Chapter 11
Caleb
The radio in the corner plays the newest pop music.
Thankfully, I am, at least for now, spared bad pop renditions of classic Christmas songs.
Or Christmas songs in general. It took me forever to find a station that doesn’t fall victim to the commercialized end of the year, but I did it.
I don’t recognize the song currently playing, but it’s probably from the new Taylor Swift album.
“Ah, I see it’s a yeast-dough kind of day.
” Bobby chuckles, walking past me to his chair right by the drip coffee maker.
I can’t be bothered to start one of the espresso machines inside the café first thing in the morning.
Instead, I got a small, cheap one for back here.
It’s not great coffee by any means, but it does the job.
Occasionally, I overdo it on the ground coffee, though, and need to add some milk.
“Yeah,” I say gruffly, and scrape the dough out of the giant bowl of my heavy-duty mixer.
“I see. Meaning it’s either a particularly good or bad day. Do you want to talk about it?” He sits down with a groan and reaches for the mug I set out for him, pouring himself a cup.
It has become something of a tradition for him to pop in and keep me company while I go through all the prep for the day.
Every Tuesday and Thursday, he plants his ass right where it is now, giving me unsolicited advice while sipping on his coffee and apparently pestering me about my mood.
Then once the café opens, Henry comes in to do the same.
In Bobby's case, I think he just can’t fully let go of the café.
“No. Yes.” I let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know,” I mumble, as I fold the dough into itself. It’s an extra step in the recipe that I initially thought was unnecessary. Then Bobby, knowing fully well how stubborn I am, made me do one batch each. One with the folding, one without.
After that, I never questioned a step in his recipes again.
He puts down his mug with a loud clank against the stainless-steel counter, clearing his throat. From the corner of my eye, I see him narrow his eyes at me, leaning his cane against the counter so he can cross his arms in front of his chest.
“Historically speaking, if it’s a yeast kind of day, I can tell that you’re all up in that handsome head of yours. I’ve cut you slack with your moodiness the past week, but now it’s time to talk. Spill.”
I scrape the dough up and fold it one more time.
It hasn’t even been half a day since Lauren came here with her boxes of surprisingly tasteful Christmas decor and took over the store.
Only nine hours and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her clinging to my arm.
Or the adorable way she scrunches her nose when she says “Snickerdoodle,” because she finds the word funny. And how she said all the right things.
“I told Lauren that my mom left,” I admit, and reach for my rolling pin, coating it in sunflower-seed oil so it doesn’t stick to the dough as I roll it out to shape the cinnamon rolls.
“That’s it?” Bobby asks, the frown on his forehead softening.
“That’s it,” I confirm with a nod, putting more oil on my pin as I continue. “She didn’t pry. I didn’t elaborate.”
“You should have told her the whole story.” He lets out a deep sigh, and I shoot him a glare.
“Why would I have done that?” I ask, putting the pin in the sink and reaching for the cinnamon-sugar mixture to spread on the dough.
“Whether you admit it or not, Caleb, even a blind man can see you’re into the girl.
” I freeze for a second, hand in the sugar mixture.
Henry and Kieran have mentioned this before, but for some reason it’s taking Bobby laying it out too, for me to believe it.
“It would be fair for her to learn the truth.”
“The world isn’t fair,” I grumble as I dust the mixture over the dough evenly.
“Correction: the world doesn’t owe you shit,” Bobby objects, and from my periphery I see him shaking his head.
“The world can be fair, but it sure isn’t going to serve you anything on a silver platter.
Right now, the world is giving you an opportunity.
Whether you take that shot or mess it up, that’s up to you.
And let me tell you, by not telling her, you’re more likely to mess it up.
” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Have a proper think about it.”
Instead of an answer, I point to a bowl on his left. “If you sit here yapping, you might as well make yourself useful. Mix up the streusel, will you?”
He gets up and staggers to the sink to wash his hands, then sits back down, putting the bowl in his lap to mix butter, flour, brown sugar and some cinnamon together. Meanwhile I add thinly cut apple slices on the spread-out dough, before I roll it up and sprinkle the streusel over them.
I wouldn’t admit it even if someone put a gun to my head, but the decorations Lauren forced upon me put me in a better mood throughout the day.
Not exactly because I’ve suddenly become a fan of Christmas, but because they remind me of her.
I see her pink cheeks from the cold outside in the red baubles and the twinkle in her eyes as she saw the snow in the glow of the fake candles she put on every table.
“Here you go,” I say and put Nic’s coffee down in front of her.
It’s shortly after the lunch rush, the exact time that Kieran, and Nic and Henry usually try to come in for their lunch in a blissfully empty café.
“Thank you,” Nic says sweetly and reaches for her latte macchiato. While the two of them take a sip of their coffee and dig into their cake, I lean down to greet Jensen.
I don’t understand why everyone keeps talking to him in that weird, high-pitched baby voice.
Seriously, we can communicate perfectly without exchanging any words at all.
He flops down on the ground in front of me, which means, ‘Pet me, human.’ When I pull a treat out of my pocket, he knows that holding up my finger means for him to sit before he gets it.
No need to tell him, much less with my voice five octaves above my regular speaking range.
“You’re so good with Jensen,” Nic says, watching me with curious eyes as she props her head on her hand. “Did you ever have a dog?”
“Nope,” I say and get back up.
“Jensen wormed his way into Caleb’s heart and revealed his inner softie,” Henry says proudly, with a smug grin that makes me reach for my notepad and tap it against the back of his head with only a little force.
“Ouch.”
Maybe a little more force than I intended.
I make my way back to the counter, collecting empty mugs and glasses as I go.
Shawna has already left for the day — she only helps out during the lunch rush, after all.
I can usually handle the aftermath on my own when things slow down.
There will be one more rush right before closing time in the late afternoon, but I will have caught up by then.
“It’s time!”
The sound of a loud, shrill, singsong voice coming from the door makes me fear for my windows and sends my head whipping around.
“Well, you are definitely not a Mariah Carey,” Lauren says amusedly behind Kieran and brushes past him and Dick van Dyke. “Hi, Caleb.”
I nod at her. She holds my eyes for a moment, then breaks into a smile and finally makes her way to Nic and Henry.
“Hold on, let me check what pastry goodness you have for us today.” Kieran rushes to the counter and peeks at the glass showcase, letting his leash drop to the ground. His dog trudges over to the others’ table, probably getting ready to annoy the heck out of Jensen.
I set the dirty dishes on the pass-through window I built to the kitchen. I’ll put them in the dishwasher later.
When I turn around, Henry is at the counter too, but he’s not looking at the display. There’s a worried crease between his eyebrows as he musters me.
“Are you okay?”
“You are the second person to ask me that today,” I reply with an eye roll, reaching for a towel to wipe an invisible spill off the counter.
“That should probably make you question why,” Henry points out and leans his elbow on the counter.
My eyes dart behind him, to one of my windows facing the street. There she is again. The strange woman that nobody in Wayward Hollow appears to recognize. Henry slowly turns to follow my gaze. As soon as she realizes we’re watching her, she whips her head around and scurries off.
“That's her, right?”
“Yeah,” I say without moving my mouth. Kieran is scooting closer, the usual smile on his face tight and not reaching his eyes.
“I remember her,” Kieran whispers, whipping his head around before he continues, as if he’s telling us about a secret conspiracy. “She had the weirdest reaction when she came in here for the first time. Did she recently move here?”
“Trust me, if anyone moved here, you’d be aware,” Henry says absentmindedly.
“I have a mad sense of déjà vu with her,” Kieran admits, putting his arms on the counter and leaning his chin into his palms. “She’s not famous, though.
I checked.” I tip my head. How would he have checked that without knowing her name?
“But I could swear she reminds me of someone.” He massages his temples, then his eyes flick between Henry and me.
“Really. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite grasp it. ”
Henry nods slowly. “I know what you mean. After our last conversation, I thought it might be Andrea’s daughter since the description kind of fit, but it’s not her.”
Right. The infamous daughter who moved overseas. I’ve never met her, but the woman who scurried off doesn’t resemble Andrea in the slightest.
Kieran folds up his sleeves. “I’m going to stalk back the stalker. You two just wait.” He rolls his shoulders, then folds his hands to crack his knuckles.
“Stop that,” Henry scolds him, and reaches for my notepad to give him a gentle slap to the back of his head with it.
“Copycat,” I mumble as he sets it back down on the counter.
“I’m sorry, sorry,” Kieran grins and rubs the back of his head. “Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be, like, a medical professional? And yet knuckle-cracking manages to freak you out?”
“Well, animals don’t crack their knuckles.”
“Touché,” Kieran replies.
I stop listening to the two of them bickering as my eyes jump to Nic and Lauren. Even though the two of them are deep in conversation, I catch Lauren’s gaze.
When I see the worried crinkle between her eyebrows, I give her a slight nod.
That’s new. People who are not Bobby are worrying and looking out for me.
I’m not sure how to feel about it.