1. Atticus #3
Marcus is in his mid-thirties. He’s fit and healthy, with neat dark hair that I think he slicks back to hide the hint of gray that’s starting to show at his temples.
He’s shorter than Felix and me, maybe five feet seven or eight.
He’s always well-dressed, professional, and great at his job.
But since the day he started working for Felix, he’s looked like he’s only one more crisis away from a nervous breakdown.
“I’m going to pick up some dinner. What do you want?” I ask him.
Even though he’s been working for Felix for nearly a year now, he still seems surprised whenever we do something like ask if he’s okay or buy him dinner.
Felix did say that the person he worked for before us was notoriously difficult, which is probably why he seems to handle Felix and his chaotic demands with ease.
“I can—” he starts.
Sighing, I tilt my head to the side and flash him a look.
“A turkey sub and a garden salad would be great, thank you.”
“Drink?” I ask.
“Coffee, the biggest they do, please.”
“No worries. Are you doing okay? Do you need help with anything?” I question, worried by how scrambled he seems.
“I’m fine. Everything is under control,” he says, but his eyes show the panic he’s clearly feeling.
Lifting my hand, I lay it on his shoulder. “Deep breath,” I order, locking my gaze with his until he sucks in a slow, deep breath. “Good. Now again.”
After four slow, deep breaths, I squeeze his shoulder and release him.
“Felix is chaos, but you know how to handle him. He doesn’t expect you to have caught everything he’s thrown at you since you stepped through the door.
So just relax and work through the things you remember, then ask him what else he needs, and he’ll tell you.
We’re so grateful that you decided to make this move with us.
You’re part of the team, Marcus, and we appreciate you. ”
His eyes go glassy, and it looks like he’s fighting tears. “Thank you,” he says, his voice thick.
“How’s your new place? Are you all settled in? Do you have everything you need?”
“It’s great. I can walk here. It’s only a few blocks away, and it’s much bigger than the apartment I’ve been staying in since Andrew and I broke up.”
“Is he still giving you any trouble?” I question.
“No,” Marcus says, shaking his head. “Whatever you said to him worked, and I haven’t heard from him since.”
“That’s good. But if he starts bothering you again, I want you to let me know. Now, do you want dessert? Because I’m getting dessert, and you know Felix is.”
“Wednesday…cherry pie,” Marcus says with a soft smile.
Grinning, I nod. “Every Wednesday.”
“You take such good care of him.”
“We take care of each other,” I tell him.
Nodding in understanding, I think I hear him sigh a little wistfully. “Cherry pie sounds good.”
“Three cherry pies it is,” I say, smiling as I head toward the huge warehouse doors and out into the early evening air.
The last time I came to visit Tori, we ate at a place called Grannie Annie’s Diner, so that’s where I head, taking a seat at the counter while I wait for the server to take my order.
“What can I get you?” she asks when she finishes making drinks and places them on a tray for one of the other servers to run to a table.
“Can I get a cheeseburger on a toasted bun, medium well, with bacon and lettuce, but no onion, tomato, or sauce?”
“Any fries?”
“Yes, please. Can I also get a turkey sub and a garden salad, and I’ll take a roast beef sub with gravy and fries. Then can I get three slices of cherry pie, please?”
“Eating in or taking away?” the server asks, glancing around me to see if anyone else is joining me or if I’m planning on eating all of that on my own.
“Take away, please.”
“Any drinks?”
“Can I get a Dr Pepper if you have it, a sweet tea, and the biggest coffee you do.”
Nodding, the server rings me up, tells me it’s going to be twenty minutes, then moves on to the next customer waiting to be served.
Exhaling, I swivel on my stool so I can look out of the huge windows that line the front of the diner facing the sidewalk.
Rockhead Point is a cute town, full of tourists all year round, and right now there’s a sea of visitors strolling the streets, deciding where to go for early dinner and peering into the cute boutiques that stay open late in the summer to make the most of the evening guests.
I get why Tori loves it here. This place is the perfect setting for her French-style patisserie, and I’m glad she’s making her dreams of bringing a little bit of France to wherever she is come true.
Most rural Montana towns might not appreciate frou-frou cakes and pastries, but she already had the trust of the locals from when she worked in the shop before she bought it, so according to her, her customers have seamlessly moved from buying cookies to macarons without realizing it.
Silently people watching, I see a flash of blonde hair as someone runs past the window with a streak of pale pink following her as her huge skirt billows out behind her.
I can’t explain it, but my heart starts to race, beating wildly as I climb down from my seat and make my way to the door.
Opening it, I step out onto the sidewalk and see the blonde woman in the pink dress disappear down a side street and out of sight.
I barely got a glimpse of her, but even though she’s gone, my heart doesn’t calm, thudding against my chest in a steady drum.