
The Story of the Little Candy Letters
In all the Sugar Bowl Kingdom there was no other couple like Constable Strawberry Tart and Chancellor Doughnut Head. There were few things those two ever did apart.
When Chancellor Doughnut Head baked, Constable Strawberry Tart was always there to pick the first apron. When Constable Strawberry Tart needed help tending to his jelly berries, Chancellor Doughnut Head would always pick the ripest of jellies.
Yet as unbelievable as that might be, this was not always the case.
Our story begins on a sunny-side-up kind of day, the day when Constable Strawberry Tart first moved onto Sweet Berry Lane.
Strawberry Tart, the positive berry that he was, tried to maintain an optimistic outlook on things. But to his dismay, despite his patented positive outlook things began to go amiss.
His towers of boxes were wobbly lollipops in the breeze, his paint was painting everything, but the house and his fingers had bruises from nearly hammering them to the blotchy walls.
His little sweet house did not look so sweet at all.
Disheartened, he cosied up in between his cushy boxes, tears wheeling in his eyes.
“How I wish I had friends…”, he sighed.
Yet, as luck would have it, Chancellor Doughnut Head was on his way home, ladder and toolbox in hand. He enjoyed walking past Sweet Berry Lane, counting down the houses to make the time pass faster.
Pistachio Macaroon, Blueberry Cheesecake, Raspberry Sorbet, and many other fruitful flavours. So many deliciously delectable houses to stroll past. Yet a house in the distance captured Doughnut Head’s attention.
He had never noticed that house before. A smile crept onto his face.
A new berry was in town.
Overjoyed at the idea of making a new friend, Chancellor Doughnut Head rushed over to the new house.
And my, was he glad he did. He was greeted by mountains and mountains of boxes, peeling paint, and surprisingly no berry in sight.
Well, that was odd. An abandoned house falling into disrepair?
“Maybe a ghost moved into the neighbourhood?” wondered Chancellor Doughnut Head.
But just as he was about to continue further on his merry way, he heard a sniffle from somewhere inside the labyrinth of boxes. It was faint but by no means the making of any ghost.
“A berry in need is a berry indeed”, he always said.
So, he put his toolbox and ladder down and followed the meek cry to a sad pile of frills and bows, moping on the ground. A sea of raspberry-pink hair framed his dainty-looking face.
“Are you okay?” was the first thing that came out of Chancellor Doughnut Head’s mouth.
A sniffle and a cough later, a raspy high-pitched squeak came out.
“Yes, perfectly fine. Thank you.” He coughed.
“Oh, good! He speaks,” added Chancellor Doughnut Head to lighten the mood.
Constable Strawberry Tart mustered a bittersweet smile.
“Under any other circumstances, I would invite you inside for a cup of tea, but at the moment I don’t even know if I have a kettle, let alone where to find it.”
“Are you in need of any help?”
Flustered Constable Strawberry Tart replied “Oh, no, no, no! I couldn’t impose. Besides, I’ve already taken too much of your time, I fear.”
“Nonsense. I was on my way home from fixing Bubble Star’s new pendant lights. It would be a shame not to help, now that I’m here,” he offered his hand, and for the first time, Constable Strawberry Tart’s face turned a new shade of strawberry red.
“Why would you do that?” He was reluctant, as he wobbled back onto his own two feet like a baby fawn.
“He is so cute” thought to himself Chancellor Doughnut Head, as he tried to keep from grinning like an idiot.
“Well, I just feel it is the neighbourly thing to do. And besides, someone as sweet as you? Needs all the help he can get,” added Doughnut Head with a well-timed wink.
Without much fanfare, he then gently took Constable Strawberry Tart by the wrist and escorted him out of the labyrinth of boxes. Once outside, our handyman grabbed his little toolbox and got to work.
Constable Strawberry Tart couldn’t help but be mesmerized by how fast Chancellor Doughnut Head fixed everything he touched.
The blotchy paint got scrapped off with such ease, and properly finished before he could even mutter a word. Chancellor Doughnut Head worked diligently, and fast too. So fast, in fact, Constable Strawberry Tart couldn’t help but stare.
“I want to help too,” he eventually chimed in, as he rolled up the sleeves of his ruffled sailor shirt.
The two of them made for a great team, and with few distractions here and there, they finally got the job done.
Constable Strawberry Tart’s little ensemble was covered in pink, red and green stains, splotches of paint splattered across his round cheeks. Chancellor Doughnut Head smiled.
“You’ve got something there,” he breathed, as he gently attempted to wipe the paint off Strawberry’s face.
Much to his dismay, the paint spread, making his already rosy cheeks even rosier. “I think I’ve made it worse. Or dare I say, better?” It was Chancellor Doughnut Head’s turn to blush.
Constable Strawberry Tart found himself stifling laughter “It’s fine really. I prefer statement make-up anyway. So…” he started fumbling over his words, “I was thinking… if you aren’t too busy, now that we’ve found out where the kettle is…” but Chancellor Doughnut head cut him off.
“I would love to, really. I so would, but I can’t. It’s getting late and I really outta be going,” he stammered.
“Oh! But of course. What was I thinking? It’s quite late. I should finish unpacking too,” but just as he was about to go inside the house and close the door, Doughnut Head called back.
“But if you do need anything, however, you can call on me anytime. I live not far from here, down on Sour Dough Avenue. I’m Chancellor Doughnut Head by the way,” he introduced himself.
“I’m Constable Strawberry Tart!” he blurted louder than he would have liked, bowing to distract from his social awkwardness. Chancellor Doughnut Head chortled.
“Oh, sweet mother of gooseberry pie, now I’ve done it,” Strawberry Tart scolded himself.
However, when he looked up, he saw Doughnut Head was smiling, and not at all maliciously. His smile was warm and sickly sweet like melted honeycomb. A smile like that could melt even the toughest of rock candies.
“I’ll be seeing you later strawberry boy,” he sang, waving enthusiastically.
In that moment Constable Strawberry Tart had only one word replaying in his head. He said “Later”.
After that, he had no rest. He couldn’t sleep or eat; he couldn’t do anything without his head running back to Chancellor Doughnut Head. Every single crumble of every single day was spent thinking about him.
“It’s been a week already. He said later, but when does later even come? Should I check my calendar? Phases of the pie? Is there a code to later no one ever told me about?” he thought as he prepped the soil for his jelly berry seeds.
He wanted to be patient, he really did, but he had no idea how to handle himself anymore. No other berry had ever made him feel that way before. His palms were sweaty all the time, and his stomach was constantly fluttering as if he had eaten an entire tub of strawberry sorbet.
It was positively maddening.
As he struggled to lift the plough, an idea came to him.
He dropped everything in a heartbeat, and out the gate he was, running as fast as his stubby little legs could carry him.
One street, two streets, three streets, all the way to Sour Dough Avenue. It was not hard finding Chancellor Doughnut Head’s house. Decking a neon doughnut sign, it was practically an open invitation. The furniture inside was old-fashioned, in shades of red and white, a jukebox in a corner playing joyfully infectious tunes. It was homely and warm, just like its host.
Seated on a comfortable lover's seat, with a plate of freshly baked doughnuts, Constable Strawberry Tart, couldn’t help but admire Chancellor Doughnut Head’s taste for decorating.
It mimicked a gathering joint of sorts, it even had a giant kitchen island spank in the middle of the room, complete with a row of swiveling red chairs. Cooking utensils were spread along the counter in an organised mess.
Chancellor Doughnut Head had been an exemplary host. From the moment he laid eyes on him in the doorframe, his face had grown redder than a jar of strawberry jam, and his body language stiffened, but it was his smile that grew three sizes wider as he welcomed him inside.
“Hi,” he mumbled taking a seat across from Constable Strawberry Tart. “What brings you here?”
“Oh, you know me. Just wanted to see how you were fairing.”
“Well, you’re here,” beamed Chancellor Doughnut Head as he readjusted his giant doughnut atop his head. “Can I get you anything else? Maybe a cup of my famous hot cocoa?”
“Oh no, it’s fine. In fact, I was just here ‘cause I needed your strong handyman hands for a spell. But if you are busy, I completely understand,” blurted Constable Strawberry Tart, his face aflush.
Chancellor Doughnut Head smirked “Listen, gimme a few to put everything away. Then I’ll help you, ok? Wouldn’t want you to have to do without those strong handyman hands, huh?” he let out a bellowing laughter, and wrapped his arm around the nape of Strawberry’s neck.
He laughed nervously as he nibbled on one of the doughnuts courteously given to him, trying his best to keep whatever was left of his composure.
As promised Chancellor Doughnut Head was all packed up and ready to help in less time than it took Constable Strawberry Tart to finish his doughnut.
Once at the house, the plowing was quickly taken care of, yet Strawberry was not ready to say goodbye to his glazed lil’ friend just yet.
So day by day he came up with different reasons to keep him coming back around. His lights needed fixing, his wallpaper was peeling off, everything he could think of just to have a reason to say hi to him.
And Chancellor Doughnut Head always came, with his trusty ol’ toolbox and his warm and fuzzy smile.
“I can’t keep going like this” Constable Strawberry Tart thought to himself, as he sat at his desk, heart thudding in his chest.
He had to tell him, but how? It’s not like he hadn’t tried. His words just wouldn’t come out.
His eyes came upon his writing kit and an idea popped into his head. He was going to write it, that’s what he was going to do.
Nib dipped in ink, pink paper in hand, our hopelessly shy hero wrote his little heart out. It was simple, it was concise, it left no room for interpretations.
It was everything Strawberry Tart lacked the courage to say.
Just then a gust of wind blew open the windows, sending the papers aflight.
Strawberry’s pulse quickened.
“Quick, the letter!” he yelled, grasping at air, trying to get his hands on the air-borne letter. But the letter escaped him time and time again until out the window it flew.
Once he got to the window frame, however, he saw himself nearly bumping heads with Chancellor Doughnut Head who until the letter flew into his face, had been fixing the wobbly hinges of the window in question.
Constable Strawberry Tart felt his mouth run dry, his cheeks burning red with embarrassment.
“If I am not mistaken, you’ve dropped this. Looks pretty important,” Doughnut Head said, handing the envelope back to Strawberry who reticently took it back.
There was a tinge of nervousness in his voice.
“I’d better get back to work,” he eventually said. “These hinges are not going to fix themselves you know.”
But just as he was about to close the window and get back to fixing it, Constable Strawberry Tart moaned in exasperation “Can you stop it with the fixing already?”
Puzzled, Chancellor Doughnut Head gave him a weird look.
“Get off the ladder and meet me down.”
Reluctantly he complied.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.
Hand trembling, tight grip on the letter, he handed it back to Chancellor Doughnut Head, then ran back inside the house, door slamming behind him.
There was silence behind the door for a while, Constable Strawberry Tart couldn’t help but hold his breath, anxiously waiting for a reply, anything.
But nothing.
As tears started spilling down his cheeks, a letter slipped through the crack underneath the door.
However, it was not his letter. In turn, the envelope was caramel brown, with glazing all around the edges. It almost looked edible. Just like a cookie.
Nervously he opened the gingery envelope, revealing a simple yet impactful message.
“Dear Constable Strawberry Tart,
I think I love you.
Chancellor Doughnut Head”
His heart was up in his throat, tears of joy bubbling beneath the surface.
A faint knock came.
Nervously Constable Strawberry Tart got up and opened the door to reveal a flustered Chancellor Doughnut Head, nibbling at his hat anxiously.
He had crumbs all over his face, and cream atop his button nose.
Strawberry smiled, relief washing all over him at the sight of his sweet Doughnutty mess.
“Well…” started Chancellor Doughnut Head, putting his tasty hat back on.
Strawberry moved in closer and took him by the hand. “Well…” he continued. Chancellor Doughnut Head squeezed his hand.
“I like you, you like me, maybe we could…”
Strawberry Tart brought Doughnut Head at a loss for words with a lil’ peck on the cheek.
“I’d like that very much.”
And that was all Chancellor Doughnut Head needed to hear. Fingers interlaced with Strawberry’s still, he gingerly leaned in close and gave him a shy kiss on the lips.
And the kiss was short.
And it was clumsy.
But it was theirs.