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It took only a minute more before we were in his truck, headed toward town, my face hanging out the open window. I listened for the crackling of flames, tracked the scent of smoke. Once we reached the square, we circled around until I pinpointed which building held the fire.
It was the bakery.
CHAPTER 18MAGGIE
By late Monday afternoon, I was ready for a long nap.
I felt like I’d been going nonstop since hearing about the fire at the bakery yesterday morning.
If not for Ava, the destruction could’ve been catastrophic. As it was, the damage had been minimal because the fire hadn’t had time to spread. The bakery would be closed only for a couple of days for cleanup.
I glanced at Donovan, who was dragging a broom around the coffee shop. I caught him looking out the window, toward the bakery. He’d been doing so all day, as if checking to see if it was still there. Reassuring himself.
The town had rallied around the Quinlan family yesterday. I’d set up a coffee service on the town green. Others brought food. Casseroles. Barbecue. Biscuits. Salads. Desserts. There’d been many offers to help with the cleanup or to fundraise to help cover the loss of income. It did my heart proud to see the town come together to help a neighbor in need.
For someone usually so chatty, Donovan had been quiet while fire investigators toured the bakery. Something had shifted within him yesterday. Something profound. I’d seen the change in his eyes every time he talked about what could’ve been lost. I didn’t yet know what that change meant, however.
It had been an electrical fire, caused by faulty wiring in one of the refrigerators, and for some reason the fire prevention system had failed. How Ava had smelled the smoke had been the most asked question of the last twenty-four hours. She said only that she’d woken early, and the breeze must’ve been blowing just right for her to catch the scent. She’d mentioned beforeshe had a sensitive sense of smell, but I now thoughtsensitivewas putting it mildly.
The coffee shop had been packed today with gossip seekers, and overwhelmed, I’d almost closed early. Especially since I’d been working alone at the start of the day.
Rose, who’d gone out of town yesterday on a day trip to visit family in Georgia, was stranded there, her car having broken down. I hadn’t wanted to call in Ava. Dealing with curious busybodies wasn’t a stress she needed. The deep shadows under her eyes and near-constant yawning told me all I needed to know about her health these days. I was going to suggest she visit my doctor for a checkup. Just to make sure something else, other than grief, wasn’t going on.
But just as I was ready to throw in the towel, help had arrived in the form of Donovan, who’d slipped on a Magpie’s apron and jumped into the fray. He seemed to recall everything he’d learned the long-ago summer he’d worked here, and I could’ve cried I was so grateful for his help. How well we’d worked together would surely be the talk of the shop tomorrow. Maybe for the rest of the week.
Standing on a step stool, I used a chalk marker and my best hand-lettering to writeBoomy Eldridge’s Vanilla Cream Tartletson the blackboard at the back of the shop.
Mondays meant a new recipe on the board, and I found comfort in the familiar routine. My head was currently pain-free, which was a small miracle considering how chaotic the day had been.
“I haven’t seen one of these in years.” Donovan set the broom against the wall as he rummaged through the contents of the Curiosity Corner, nudging aside a battered, water-damaged hardcover copy ofTravels with Charleyto pick up an old Polaroid camera, white with a classic rainbow stripe.
He aimed the camera at me, pretending to snap a picture. “Say cheese.”
“Don’t make me fire you.”
I wouldn’t. I was enjoying his company too much.
“You’re a tough boss.” He put the camera back where he found it. “How long has that been sitting there?”
“Nearly a decade.”
If the camera worked, it might have some monetary value, but it had been broken when I bought it at a flea market nine years ago and it remained inoperable to this day. Not that it was for sale.
Donovan resumed sweeping, sliding the broom around the base of the magpie’s tree, the bristles spreading wide to capture every dropped crumb. “What if the person it’s meant for never comes in?”
“They will.”
“How’re you so sure?”
I shrugged. “I just am.”
It wasn’t something I could explain, the feeling deep inside me. It just was.Is. I was as certain of it as I was of the sun rising and setting.
Sometimes I imagined the person who’d be a match for the camera. That person might say, “I owned one of these when I was younger. Spent a fortune on film and took pictures of the most mundane items. Somewhere, I still have the Polaroid of a toothpaste tube, circa 1979. I used to love taking pictures. Not sure why I ever stopped.”
I glanced at the Steinbeck book. I imagined its match longed to take a meandering road trip with his or her dog and just needed the push to go.
For a moment, I thought about the thimble I’d given Ava. I still didn’t remember where I’d discovered it, but it was easy to see why it had been destined for her. When I stopped by yesterday to have a late lunch with her, she showed me the progress she’d made in mending Hannah Smith’s teddy bear. There had been such sweet joy in Ava’s eyes as she talked about the stitches she used and the patches she planned to add. Sewing had been missing from her life, and rekindling her love for it was clearly bringing her happiness.
