Page 50 of Long Time Coming

We couldn’t be more distant in miles, time zones, or even our way of life. I knew that before I kissed him.So why does my heart still hurt?

“Are you going to eat that, sweetie?” I look up from the counter to see Peaches smiling down at me. Sympathy shapes her brown eyes, pulling down the corners with the sides of her mouth. She’s just like Lauralee and can see right through me.

Rubbing my stomach in a fake play to feign full, I try to change the emotion on her face. “I think that’s all I can eat.”

“Those biscuits are your favorite. Let me wrap up the last two for you to take home.”

“I appreciate it.” Lauralee’s mom has always been the sweetest and brought me into her brood like I was one of her own.

She disappears into the back, leaving me with my thoughts again. Those thoughts are the reason I came up to the sundries store in the first place. It’s been five days since he left, and I’m tired of being lost in my head over it. He owes me nothing. That’s what he took with him. So why am I carrying around our time together like it’s precious?

The man has always been popular with the ladies. He’s more handsome than ever, so just chalk it up to what it was—nothing but a good time.One time.That’s all.

The bell above the door chimes, and I look back like Tagger’s going to walk through it. I need a major distraction from my life right now.

I’m being utterly ridiculous.Normally, I wouldn’t mind indulging in my fantasies. It was a way to pass the time and gave me something to joke about with my best friend, and was completely harmless. I’ve done it for years without repercussions because they remained inside me. But Tagger and I made some come true last week, and now fantasies aren’t the fairy tales I once thought they would be. They’re reminders of what could have been, which hurts my heart.

I spin to the side on the chair, watching the kids bob and weave as they find the candy they want. The girls’ laughter overshadows the soft music piped in overhead while he follows her around like he would follow her anywhere.

Lauralee walks out with flour on her temple and powder on the side of her neck. I laugh behind my hand. “Looks like you were caught in a battle of wills. Who won?”

“The mixer.” She swipes across her forehead with the back of her arm. “It needs replacing.”

The teens come to the counter to pay for their candy, so I stand and go to refill my soda to give them space. I hear the buttons of the old-fashioned register clacking and clanging, and then she says, “That will be three fifty-seven for the candy.”

The kids pay and dash out the door, my attention grabbed when the chime sounds again. I’ve been trained like Pavlov’s dog to respond to the sound of the bell because one time, that bell meant Tagger Grange was here.

I return to the counter. “What do I owe you?”

“For two eaten biscuits, one with nibbled edges, and two to go?—”

“Don’t forget the soda.”

“Plus a small soda.” The tap of the keys leaves us in suspense until she says, “Oh weird.” Smacking the side of the metal register, she grunts. “It says on the house again. Lucky you.”

I roll my eyes with a laugh. “You can’t make it on the house all the time or your business will go under.”

Leaning against the bakery display, she says, “Business is just fine. It’s doing better than it’s ever done. The added fountain drinks and morning coffee have turned it around.”

I set down a ten-dollar bill anyway. “No change.”

“Well, considering it was zero dollars, that’s an outstanding tip. Hey, Mom,” she calls to the back. “We’ve got a big tipper out here.”

My cheeks heat from embarrassment. I grit my teeth, and whisper, “Do you have to make a scene every time?”

She nods, pleased with herself. “That’s half the fun.”

“What’s the other half?”

“Pure delight.”

I’ll admit that she’s funny when she wants to be.

Her mom pushes through the swing door, and Lauralee and I quickly straighten our shoulders as if she just caught us up to no good. When she sees the money on the counter, I swear I almost catch her about to roll her eyes, but she stops herself. Always being the prim and proper lady she is, it was refreshing to almost see her stoop to our level. She says, “I’m not taking that, Chrissy.”

“Pocket it, put it in the register, or donate it, but it’s staying right here on the counter.”

She hands me a small white cardboard box. “I put some extra biscuits in there for your dad.”

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