2 SWEET
On Monday morning, Lauren stops by my house bright and early. Her blue eyes are glassy from the cold, and her dark hair falls board-straight from underneath a tan knit hat. Her green puffer coat completes the look, acting like a beacon against the dreary sky. I am decidedly less awake as I pull on my own coat and jam my feet into my boots for the short walk downtown.
It’s a scenic trip, and we make most of it in companionable silence as we breathe in the crisp, winter air. We pass thick groves of evergreens that are dusted with powdery snow. The sidewalks are clear, but mounds of gray slush are piled to the sides. I jam my hands in my pockets and breathe out a puff of visible air to watch it float away.
“Today’s the day you find out about the grant money, right?” Lauren asks as the evergreens give way to a sharp downhill slope into downtown Heartsong. The streetlights are still lit this early in the morning, and their reflections wobble on the surface of Lake Willowcrest. Red and pink bows adorn the streetlamps, signaling the upcoming holiday. Soft scraping fills the air from shop owners sweeping snow off their thresholds as they prepare to open for the day.
I take in another deep breath, straightening up and flashing her a sly smile. “Sure is.”
“You don’t look very worried,” she remarks as we approach the front door of Sugar on Top, where we always stop for our morning coffee.
I shrug as she pulls the door open and motions me inside. “Nothing I can do about it now, either way. But it seems like a no-brainer to me. We want to attract more people downtown, so the downtown needs to be more attractive. Roads just aren’t sexy, and we all know the council loves a sexy proposal.”
The bakery is cozy, decorated with amber accents that add to the warmth emitted by the constantly running espresso machine and the ovens in the back. Little heart doilies sit on top of each table, giving the shop a festive air. While Dorothy is a formally trained chef, and thus our go-to caterer for the fundraiser, her daily focus is coffee and pastries to keep the town’s blood pressure at an ideal elevation.
Lauren chuckles. “Especially Councilman Roberts. I have a feeling that new toupée is his way of impressing Joanne.”
I wrack my brain for a second. “Joanne… the instructor for the senior yoga classes?”
She hums in agreement. “I took my gran to class last week, and he was there with that hair all puffed up like a pigeon.”
With a predictability that warms my heart, Dorothy already has our coffee ready on the to-go counter. I take the two cups waiting for us and sniff one, scrunching my nose in disgust. I hand Lauren her black coffee. “A pigeon?”
One side of Lauren’s mouth twists up into a wry grin as she takes the cup from my hand. “Yeah. They get all ruffled and puffy when they’re trying to attract a mate.” She demonstrates by pushing her chest out and moving her shoulders back and forth.
“What is going on here?” Dorothy waves a hand in our direction.
I take a sip of my half-caff macchiato with almond milk, one pump of sugar-free vanilla, and a sprinkle of cinnamon and moan in delight.
Lauren waggles her eyebrows. “We were just discussing Councilman Roberts’ new do,” she tells her as I lick the lingering foam off my upper lip.
Dorothy rolls her eyes with a huff. “It’s an embarrassment, is what it is. I hope a breeze catches it and blows it out to the lake.”
I cackle. “Dorothy Shelley, that’s not very nice.”
“Neither is his hair,” she counters. “Just the coffee today, girls?”
Lauren nods, but I lean over to check the pastry case. As I had hoped, cinnamon rolls line the front of it. “Can I get a cinnamon roll, too, please?”
Dorothy punches that into the register. “What are we celebrating?”
“I’m preemptively celebrating my win with the City Council.” I hand her my card with a grin, which quickly falls. “And Harrison ate all the cereal.”
I can feel Lauren eyeing me as she says, “How long is he staying, do you think?”
“No idea.” I sigh as Dorothy hands my card back to me. “I don’t want to push it though, you know? He never needs anything, and then he shows up out of the blue? It’s weird.”
“I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it when he’s ready,” Dorothy reassures me. Lauren and I both nod in agreement as Juan steps up to Dorothy’s side and reaches his tongs into the pastry case to grab my cinnamon roll.
“You want this warmed up, Miss Cora?” he asks as he extracts one from the middle.
“Oh, no thanks, Juan. I have to get to the office.”
“You sure?” He waves the roll enticingly and winks. “They’re so much better warm.”
“I promise I’ll warm it up when I get there,” I say, though he and I and this entire shop all know I won’t. I’ll shove it into my mouth in three giant bites. But it’ll still be delicious.
“Okay,” he says as if it’s not and deposits the roll into a paper bag. He hands it over to me as Lauren stashes a giant tip in the tip jar and we turn to leave.
Or, at least we try to leave. Just as I’m bracing to re-enter the frigid outside world, we are, instead, stopped by the broad shoulders and skinny jeans—sorry, slacks —of none other than Mayor Adam Sullivan.
I stifle a groan. I wasn’t supposed to have to see him until our noon meeting with the council. But here he is, standing in the way of the only exit, taking off his leather gloves finger by finger, as if he has all the time in the world.
“Cora Bennet. Just the woman I was hoping to see,” he drawls. His gray eyes light up as they land on me. Finally, one of his gloves comes free of his hand.
I arch an eyebrow, irritated that this man is standing in the way of me and my hot date with a cinnamon roll. “Really?” I ask skeptically.
He takes a few steps into the bakery, and I can smell his spiced cologne. He must have just applied it before he left the house. I’m woman enough to admit that it smells nice, but it overpowers the sweet smells of the bakery even at this distance, so I think it’s pretty clear he overdid it.
“Really.” He removes his other glove and shoves both in his coat pockets. “I wanted to congratulate you.”
I expect him to continue, but he doesn’t. My arched eyebrow climbs higher up my forehead. “On…?”
He smirks as if he was hoping for this reaction. “Oh, I’m surprised you haven’t heard.” He sounds as if this is not at all surprising. “Though I guess it makes sense I’d find out before you. I am the mayor, after all.”
“Part-time mayor,” Lauren grumbles.
He spares a glance for Lauren. “Good morning, Miss Alcott.”
She gives him a little curtsey. “Morning, Adam. ”
I sigh in exasperation. “Listen, I have a lot to do today. Did you just want to gloat about knowing something I don’t or…?”
His gray eyes land on me again, appraising. It’s suddenly too warm in here, and my skin feels too tight. Stupid hormones reacting without good sense. My poor libido doesn’t realize this man is a buffoon. “Councilman Dickert and I had coffee this morning, and it seems the council is going to side with you.”
I purse my lips against a victorious smile. He’s the gloater, not me. “Well, that is good news. I’m excited to revitalize the downtown area, and this has the added bonus of teaching you some humility. Now if you’ll excuse me.” I successfully sidestep him as Lauren adjusts her hat, using her hand to hide her smile.
Adam whips around and reaches out to grab my wrist. The heat of his palm seeps through the cuff of my jacket, licking at my skin. He stares at me for a beat too long before he drops my wrist like it burned him.
“Did you need something else?” I ask primly, hoping the forced coolness of my tone covers up the fact that my stomach has suddenly leapt into my throat.
His voice is softer, more sincere as he says, “I wanted to give you a heads up that the council is going to ask you to attend a conference with me next weekend.”
I pinch my eyebrows together. “What conference?”
“It’s being hosted by the Association for Small and Rural Towns at a hotel in Reno. I go every year, but the council wants you to go, too, since they have a workshop for beautification on this year’s roster,” he explains. His features are pinched as if he can think of a million things he’d rather do than spend a few days at a conference with me.
I chuckle and wave him off. “Well, you’ve been saved, I guess, because I can’t possibly leave town next weekend.”
His sharp features fall, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he looked a little disappointed. Probably because he had planned on torturing me with boring stats and town ledgers. “Why?” he asks.
“The fundraiser is the following weekend,” I remind him. “It’s shaping up to be huge this year. I can’t just leave in the middle of the finishing touches.”
“Yes you can,” Lauren blurts out. I glare at her, but she presses on. “I mean, why not? You’ve pretty much solidified everything, and anything that needs doing can be done by me.”
“Or me!” Dorothy pipes up from behind the counter. I shoot her a glare over Adam’s shoulder.
Lauren’s blue eyes bounce back and forth between Adam and me a few times before she settles on him. “This would be good for her career, wouldn’t it?” she asks him.
He nods. “There are a lot of people there who would love to connect and talk about tourism in the area.”
“Then you should do it,” Lauren urges me.
Now it’s my turn to pinch my expression. If there are a million things Adam Sullivan would rather do than spend a few days with me at a conference, then there are a bajillion things I would rather do than spend that time with him.
“They’re forecasting near-blizzard conditions next week,” I protest again.
Adam flashes a pearly smile, and I wonder for a moment if his teeth are capped. They’re just so white .
“It should all be cleared before the conference is underway. Plus, my car has all-wheel drive.” He leans forward on his toes, puffing himself up as if this is something that is supposed to impress me.
“What are you, a pigeon?” I murmur. Lauren chokes on a laugh and turns her back to us to recover.
“What?” Adam frowns.
“Never mind.” I sigh, resigned. “I’ll think about it. But now I do really need to go. You’ve made me late for work.”
“I’ll put in a word with your boss,” Adam says, adding that signature wink that boils my blood. It’s his favorite joke to make, though we both know he has no more pull than I do.
“Good luck with that,” I say flatly.
Adam waves this off, then bows with a flourish. “Have a good day, ladies,” he says. “Cora, I’ll see you at noon.”
As soon as the bakery door closes behind us, I groan. I do not need another thing on my plate, and I certainly do not need that thing to be a weekend at a conference with Mayor Adam Sullivan.