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Ellister has two opposite sides. There’s aloof Ellister. Then there’s overly concerned Ellister.
Maybe I’m reading into it too much, but he has a way of making it seem like his worry goes beyond that of a sympathetic passerby.
I mean nothing to him, and it would be wise for me to remember that.
HANNAH
When we pull up to the patio at the back of the gift shop, I shut off the cart. The door to the bakery kitchen is unlatched, cracked an inch, and the wonderful smells of pastries and baking fruit waft out to tempt us.
One of the café tables is occupied by a dad with two small toddlers who are squeezing their donuts in their tiny fists until the treat is just a mess of crumbles, then they shove the mushed bits into their mouths. Sippy cups of cider sit in front of them, and Ellister motions that way with an air of impatience.
“When do I get some of those?”
“The children?” I tease. “Well, I supposed that would be up to you and whoever you decide to procreate with.”
“No.” Totally missing my joking tone, Ellister looks appalled. “I meant the food.”
The muscles in my cheeks twitch with a spreading smile. I love it when he takes things so literally. “Yeah, donuts and cider coming right up.”
I beep the horn twice. It’s the signal I always give at the end of a tour. When my mom hears that, she knows it’s time to bring the treats out.
“It’s usually not this quiet,” I tell Ellister, feeling the need to fill the waiting time with pleasant conversation. “On a normal tour, I have dozens of people with me.”
Ellister glances around. “Where is everyone?”
I gesture to the other side of the shop. “Most Saturdays, our customers are either inside shopping or eating, or they’re outside doing various activities and visiting the animals.”
Speaking of animals, a group of kids who are obviously searching for kittens come around the corner. They’re bending, looking under bushes, and sweetly calling, “Here, kitties. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
Realizing what they’re after, Ellister conspicuously—and selfishly—shields the new friends he has in his lap.
I swear these kids have eagle eyes, and they spy the fur right away.
Rushing over, they crowd Ellister’s doorway.
“Are you done with them yet?” one of the boys asks excitedly.
Ellister scowls. “Shh. They’re sleeping.”
“Not anymore,” a girl pipes up while pointing down. “See?”
It’s true. All the noise woke the little things, and they’re yawning, stretching, and starting to get up.
“This one’s mine,” the first boy announces, scooping the gray tabby into his hands.
“Hey, that one’s my favorite,” Ellister complains.
Holding in a laugh, I press my fist to my lips.
For someone who was terrified of cats earlier, he sure did warm up pretty fast.
“Well, heismine,” the kid insists. “My mom filled out the adoption paperwork last weekend. As soon as he’s old enough, he’s coming home with me.”
“What about these?” Motioning to the calico and the orange tabby on the move, Ellister tries to herd them back to their napping places, but they’re not having it.
They’re awake and ready to play, and they’re smart enough to recognize that kids are where it’s at if they want excitement. One by one, they hop down to the floorboard, then to the ground. The other kids quickly pick them up and carry them away without a backward glance.
“That was rude.” Ellister is totally sulking.
