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The chatter in the bakery was a soft din of noise, accompanied by the gentle clatter of coffee mugs on the wood-topped tables. I immediately recognized my server, Sylvie, as the sole King woman from the funeral services. She came more than once to check on me, and her welcoming smile convinced me to order another slice of lemon loaf and a second latte.
“It’s pretty charming, isn’t it?” The woman sitting a few chairs down from me looked up from her laptop and smiled. She had hair the color of burnt umber and deep green eyes, and she swiveled in her seat to face me. The woman leaned her elbows back on the long high-top behind her and looked into the little bakery.
I smiled at her and followed her gaze. People were milling in and out of the busy bakery. It smelled of cinnamon and sugar and warm, toasty coffee. A small group of old men gathered with newspapers in their laps, which they ignored, and chatted with each other. The line to the register was nearly out the door.
“It is,” I agreed.
The woman leaned forward and offered her hand. “I’m Cass. In for the weekend?”
“Lark. I was, for work.” I lifted the small folded newspaper in my lap. “It’s cute here, so I’m just killing time now. You?”
Cass gestured toward her laptop. “I’m a reporter. For that very paper, actually.”
“So you’re a townie?”
Her smile widened. “Oh, okay. You already know the insider lingo in Outtatowner. So you’ve picked up a few things since Bowlegs’s services.”
I didn’t recall seeing this woman at the services. When I just stared at her, she continued. “Small town. Not much gets past us. Although you, my dear, have become a bit of a mystery.”
My back straightened, unsure of which angle to play to keep my employment a secret.
Cass lifted a hand. “A girl’s gotta have her secrets. I’m not going to pry. But to answer your question, I’m new to the townie life. Born and raised in Chicago. But...” Her eyes trailed behind the counter toward the kitchen, where a gigantic man entered with a tray of fresh pastries. Warm affection spread over her face, and her smile widened. “I fell for that guy, and the rest is history.”
As if he could sense her, the burly baker looked out over the crowd and immediately locked eyes with her. His lips lifted in a smile, and I nearly swooned off my damn seat. His love for her was so painfully obvious I had to look away.
“Lucky girl.”
She smiled and looked back at me. “Don’t I know it. There’s something in the water in Outtatowner. I’m telling you, the men here are something else.”
My thoughts immediately flipped to the grump I’d run into at Bowlegs’s funeral. A tiny sliver of me wanted to ask her about him. Probe, just a little, to see who he was and what the hell his deal could have been.
Before I had the chance, my eyes snagged on a ghost walking across the street. My mouth popped open to see Mr. Bowlegs, appearing very much alive and well, shuffling down the street. I slowly lifted a finger, and Cass’s eyes followed.
“Oh!” She laughed. “That’s Bowlegs’s brother.”
“Brother?” I was dumbstruck.
“Identical twins.”
“Wow.” My brain stumbled to find words to replace the shock to my system. “I didn’t see him at any of the services.”
“I’m not surprised. He is as much of a loner as Bowlegs. If you stay long enough, you’ll find out all kinds of wild things about Outtatowner.” Cass turned back to her laptop, shutting it and slipping it into a shoulder bag. “It was nice to meet you, Lark.”
I said goodbye and watched her quietly slink her way through the crowd and toward the back of the bakery. Once she reached the baker behind the register, in one swift move, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her through the swinging doors and out of view. Her laughter floated above the bakery noise, and I finally did let myself swoon with only the tiniest ping of envy.
Love was for the lucky, andthatI was not. In fact, a fortune teller at a Renaissance festival had once told me that I wascursed in love. At the time I’d brushed it off as complete and total bullshit, but at twenty-nine and still woefully single, combined with my trail of disappointing breakups, I was starting to worry she might have been right.
“Daddy, pleeeeeease.” My attention was pulled away from the cute couple and to the whiny grumbles of a familiar little girl pouting in line. My system jumped.
“Pickle, I said no.” The little girl immediately crossed her arms and committed to a deep pout.
“Come on, Wyatt. You’re only here for one night. I’ll show her around the fire station.” Tootie’s nephew, Lee, pushed the shoulder of the grouchy man I couldn’t seem to escape.
Damn small towns.
“Lee, you’re not helping.” Apparently I wasn’t the only one this man was abrasive with. There was something about him that made me want to poke the bear—irritate him with positivity until he smiledonce, for Christ’s sake.
I scooped up my coffee and bounced out of my chair toward the trio. “Well, hey there, Sullivans!” I chirped. I leaned down toward the little girl. “It’s a great day for a visit to the fire station, don’t you think?”
