Page 11

“That is exactly what being an uncle means,” Gabe said as he went back behind the counter and poured Mara’s coffee.

Dana rolled her eyes. “It really isn’t, but I gave up trying to explain that years ago.”

Mara watched the easy exchange between them. They were just a family in the middle of breakfast, complete with sticky fingers, untied shoes, and the kind of sibling argument nobody took seriously.

She knew that kind of noise. She had grown up one of three children in a family where people wandered in and out of one another’s rooms and baking usually meant somebody stealing something from a tray before it had cooled.

She had loved it then, and she missed it more than she usually let herself think about now. Her own mornings were coffee at the counter and emails before the cup was empty, then out of the door on schedule. It had always felt efficient. But standing here, with a little girl’s shoelace holding up the whole bakery, was efficient really what she wanted her life to be?

Gabe set her coffee on the counter and nudged the plate toward her. “Try the bear while it’s still warm.”

“Thank you.” Mara took a bite and stopped. The pastry was soft in the middle, crisp at the edges, and warm enough that the cinnamon filling had melted into the folds of dough.

Gabe was watching her. “Bad?”

“No. Very much not bad.” She swallowed. “That was surprise, not distress.”

His shoulders relaxed, and Mara found it oddly charming that he had cared about her verdict.

“You bake all these?” she asked, casting her gaze over the array of breads, pastries, and pies on display.

“I do.” He tried to hide his pride, but it was there. And there was nothing wrong with that at all. “Most mornings I make the first batches before we open. Then make more throughout the morning depending on how busy we are.”

“That might be a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” His expression went serious.

“I’m staying for ten days.” Mara pointed the pastry at him. “It will be a problem when I’ve eaten my body weight in these.”

Dana laughed. “You wouldn’t be the first. There are people in town who treat those things as a food group once fall starts.”

Mara carried her breakfast to the empty table beside Dana and the children. Framed photographs of Bear Creek hung along the wall beside it, the same handful of views in snow, in deep green, and in the colors that were outside the window right now.

“So you are just visiting Bear Creek?” Dana asked.

“Yes. I got in yesterday.” Mara set her coffee down and then sat at the table.

“Where are you staying?” Dana swiveled around in her seat.

“Bear Creek Lodge.” Mara glanced out of the window toward the mountains, although she didn’t know if it was in the right direction for the lodge.

Dana followed her gaze all the same. “It’s beautiful up there.”

“It is. Curtis checked me in and made sure I had enough food if I didn’t want to come back out.” Mara wrapped both hands around her coffee. “I’m beginning to think feeding people is some kind of local policy.”

Nell climbed back onto her chair. “Uncle Gabe feeds everybody.”

“Lucky everybody,” Mara said lightly.

Gabe had gone back to work, but when Mara glanced toward him, she found him watching her again. Their eyes met, and this time he looked away first, reaching for a tray that did not appear to need moving.

Dana looked from Gabe to Mara and smiled into her coffee.

“Is there something wrong?” Gabe asked and swiped a hand across his face.

“Nope. Nothing at all.” Dana’s smile widened, but she left him alone as she began gathering coats and school things. “We need to go, or we will be late for school.”

“Toby. Nell. These are for later, not for the drive to school.” Gabe picked up two small paper bags from the end of the counter, names written across the fronts.