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CHAPTER 12MAGGIE
“Look at her go,” Rose said, her voice full of humor as we stood side by side at the front window of Magpie’s, looking out onto the square.
Across the street a battery of Snail Slippers had just turned the corner closest to the shop on their first lap of the square. We were watching Ava, who was leading the pack of walkers, but only because she was being pulled along, pell-mell style, by Cluck-Cluck, Jolly Smith’s feisty chicken. Little Hannah Smith, fully decked out in a Cinderella ball gown costume, ran after them in pink sneakers that lit up with every step, her tulle skirt billowing behind her.
Rose laughed. “Ava’s going to break her dang neck stumbling around like that.”
“I don’t think she’ll mind if she does. Look at that smile on her face.”
It was the biggest, sunniest smile I’d ever seen, full of pure, sweet joy. I had the uneasy feeling that Ava hadn’t felt much joy in her life. There was something about her, something frail and fragile, that made me want to bubble-wrap her and hug her tight. My motherly instincts were to protect her—I just didn’t know what I was protecting her from.
The front door opened—I didn’t miss those bells a single whit—and a rush of warm air swept in along with Titus Pomeroy. His gaze went first to the empty counter, then over to us at the window.
“Good morning, Maggie.Rose.”
His voice dropped when he said her name, and he stretchedthe single syllable for an extra beat, almost as if he was singing it.
It was plain as day to anyone who saw them together that something was brewing between them—and it wasn’t coffee. I’d been waiting months to see if he’d ask her out, but he was apparently a patient man.
A smart one, too, because taking his time was to his advantage. Rose needed those months to warm up to him, to defrost the heart she’d put in cold storage a good ten years back after her no-account husband ran off with a vacationing hussy.
Sure, she acted disinterested in Titus. Offended, even, sometimes. But I knew her too well. I saw the softening happening, slow and gradual. Titus was the first man I’d ever seen her give more than a passing glance. The only one she bantered with. The only one she watched walk away until he was out of sight.
I had little doubt that Titus Pomeroy was going to be the man to change her mind about loving again. It made my own heart do a happy dance for her. She deserved all the love in the world.
“Good morning,” we responded in unison, though Rose’s voice had a hint of haughtiness in it and mine was full of hopeful anticipation.
Something was different about him today. Determination radiated, wafting as sure and strong as his woodsy cologne. His dreadlocks were held off his face by a cloth band at the nape of his neck, and it looked like he’d had a fresh shave. There wasn’t a wrinkle to be seen on his short-sleeve button-down or knee-length shorts. He held a single daisy in his hand as he stepped up to the counter and glanced up to study the menu board, even though the options hadn’t changed in decades.
Rose pulled her shoulders back, headed for the counter, and there was extra swing in her hips as she passed him by. “What can I get for you today, Titus?” she asked.
I scooted over to the end of the counter and busied myself by rearranging a display stand that held an assortment of Magpie’s mugs and bags of coffee while I eavesdropped. I realized I was grinning and tried to stop, but the corners of my lips kept turning up.
Titus kept hold of the daisy with one hand and scratched his chin with the other. His gaze dropped from the menu board to her face and held steady. “Let’s see. Hmm. I’d like a small iced matcha latte, add a double shot of espresso, add chai, add lavender syrup. Please.”
Rose pursed her lips, tipped her head, and flashed him a tight smile. “Sure thing. Coming right up.”
She grabbed a hot cup from the stack, pivoted, and filled the cup with black coffee from the drip maker. She stuck a lid and sleeve on the cup, pivoted again, and slid it across the counter to him. She stabbed buttons on the register screen as if she were trying to kill the machine. “That’ll be two dollars, please.”
Slow as could be, he pulled several bills from his pocket, handed her two, then put the third—and the flower—into the tip jar.
She stared at the flower like she’d never seen a daisy before. “What’s that for?”
“Do I need a reason to give a lovely lady a flower?”
His voice was smooth as silk, sweet as honey. I gave up all pretenses of minding my own business and openly watched the two of them. I didn’t worry about them noticing my nosiness. They only had eyes for each other.
Her eyes narrowed. “Is that a bribe or something? If so, you’re wasting your time. I’m still not making you that fancy-schmancy drink.”
Full cheeks rounded as he smiled. “Time you enjoy wasting is not time wasted, as the saying goes.”
I heard the back door open and looked over to see Donovan coming down the hallway, carrying three white boxes—today’s pastry order.
My heart rate doubled at the sight of him. The phraseaim to pleasekept bouncing around my head, knocking me a little off-balance. In truth, our date had thrown me for a dizzying loop, and I was still feeling the warmth of it all.
And the confusion as well.
There are other things more important. That’s a lesson I learned a little too late.
