But at precisely eight o’clock, I brace myself and approach the front door. Through the glass, I spy an already waiting figure, swaying on his feet as he looks out over the main artery of Ashwood Haven, coming to life by the minute.
I wave a hand to light up the rest of the store and give myself my daily pep talk, convincing my nervous system that chatting with customers isn’t a life-or-death situation. With only a mildly forced smile, I flip the sign on the front door from CLOSED to OPEN, turn the lock, and within seconds, the bell announces our first customer.
I step back from the door as Don steps through, his gregarious presence overwhelming in the way it changes the whole atmosphere of the shop. By simply stepping inside, he transforms the space from quiet and cozy to alive and boisterous.
“Good morning, girls!” he bellows, the same way he does every morning.
I push the door closed behind him, ensuring none of the warm air escapes. “Good morning, Don.”
He tips his chin at me and beelines for the coffee bar, rubbing his large hands together to stave off the cold.
I follow close behind, plopping myself down on one of the stools lined up against the counter and swivel back and forth as I wait to hear this morning’s town gossip.
“The usual?” Lucy asks, already pouring espresso beans into the grinder.
“Yes, ma’am. With an extra sprinkling of whatever it is you do that helps me sell the town to newcomers.”
Lucy shoots me a look out of the corner of her eye before flipping through the spell book behind the counter, its pages yellowed with age and charmed to never tear. She grabs her mortar and pestle and starts grinding a mixture of allspice and cinnamon for a mix of luck and business success while mouthing the coinciding spell under her breath.
I rest my elbows on the granite counter, my chin in my hands as I lean in. “What’s the big occasion?”
“Oh, a young man is opening up shop across the street. I want to make a good first impression when I welcome him here shortly.” The announcement is boisterous, in the only way Don knows how to speak, but the way his mustache twitches at the end suggests an opinion on this whole matter that he isn’t sharing.
“First impression?” Lucy raises a perfectly-shaped eyebrow at the half-bald man who practically runs the town. “He’s opening a store downtown, and you haven’t even met him yet? That’s not like you.”
“I’ll be quite honest, girls, this is a bit of an odd one. I wanted to show him around town before he bought the shop, but he insisted he wanted that one and only that one. Nothing was going to change his mind. Miss Laura only had it up for a day before he bought it right up.”
I tut my tongue. “Oh, Miss Laura. I can’t believe she’s retired.”
“I can’t believe her niece wouldn’t come home to run the bakery. She grew up behind that counter.” Lucy chimes in, lip curling with distaste.
I tip my head, my black ponytail swaying as I give her a scolding look. “She has a husband and kids in the city, not to mention her job doing . . .” I rack my brain, trying to think back to one of Miss Laura’s many prideful laments about her niece’s success, coming up short. “Whatever it is she’s doing.”
“See? Selfish.”
“Miss Laura said she’d give you that apple fritter recipe if you wanted it,” I remind her.
Lucy sighs, shoulders drooping with exaggerated exasperation. “It wouldn’t be the same.”
I roll my eyes at her, turning my attention back to Don. “So, is he going to keep it a bakery?”
“He is, actually. Said it’s a family business.”
Lucy thoughtfully hums as she finishes Don’s drink off with a sprinkling of charmed spice powder.
“What?” I ask her.
“Well, you’d think a guy so interested in maintainingfamilytradition would take over afamilybakery. If preserving heritage is your goal, why would you open one up somewhere new?”
I tap my fingernails against the countertop, using the tips of my brown wingtip boots to swivel back and forth on my stool. “Maybe he’s looking for something new. Or someone else took over the family business, like a sibling.Ormaybe it will be another branch of the family bakery.”
“Maybe he’s running away from something,” she mutters, pushing the drink across the counter.
“Cynical much?”
Lucy raises her hands in defense. “It was just a suggestion.”
“So long as he runs an honest business and doesn’t cause any trouble, I’ll be happy to have him,” Don declares, grabbing his cup and raising it like a toast. “Speaking of the town”—he turns to me, taking on a more serious tone—“Miss Amelia.”
