Page 43 of Make Mine Sweet
Fine. One specific person.
I shift on the bench so I can catch my reflection in the shop window behind me. Dragging my free hand down my beard, I admit to myself it’s not my favorite thing to deal with. It was just easier. Easier to let my hair go wild, easier to avoid talking to people, easier to scare everyone away.
When did I become the guy who looked for the easy route?
Call it fate, call it luck, call it a staple of small towns everywhere, but my gaze lands on a barbershop pole farther down the street. It’s got a sandwich board out front.Antonio’s. Walk-ins welcome.
“Iris,” I say, “how would you like to see an epic set of before-and-after pictures?”
FOURTEEN
TESS
One of thebest things about Blackbird’s is our regulars. People who are dedicated to us and talk us up all over town. People who come in every week to check out what’s on our rotating menu of pies. People who would never resort to defrosting a mass-produced frozen pie from the grocery store just because it’s a couple bucks cheaper.
People like Ada and Isabel.
“How are my favorite customers?” I ask as they walk in.
The two elderly women grin adorably at that. Ada was my second-grade teacher twenty-five years ago, and Isabel used to be a nurse at the medical center. Now that they’re retired, they mostly swan around town checking up on everyone as though they’re vital to Sunshine’s success. They probably are—they sure seem key to ours.
“We’re still kicking, at least,” Isabel says.
“We’re providing the sweets for our book club today,” Ada tells me. She’s wearing aReading Rainbowpin on her shirt collar that has to be vintage. I don’t think she’s the type to get in on a late-stage trend.
“Clara’s in charge of the savory.” Isabel wrinkles her nose. “I suspect we’re going to have Brussels sprouts with Parmesan cheese again.”
“You like Brussels sprouts,” Ada shoots back.
“Not when it’s the only thing she ever brings to book club.”
“What kinds of books does your group read?” I’ve been meaning to find a group for myself but haven’t gotten around to it. One of many things on my endless to-do list that gets shoved to the bottom.
A whole conversation flies back and forth in the look the two women give each other.
“Science fiction,” Isabel says at the same time Ada answers, “Spy novels.”
“You’re reading science fiction books about spies?” Niche genre, but I don’t judge what people read.
They glance at each other again without explaining further.
“You know,” Wren says, sliding up to the counter beside me, “nobody’s ashamed to read romance novels anymore. They’re super popular right now. There are even whole bookstores devoted just to selling romances.”
I would love to see a bookstore open up in Sunshine. Maybe not a romance-only store—I have a hard time suspending my disbelief for that particular brand of fiction—but I wouldn’t mind sourcing my fantasy books a little closer to home.
“Well,” Ada says, glancing away. “There might be a smidgen of romance in the books we read.”
“But we read them for the history,” Isabel puts in.
“Which history?” Wren wants to know.
“The one we just read was set in Scotland in the seventeen hundreds.”
Wren’s grin might as well take up the whole room. “So the hero wears a kilt?”
Ada and Isabel blush to the heavens. It’s seriously the cutest thing ever. And makes me wonder just what their book club read this month.
“You’re distracting us.” Ada points at the display case. “We’d like a Key lime pie and a chocolate mint, please.”
