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My brow furrowed. “Right. How did—”
“Brooklyn told me,” she said with a smile. “And I’m assuming you got the third degree from all the Old Ladies.”
“Third degree,” I agreed. “Are they all so…”
“So what?”
“Welcoming.”
“Hmm. They are to those they deem close to the club.”
“Do you know them well?”
“Fairly well,” she said. “Brielle and I get invited to a lot of club barbecues because of Brooklyn.”
A few minutes later, Jazz placed a mug with a mountain of whipped cream on top in front of me. “This is called Witches Brew. It’s got enough sugar to launch you to the moon and enough caffeine to make your teeth vibrate.”
“Sign me up,” I said with a laugh.
Jazz went to the bakery display and used the tongs to grab a few biscotti and put them on a plate.
The bell chimed, announcing the arrival of customers.
While Jazz tended to them, I dunked my biscotti and looked around the space. It was a perfect blend of industrial and homey. Very much like the apartment upstairs. There was exposed brick, and the walls behind the counter had been painted pastel pink.
Brooklyn came out of the office and shoved her phone into her apron pocket. She easily moved behind the counter and worked with Jazz to tend to all the customers that had seemed to come out of nowhere.
“Whew,” Brooklyn said when the rush had finally died down. “That was fun.”
“We’re like a well-oiled machine at this point,” Jazz said to her. “We’ve worked long enough together that it’s second nature.”
“Is it always this busy?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Jazz said with a grin.
Brooklyn’s gaze dropped to the empty plate in front of me. “So, you liked the biscotti?”
“I did.” I nodded.
“And the coffee?” Jazz prodded. “How did you like that?”
“I feel like I could push a train with my bare hands,” I joked.
“Then my job here is done.” She looked at Brooklyn. “You good if I take my ten?”
Brooklyn nodded.
“Did you call Brielle?” Jazz asked as she maneuvered around Brooklyn to get to the espresso machine.
“I did. I talked to the bride. I got it sorted. Her meltdown wasn’t about the cake.”
“What was it about?” I asked.
Brooklyn’s lips twitched. “Commitment.”
Jazz raised brows and pulled an espresso shot. “Cold feet right before she walks down the aisle? Shocker.”
My mother’s words floated back to me.
