Page 81 of Neap & Spring

“I didn’t know she had a cafe.”

“Best coffee in town.” I point to the window where Margo’s hand-painted sign is propped up. Coffee That Doesn’t Suck, it declares in cheerful letters. “Also the only place that makes a decent breakfast burrito.”

I’m already walking toward it before I fully think it through. I want her to meet Margo. I want Margo to see her. Which is dangerous, because Margo doesn’t miss anything, and she’s going to take one look at us together and get ideas.

But I don’t care. Maybe I want the town to get ideas.

As if on cue, the door swings open and Margo herself appears, wiping her hands on her apron. She’s in her sixties, with wild gray hair pulled back in a messy bun and the kind of face that’s seen a lot of living. She spots us immediately, and her whole face lights up.

“Callum Reid!” She beams like I’m her favorite person in the world. “I haven’t seen you here in weeks.”

“I know. I’ve been busy, Margo.”

“Too busy for coffee? That’s a crime.” Her eyes shift to Vivienne, and her smile gets even wider. “And you must be my tenant! Vivienne, right?”

Here we go. Margo loves to matchmake. She’s been trying to set me up with various women in town for years — her niece, the girl who works at the bookstore, that server from the Italian place down the street. The second she clocks me with Vivienne, walking down Main Street in the middle of the afternoon when I should be at the restaurant, she’s going to know.

“That’s me.” Vivienne steps forward and shakes her hand firmly. “The cottage is beautiful. Thank you so much for allowing me to stay in it.”

“Oh, honey, it’s my pleasure. Nice to have someone staying there who actually appreciates that old place.” Margo looks between us, and I can practically see the wheels turning. Her smile turns cunning. “You two hungry? I was just about to close up, but I’ve got some soup left over. And fresh sandwiches.”

“That sounds perfect,” Vivienne exclaims, and I can hear the relief in her voice. She’s probably starving.

“Come on then.” Margo holds the door open, grinning at me like she knows exactly what’s happening. “In you go.”

The cafe is small and cozy, with mismatched furniture and local art on the walls, and it smells incredible. Coffee and fresh bread, butter and herbs, the lingering scent of whatever she served for lunch. It smells like every morning before school when Margo would sneak us cinnamon rolls. And every time I’ve needed somewhere to go that wasn’t the restaurant or my apartment.

Margo bustles behind the counter, already pulling out bowls. “I’ve got clam chowder! Cal’s favorite since he was a kid. And turkey sandwiches on rye. Sound good?”

“Sounds amazing,” Vivienne practically moans.

“Sit. Both of you. I’ll bring it out.”

We sit at a small table by the window. It’s tiny, meant for two people who don’t mind being close. Vivienne settles across from me, and our knees bump under the table. She shifts, trying to make space, but there isn’t any. Our legs end up pressed together, warm even through our jeans.

I’m hyperaware of every point of contact.

Margo brings over two perfect lattes with actual art in the foam and two steaming bowls of clam chowder with sandwiches on thick bread. Turkey with cranberry sauce and greens, cut in half and arranged on a wooden board

“There,” she says, setting everything down with satisfaction. “Now you both look like you’re withering away, so eat. And don’t argue with me, Reid. I changed your diapers.”

Vivienne chokes on her coffee.

Damn it, Margo.

“She’s exaggerating,” I groan, my face heating.

“I absolutely am not!” Margo’s eyes are dancing. “You and your brothers ran around in nothing but diapers every summer. Little wild things.”

“Okay, thank you, Margo.”

She’s cackling now, clearly delighted with herself. “You’re so easy. Now eat. I’ve got to finish closing up. You two can let yourselves out when you’re done.”

She disappears into the back, still laughing.

Vivienne is grinning at me across the table, and it’s not the careful professional smile or even the genuine laugh from earlier. This is pure delight, full of mischief. “Diapers, huh?”

“We were toddlers. That’s what toddlers wear.”