Leo stared at me like I’d asked him to engage in risky behavior. “Sounds like we’re going to melt, but I have nothing better to do.”
“Plus, it’d be a huge help to me,” I said. “And I’ll make sure you’re rewarded handsomely, with free coffee and cake.”
His eyes widened. “Coffee. Okay. You’re speaking my language. What about a hot chocolate?”
“Like a mocha?” I asked. This was useful, actually. The time I’d worked at a coffee shop in my teens, more than twenty years ago, was just a little hazy and rough in my mind’s eye. I’d watched some online tutorials, and bought one of those handbooks for the machine, but nothing beat the true test of a customer ordering. “I think I could do that.”
“Perfect.”
Leo changed into some sweats and a cropped T-shirt with some bleach stains... or perhaps it was tie-dye. I’d stepped behind the counter, most of it covered in plastic sheets to keep the paint from splashing on it. The process was simple, according to all the guides. You crushed the beans, ground them, put them in the puck, tamped down, and into the machine.
It wasn’t my first attempt or even my best, but with what I’d learned, I made him a mocha, and an espresso shot for myself. And while it was stifling in here, the heat from the drink seemed to acclimatize my body’s internal temperature to it.
“You know what would make it incredible?” he said, smacking his lips.
“Please tell me.”
“Whipped cream, in a spiral, and marshmallows. Edible glitter would also be fun, and maybe even chocolate shavings on it. You know, like a slab of chocolate and just grate it over the top.” He demonstrated with gestures of what could easily have been cheese and a grater too.
“Once I’m stocked up, I’ll make you just that,” I told him. “How about one step further? Put in a little graham cracker with the marshmallows and you’ll have a s’more in a cup.”
Leo’s mouth opened wide. “That is—” He placed a hand to his chest. “Forgive me for what I would do for that, but I know it would not be pretty.”
“You’re funny.”
“Thanks, someone told me it was a defense mechanism,” he said, blurting out the admission, then he pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to keep it closed. “Well, are we going to paint or what?”
“Yes, absolutely. I’ve got you the necessary equipment.” I nodded to the second pair of goggles and mask. “And if you feel lightheaded at all, let me know, and we can take a break.”
He nodded. “You’re lucky I came over,” he said. “We’ll get this done in no time.”
“Well, I did invite you, but I didn’t expect you to be doing this with me. I am very grateful you want to help, though. It was going to take me the entire day, and then some.”
With Leo helping, it wasn’t going to take long at all, although we were becoming preoccupied with conversation. It was only natural he had questions about me, and I had them about him, but I waited for his slight interrogation to be over with first.
“Okay, so you were in Chicago, you had this big fancy job, and then something came over you... was it the flu?” he asked, his tongue between his teeth like he knew he was being a little bit sassy. “Because I mean, coming here, you’re not going to turnthis into some million-dollar business like they have in those cities.”
“You know a whole lot more about me than I do about you,” I said. “I’m not saying I want a whole history, but why did you choose Pineberry Falls?”
“Grandma lived here when I was growing up. Throw a stone, ask half the people who are my age, and they’ll have a similar story about coming here during summer,” he said. “She sold her house and moved into a retirement village in Connecticut. She sold it like ten years before I even moved here.”
“So, where do you live?”
“There are some apartment buildings dotted around if you leave the main town center,” he said. “I live in one of those. A studio apartment. It’s a—a bit cramped, but I’ve got everything I need. And two amazing jobs.”
“How do you manage that?”
“How do you manage to get so much paint over yourself?” he asked.
I knew I’d hit a nerve, and I wasn’t going to pry. If he wanted to tell me, I’d be open to listening. “More paint on me than there is on these walls.”
“How much more painting have you got to do?”
Glancing around the bakery, I had plans—big plans—which was probably going to be my downfall. Like he said, this wasn’t something I was going to turn into a million-dollar empire, and that wasn’t the plan. I just wanted something cute, cozy, and mine. This filled those boxes. “I’ve got some chalkboard paint for the back wall as well behind the counter.”
“Chalkboard paint?” he repeated with a gasp. “Do you think you’ll use it all?”
“Probably not. Although it’s my first time using it, so I really have no idea how much to use. But it’s only going on that area over there above the shelves, so I can write my menu.”
