you recommend for ze special?" Zaza asks, the tell-tale German accent adding a whispery husk to her low voiced question.
"Welcome to Carter's," is the greeting everyone gets once they're close to the counter (or coming in the doors, if it's slow), but Aly's hi-there smile broadens, deepens, brightens subtly as she takes in the full-on Zaza Leferve package. "/Well/," she says, planting her hands and leaning slightly across the counter, conspiratorial; her voice drops just a little, but playfully, as if she's letting someone in on a great huge amazing secret. "That depends on what kind of things tickle your fancy. That's my mint you've got under your arm there," she nods to it, "so if you're looking for something to compliment that, the Not So Plain, Jayne chocolate cake's a real winner." She shifts her weight, and the light catches at the three silver hoops that ring the top curve of her left ear, pointing a finger at the confections case, "Of course, you might not be a chocolate person." She tips her head slightly this way, then slightly that way, then pulls up away from the counter and snaps her fingers like she just put something together. "/Oh/. You're--" she snaps her fingers again, just the left hand, and pulls from memory, "Titan, holiday party-- Iago's friend! I saw you across the hall when I dropped off your order."
Is Zaza a chocolate person? It might be rather hard to tell by looking at her as to whether or not she is. (The answer is yes, but only for very, very good dark chocolate.) "Oh. Yes," Zaza replies, with a short blink and a wide smile for the bundle of energy behind the counter, once the rapid fire of information has finished. The ice cream swaps hands in a short order, allowing her to offer her rather chilly right hand for a shake, slim and scarred hand extended it across the counter in a professional but friendly gesture. "You must be ze proprietress, zhen. Aly Carter, herself. Thank you for all of ze work you did for us zhen, it was splendid. I was sorry to have missed you when ze delivery was made."
It is, at least, very /very/ good chocolate cake? Habit has Aly swiping her hand across the hip of her jeans before she extends it out to clasp Zaza's offered hand. Her own is similarly slim, though the scars it bears are in the form of old nicks and dings, and her handshake is professionally crisp for a moment before she dissolves the line between customer and friend-of-friend by adding her left hand to the clasp, then letting go. "Guilty as charged," she says, with a laugh, following it up with, "at least, that's what it says on the shirts," and indeed, her name scrolls across her shirt above her heart. (The shop's logo, address, and phone number adorn the back.) "You guys are amazing, no, I'm totally glad Iago sent you my way-- and you looked /super/ busy. I'm so glad I finally get to meet you!"
There's something to be said for excellent chocolate cake. That wide smile, slips warmer as Aly's second hand is added to the clasp causing Zaza to laugh softly, low lilted but bright. "Really? I /never/ would have noticed ze shirts," she replies wryly, humor falling dry at the edges of her smile. It's pretty hard to ignore the pink lettering on the shirts, even in the sea of pink and white that is Carter's interior. "Ze work you did was really incredible, especially with ze lack of direction on my end. It's a pleasure though," she agrees, setting the tub of ice cream atop the counter to free up her other hand. "And how could I not? Iago's sweet tooth has never led him wrong and he was certainly excited about ze ones zhat you serve here."
Alyssa briefly narrows a look at the carton on the counter, but apparently dubs it newly extracted enough that a few more minutes' chatter won't do it /too/ much harm-- although that opinion may be revised, later. "A mutual pleasure," she dubs their prior collaborative effort, the gold-washed green of her eyes bright as she looks up (up, up) at Zaza and smiles again. "I'm definitely learning to trust Iago's sweet tooth," is nowhere near solemn as its delivered, "unless he's decided to be a brat just to mess me up-- but threatening to withold taste-testing privelages usually kicks that in the pants." She twists on one foot, a hip-swivel as she thinks, then cheers up at Zaza, "So /are/ you a chocolate person?"
Poor ice cream. It has barely made it out of the freezer and already it is getting such thinly veiled looks of doom. Meanwhile, Zaza continues smiling the distance down (and down and down) at Aly, blue eyes clam and softly amused by what seems to be a tiny fire cracker. "Oh he's got a mouth on him alright. Good to hear zhat you can handle him just /fine/," she purrs, edged with a chuckle at the /threat/ -- one that would be devastating to Iago indeed. "Not particularly. I don't like really sweet things, prefer fruit and ah, sharper tastes myself." This may in fact get her /banned/ from Carters, but look! Mint Ice cream?
Aly just wants what's best for it, really. Wouldn't want it /melting/ before it can make it home. "Yeah, he does," the smaller of the two brunettes bats back, brightly amused at Zaza's purr-- but for all that Iago is well-loved, she moves on to, "A fruit and tart person," eyes wide with avid interest. "That's even more interesting than a chocolate person-- harder to satisfy, but /way/ more rewarding when you manage to get it right."
"Hard to satisfy...Savory, intense and potentially spicy. Yeah, zhat's me," Zaza admits, words coloured warmly with amusement and good humor, tipping a shoulder in a lop-sided shrug. It is soon paired with low chuckle, fingers lifted to tap at the top of the ice cream container, making a dull rhythmic noise and they hit. "Actually, I have plans for pies in ze future. I like your mint ice cream as a complimentary flavor."
"Hey, just because I make my living off of sweet doesn't mean I don't see the absolute ... appeal of savory," Aly answers back, her smile echoed in the scrunch of her lightly-freckled nose. It spreads to a full-faced crinkle, bright and beaming, and a delighted laugh. "Oh, cool. I totally dig that-- you like baking, too?" She shifts up onto her toes as she asks the question, then bounce back down on her heels.
"Well...good to hear zhat you are a well rounded woman." There's a trickle of a tease in that, accompanied as it is by a long, sliding gaze up and down Aly's figure. It is paired with a smile, sweet lipped and dimpled, twitching at the corners as the smaller brunette laughs. Zaza grins, not bouncing, instead she leans in with her hands flat against the counter. "I /love/ baking,"she confesses. "It's more fun to feed other people what I make."
Alyssa responds to this by setting a hand on a hip, tipping her head down to slide a bright-eyed look up at Zaza through her eyelashes -- /someone's/ spent some time with theater kids, even if she wasn't one herself. (Aly is, in fact, well-rounded: if a little petiter in proportion than Zaza.) She loses the pose on another laugh, and steps back from the counter to sweep both arms up, expansive and encompassing, "I have /no idea/ what that's like /at all/," she declares, then collects herself and echoes Zaza's counter-lean. "/Obviously/," she says, like it's the clearest thing in the world, "you should come hang out with me and bake sometime. It'll be awesome. Kitchen of your choice." This is paired with a shift of her weight and a thumb-jerk toward the kitchen behind her, then up-- presumably to her tiny one uptairs.
There's a low and smooth wolf-whistle that breaks the air as Aly strikes a pose -- Aly isn't the only one who has spent a lot of time with theater people, after all. The appreciation for Aly's well-rounded virtues is sincere, if a little cheeky. Zaza beams at the other woman, hands remaining set on the counter as she glances towards the larger kitchen with sparkling, blue eyes following the line of Alyssa's gaze. Her mouth tugs into a bit of a smirk, there and gone again, words soft as she says, "I would /love/ to see your kitchen."
"My kitchen is your kitchen!" Aly carols brightly, with another bounce up onto her toes as she turns around to follow Zaza's look to the big kitchen. "Or should that be-- my kitchen is open for business?" She tips a look back over her shoulder at Zaza, eyes wide and bright, smile brilliant. "Funnier," she points out, "when it isn't actually-- speaking of which, gosh, I should probably ring you up before I forget about that /completely/," comes with a crinkle of nose as she turns back around. "But if you want to stay and see the kitchen /now/, just lemme know. Otherwise I am dumping all my contact info on you, and we can try'n coordinate. /Baking/."
Zaza /leans/ back a touch, standing up straight as Aly bounces quite so exuberantly, blinking at the sheer amount of energy contained in the far smaller package. Full lips tip into a light smile as Aly looks up at her with those bright, wide eyes and brilliant smile in place like a rainbow of joy. Or a baby rainbow. A potentially maniacal baby rainbow that has been filled with sugar and set loose on the world. Ahem. "Ah, yes. We should probably ring me up. I would very much like to see your kitchen zhough. I've never seen a proper one for a pastiere," she replies lightly. "As for contact information, feel free to dump."
A possibly infectious baby rainbow: it's been theorized that Aly's enthusiasm seeps out of her pores like a tree frog's toxin, only with enthusiasm and cheer rather than pain and death. "Let me get that taken care of and close stuff down," she says with a look at the clock that totally exists despite its lack of presence in the desc, "and then I'll give you the grand tour, and dump away." That Zaza could just as easily get all of her contact information from Iago apparently doesn't so much as cross Aly's mind. The cash register rings merrily, and Aly names a price -- a friends and family price, as opposed to the one on the metaphorical tin.
"Lovely," Zaza says with a grin, sliding the tin towards Aly to be scanned which proves to be unnecessary in the process of things. She has Aly the price, a slow appreciative smile curving her lips, the remainder of the original price (a little extra included) is deposited into the tip jar that is somewhere on the counter -- surely, it is there somewhere. The thought of grabbing the contact information from Iago never occurs to her either, she pulls out a pen and paper from her bag to write down her own contact and email. There's a short pause as she laughs softly, glancing over through dark lashes. "You know... you already have my email and phone number." Work dealings.
There is totally a tip jar, decorated with a little more style and flair than most pen-and-highlighter examples. Aly doesn't miss the drop, and catches her wide, full bottom lip in her teeth for a moment, then shakes her head and gives Zaza a 'got me' sort of grin. While Zaza writes, she starts the business of closing up shop: she leaves the doors for now, but starts counting down the drawer. "What?" she asks, momentarily pulled out of focus by the money in her hands, and blinks a moment as her brain catches up with her ears. "/Oh/," she says as it does, and another smile lights up her face. "You're right, I do-- go ahead and give them to me again just in case, though, and we'll swap."
Clicking her tongue, Zaza returns the look with a semi-innocent smile, quicksilver and bright enough to match the mischief in her eyes. Yes. She caught you. "Alright," she hums agreeably, scrawling out the rest of her contact information with a careful hand, her cursive sharp and slightly masculine. The sheet is torn out of the small book, then sliiiiid across the counter top with fingertips pressed to the slightly crinkled sheet. "Zhere you are. You can officially say zhat you have my phone number." Voila.
Alyssa finishes counting down the register like she does this nearly every day, or something, that is to say: quickly, and efficiently. "Brilliant," she declares as Zaza sliiiiiiides the paper over to her, snatching it up and folding it and tucking it away in her back pocket; as for her, she plucks a pencil from the spiral binding of the sketchbook tucked beside the register, and snags one of the business cards from the little rack on the counter. "You've got all the official lines," she explains, flipping the card over and pinning it with her right hand as she writes with her left, "but any of these are just-for-fun rather'n business."
"To call in case of baking adventures, pizza or utter nonsense," Zaza clarifies, watching the procedure with an amused tip to her expression.
"Utter nonsense especially encouraged," Aly volleys back, finishing her writing and handing the card over with a flip and a flourish. "Now, why don't you let me stash that in the freezer for you and flip the closed sign, and I'll give you the in-depth kitchen tour." There may even be /gadgets/.
The card, at least its finely written backside, is examined with a smile before Zaza dips her head in a graceful nod, tucking it into her purse. "And... yes. Please and thank you. I'd rather it wasn't just a melted puddle when I got home." A grin accompanies the statement, along with a small bounce on her heels -- a rather formidable bounce considering their and their owners height. Oh boy /gadgets/. "Mhmm...in depth. See. You tell a girl things like zhat, she'll just think you're trying to seduce her with /cookery/." The sass comes with a flutter of her eyelashes.
Aly and her great green eyes are distracted by that rather formidable bounce, hands paused partway to grabbing the carton of ice cream-- but it's a delighted, enraptured kind of distraction, and she gives a little bounce-wiggle of her own as she scoops up the ice cream. "Perfect--," she declares, and abandons the register to make her way around the counter, and past Zaza toward the door. It's on her way that she answers -- and there's a little skip to her step, a little bounce of braids against her back as she goes. "What makes you think that I'm /not/," she sasses right back, although hers is delivered with a bright and merry smile. The sign in the door gets flipped from open to closed.
"Oh dear. And now you've locked ze door, whatever shall I and my scruples do?" Zaza drawls, ever so dryly; a tenuous hand settling over her faint heart. The act doesn't match the wicked little grin on her lips. "Of course...I hope your cookery is large enough to impress me. If you are planning to do about with zhose scruples."
Alyssa makes a show, in fact, of flipping the lock before she turns back toward the counter, pivoting on one foot so that it swings her braids. "Oh," she says, gulping back a laugh, eyes dancing, "I don't know if you're /prepared/ to /handle/ the majesty of my cookery. It's been known to make the faint of heart swoon at the sight."
Zaza --with a quivering lip -- looks over at Aly and then back down at herself, then repeats the motion two or three times. Finally, she manages a very dry, "We'll just hope zhat swooning isn't on ze menu." Her mouth slips at the end, quirking up into a smirk at the thought of the /much/ smaller woman catching her.
"Well, if you're /certain/ that you can handle the size of my /kitchen/--" Aly quips back, shoulders shaking as she hiccups back another laugh. She make sure that the ice cream is secure -- it gets to be temporarily rehomed in the backstage freezer--, then flourishes her hand toward the kitchen door, behind the counter. "And /so/, the tour begins!"
"Oh honey. I've heard zhat it isn't ze size of ze kitchen but what you /do/ with it zhat matters," Zaza teases, bright and puckish as she saunters towards the door to the kitchen. The interior of Carters is given a long, slow once over (as if she is checking it out. Hey bb) before she turns to Aly again with a wink. "And admittedly, you do some very fine things with it." Something about her lights up, genuine pleasure and excitement as the tour begins and she sing songs a cheerful, "Lead on."
Aly's delight in the wordplay is hard to miss, and when Zaza hey-bbs her establishment, she beams broad and bright. "Hey now," she warns with a wiggle of her finger, "don't you go writing checks you aren't willing to cash." The shop might be /disappointed/, after all. The compliment is accepted with grace-- if cheekily so, with a nail-buff against her shirt and a skip as she does, in fact, lead on. "And here we have--" she begins, and rolls on to extoll the virtues of her kitchen. She /even/ lets Zaza get up close and personal with some gadgetry, monopolizing her for as much of the evening as Zaza's schedule will allow before finally releasing her back into the wild with promises of calls or emails or texts to arrange for future encounters. There must, after all, be /utter nonsense/. (Oh, and baking.)
Pastry enthusiasts. XD