Calm.
Steady.
It’s like he genuinely means whatever he says. “Morning,” I manage.
Several customers openly eavesdrop now.
Mrs. Bellamy literally pretends to reorganize sugar packets three feet away.
Colby notices.
“I brought coffee,” he says.
He holds up a cardboard carrier from Harbor House Café.
The bakery collectively melts. Fantastic.
“That’s how they get you,” Mrs. Bellamy whispers to me.
I ignore her. Mostly because she’s not entirely wrong.
Colby sets the drinks carefully on the counter. “One vanilla latte. One hot chocolate with too many marshmallows.” Jillie gasps again like the child has never experienced beverage service before.
“You remembered.” He shrugs slightly. “You seem emotionally committed to marshmallows.”
“I am.”
“I respect that.”
Jillie immediately climbs off the stool to inspect the hot chocolate like she’s evaluating a business merger.
Meanwhile I try not to stare at the fact that Colby remembered my coffee order after hearing it once yesterday.
Dangerous. Very dangerous.
“Can we talk?” I ask quietly.
His eyes lift to mine immediately. “Yeah.”
Mrs. Bellamy straightens eagerly.
“No,” I tell her, pointing her back to the counter.
She sighs heavily. Mrs. Bellamy works for me part time while her husband mans their gift shop. It’s a triple win she says, because: 1. I get her help and Jillie gets a grandmother figure, 2. she earns some pocket money of her own, and 3. most important to her she says is that she and Mr. B get some time away from each other. She assures me their marriage is fine after 43 years, but alone time improves that fact by double digits. Okay, that’s actually four things.
***
I lead Colby toward the back kitchen while Jillie happily drinks melted sugar in a cup.
The moment the swinging door closes behind us, the noise from the bakery softens slightly.
Warm air surrounds us.
Bread rising.
Vanilla.
Cinnamon.
