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“My sweet, Bela. Because you have a tell. You purse your lips like you have the juiciest piece of candy in your mouth and don’t want to share where you found the stash.”
I do? I mentally check my lips and she’s right. I’m puckered like I have a secret to spill.
Fine. Sometimes people have maps of their lives at the ready for them practically before they learn how to walk. Either by bossy parents or they just know. Not me. I wanted to try everything. The usual made my list—firefighter, air force pilot, and cop, like most kids with a love for adventure. But in between those options, I had a few moreuniqueideas. Like on my eleventh birthday.
“A kisser.” I keep my focus on the cake and a tight rein in my tenancy to beam red. “Like that is even a job.” I can’t help but laugh at myself.
Poppy chokes on her second cookie. “A do what?”
“A kisser. I thought it would be so romantic to teach the boys in my school class how to kiss. As if I knew anything. If successful I could branch out to other classrooms and eventually the world by the time I was eighteen. I would be the queen of romance.” I laugh at my childhood ideas. “I wanted to be the kind of kisser who would help boys learn how to kiss and make every girl’s dream come true. I was eleven and found a book on French kissing in the library.”
Poppy clears her throat which I suspect is to hide a giggle. “So naturally you were in a position of authority on the topic.”
I pause, turn and look her dead in the eye. “I had a whole plan of action in place. From start to finish.”
“I bet you did, you little planner you. Tell me all about it.”
“My slogan would’ve been, ‘Kiss your way to love.’”
I give her credit. Poppy stares at me for ten whole seconds before she doubles over laughing. Tears stream down her face and it takes a good five minutes for her to calm enough to talk again. “No wonder you didn’t want to share.”
“Don’t you tell another soul.”
We bump our cookies. “Sister code.”
“So what stopped your kissing career?”
“Chickenpox that summer.”
“Ahh.”
“My turn. Get this, some guy came in the Flower Patch today and ordered everything we had. Emptied the entire store. I barely made it out with these.” She passes over a few bundles of lavender I plan on using in the decorations for the cake.
I put down my piping bag. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope. He wanted to make the biggest proposal for his girl. After that kind of price tag, I hope she said yes.”
I grab my black cherry mocha off the counter and we both head to a table. I’ve been on my feet since sunrise and due a little break before the next round of cake baking starts. It’s great being the owner of my own place and in control of my hours.
“That’s the kind of romance I want. Someone who goes balls to the wall for me.”
I weigh my friend’s words. I’m totally onboard for romance, but I just made a substantial purchase—this bakery and the upstairs apartment. I can’t afford to split my focus away from building up my business and making this town my new home. Mr. Chocolate Eyes comes to mind. A serious relationship might not be in the cards, but I wouldn’t mind some flirty evenings with a certain someone. “Maybe,” I agree with a shrug.
Poppy is unable to sit still so she examines the new Valentine’s cookie rack. These have little messages on them ranging in heat level from ‘kiss me’ to ‘wanna foreplay’?
“Oh, you’re devious.” Poppy pushes aside the apron draped over the counter for a better look. “I’ll take four of these, please. That one, that one, and those two.” The closer she reads the dirtier messages on the back cookies the more my friend blushes.
I push away my empty coffee and package up her order. “Hot date?”
“You better believe it.”
She goes to pay but I push her hand away. “I’ll take payment in the form of all the hot details of said date. Who is it anyway?” That’s another thing. I don’t date much. Try like ever. Not in Syn City with its millions of possible candidates and definitely not here. A town where literally everyone knows your name. One fact I happen to love about the place—its community. They care about each other whereas in Syn City the size makes me feel like an ant.
“A customer from the flower shop.”
“Aren’t men who buy flowers usually momma boys or taken?”
Poppy drops a shocked face. “Judgy much. Are men who buy cupcakes and cookies?”
