The compliment took me by surprise. "Thanks," I replied softly.
We sat there in comfortable silence for a few minutes. He seemed more relaxed than usual, and I found myself wishing this moment could last just a bit longer.
Just as I was about to ask Daryl another question, my barista, Jenny, hurried over with an apologetic look on her face.
"Beth, sorry to interrupt, but we have a situation with the booking for Julian Everett. Could you come take a look?" she asked, her eyes darting nervously to Daryl and back to me.
"Of course," I said, standing up. "Excuse me for a moment," I added to Daryl, who nodded and returned his focus to his drink.
I followed Jenny behind the counter and into the small office at the back of the café. The phone was already ringing on the desk.
"Thanks, Jenny. I’ll handle it from here," I said as I picked up the receiver.
"This is Beth from Hearth & Harvest," I answered.
"Hi Beth, this is Linda, Julian Everett’s agent. We need to finalize the date and time for his performance," a professional yet hurried voice responded on the other end.
"Yes, absolutely. Let me pull up our calendar," I said, flipping through the planner that was always on my desk. "We have an opening next Saturday evening. Would that work for Mr. Everett?"
"Saturday evening..." Linda repeated, likely checking Julian's schedule. "That should work. What time were you thinking?"
"I think 7 PM would be perfect," I suggested. "It gives people time to settle in after dinner."
"7 PM sounds great," she agreed. "Julian will need a space to set up his equipment an hour before the show. Is that feasible?"
"Definitely. We’ll make sure everything’s ready for him," I assured her. "We’re looking forward to having him perform here."
"Perfect. I'll send over the contract later today," she said, her tone softening a bit now that everything was settled.
"Thank you so much, Linda. We’ll see you both next Saturday at 6 PM for setup."
"Looking forward to it, Beth."
I hung up the phone and let out a relieved sigh. One more item off my checklist for today.
As I stepped back into the café's main area, my eyes found Daryl still sitting where I left him, staring thoughtfully into his mug. It was almost surprising how he seemed to fit into this cozy atmosphere despite his usual gruff exterior.
I made my way back to the table, my heart sinking when I saw he had my notebook open and was flipping through the pages. Panic gripped me; while the book was filled with café designs, it also contained my most private song lyrics.
He glanced up as I approached, his expression unreadable. I slid into the seat across from him, feeling exposed.
“Find anything interesting?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
Before he could answer, Jenny’s voice rang out over the microphone. She stood on a small stage at the back of the café, where we hosted our live music nights and other events.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Hearth & Harvest’s annual cookie contest!” Jenny announced with a wide grin. The room erupted in applause. “We have some fantastic bakers here tonight, ready to showcase their delicious creations.”
Daryl handed me the notebook without a word, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment longer than necessary. I quickly closed it and set it aside, relieved to have it back in my possession.
“Let’s meet our contestants,” Jenny continued, her enthusiasm contagious. “First up, we have Lucy Fields! Lucy is a preschool teacher and is known for her amazing gingerbread cookies and famous hot chocolate.”
Lucy waved to the crowd as she made her way to the front. The applause grew louder.
“And next, we have Annie Stark,” Jenny announced. “Annie comes from one of our town’s founding families and has a secret family recipe that we’re all eager to taste!”
Annie, an even younger woman—maybe still in high school—grinned, tying her short, dark hair into a ponytail as she gracefully joined Lucy at the front of the room. The two women exchanged friendly smiles.
The contestants took their places behind their respective tables, each covered in an array of beautifully decorated cookies.
