Page 21 of Too Delicious

“That’d be nice,” the old man says. “But you don’t have to treat me. You’re trying to earn a living.”

“It’s the least I can do. Your goats make the best yogurt. It’s practically a partnership.”

She squeezes his hand, and here I am, irrationally jealous of a little old goat farmer.

A nearby crow caws at me, mocking me.

“Shut it, you,” I say.

The old man waves goodbye to Harmony and makes his way down the street.

Harmony stands there for a second, shielding her eyes from the sun, looking for something. Maybe she heard me telling the crow to shut it.

She seems to be looking straight at me, and when a wide smile breaks across her lovely face, I feel it pierce my chest. But I’m an idiot because that smile is not aimed at me but at someone much shorter and furrier.

As often happens in Fate, the mayor bounds up out of nowhere, wiggling and begging for attention from her. Harmony squats down in front of Flash, the golden retriever who has now won reelection four times, and gives him scratches behind the ears.

From the pocket of her frilly skirt, she pulls out a treat. The mayor takes the biscuit in one gulp, his tail wagging wildly.

“Who’s a good boy? Oh my goodness. Who’s the best boy ever?”

The crows are cawing like crazy now, mercilessly taunting me.

Flash moves on to the tattoo parlor down the street, but that place doesn’t open until 11. The mayor trots happily on to find his next big fan.

I sip my coffee and continue my Saturday morning routine. Not being a sweet old goat farmer. Not being the best boy ever.

This is my life now: Monday through Friday, I follow her to school, then I go to Little Spoon and take orders from Summer. I run errands or do whatever needs doing. When Summer gets tired of me, I go to Harmony’s house and cut the grass, trim trees, plant flowers, and fix whatever needs fixing, even if Harmony doesn’t know what needs fixing.

And on weekends, I hang out at Little Spoon with Harmony until she sends me packing.

Today, I sip my coffee from Love Games and watch her from my car, feeling lovesick.

I don’t have to go in. I could sit here and watch her move all day and be happy in my misery.

Harmony unlocks the door to Little Spoon and goes inside. She flicks on the lights, then helps herself to a cup of frozen yogurt. It’s usually chocolate, but it’s something yellow and fruity today. She sits at the front counter and enjoys some alone time, reading the paper and eating her breakfast of dessert.

When she finishes the paper, she grabs a bottle of cleaner and spritzes down the door and the windows. She clicks on the neon “Open” sign, which turns her face and arms pink as she wipes down the glass with the newspaper’s sports section.

I know what happens next. She’ll grab whatever new release she picked up from the library and sit behind the register, reading while waiting for customers.

She doesn’t look up when the doorbell rings but stays focused on her reading.

I help myself to a cup and go to the dispenser to fill it. Today it’s coffee flavored and vanilla swirl. I add only a scoop of Dutch chocolate chunks on top.

As always, I set it on the scale. And wait.

“What do I owe you?” I ask.

Harmony smirks and tilts her head. “After a month of doing this every Saturday, I think you know the answer to that.”

“As your business partner, I must tell you it’s not good business to give away product.”

She smiles. “As your business partner, I should remind you of the markup on these products.”

I shrug. “Fine. I’ll pay wholesale then.”

She sighs and rummages around, finally coming up with a calculator. “Making me do long division on a Saturday,” she mutters, punching the numbers. “Okay. You owe me twenty-seven cents based on what we pay for all those ingredients.”

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