one
. . .
Emmy
The bellabove the café door jingles, and I look up from behind the counter where I’m kneading dough for a special order Christmas tree tart.
Dockside Café is always bustling with locals, but this guest isn’t a local at all.
“Oh my gosh! You must be Mara!” I smile at the newcomer.
The whole town has been whispering about Mara Kensington’s arrival and her run-in with our beloved Town Historian. Poor Graham Whitlock. He means well, but the man can be completely over the top. Especially when it comes to preserving this town’s heritage.
“And you must be Emmy.” She grins back at me. “Busy morning?”
“Never not busy this time of year,” I laugh. “That’s Evie,” I nod toward my younger sister who is busy steaming milk for a cappuccino order. “She’s doing her magic, so I can sneak a few pastries in before the crowd swarms.”
Evie lifts her head and glances over with a quick lift of her chin and an awkward smile. She’s the observer. Sits back and watches everything. Soaks it all in. But when she’s got something to say, you’d better be listening because she means it.
Mara steps closer to the counter. “I need a favor. Peppermint mochas—two. Extra whipped cream. Cleo said they’re Graham Whitlock’s favorite.”
Mentioning Graham shouldn’t make my eyes light up with mischief like they do. I can’t help it though. I am intrigued. “TheGraham Whitlock?” I pause, smearing a little more flour on the countertop. “Now that’s a man with opinions. Good call on the peppermint mochas. That’ll do him right.”
“And pastries. Something sweet—maybe he has a favorite? I need all the help I can get to stay in his good graces.” Mara shrugs like it’s no big deal, but buying a man like Graham his favorite drinkandpastries? Thatisa sure-fire way to win him over.
I tilt my head and look over at the display case, considering what might be the best suggestion. “I’d say something classic, not too fancy.”
“Classic. Got it,” Mara laughs softly. “How about two peppermint cinnamon rolls and two cranberry scones. Throw in a couple of chocolate-dipped shortbreads too—might as well charm him completely.”
“You’re going for the heart, I see. Smart move.” I brush my hands off on my apron, then give them a quick wash at the sink behind me so I can box up her order.
“You do know he’ll probably critique the presentation of the whipped cream, right?” Evie tells her as she slides over the carrying tray with two peppermint mochas with whipped cream piled high.
“I’m counting on it.”
My sister shakes her head, clearly amused. “Just don’t let him waste a drop. That’s my rule.”
I hand over a brown paper bag with her pastries inside.
“Thanks, both of you. Seriously. You’re saving me from making a rookie mistake—buying plain coffee for someone who clearly appreciates something a little fancier.”
“Consider it part of the Dockside charm package. And remember—first impressions count. That man is picky.”
Mara rolls her eyes. “Trust me, I know.”
The minute she’s out the door, Evie turns and looks at me. “She’s totally going to knock Graham on his ass.”
“I have no doubt,” I laugh to myself, washing my hands again, ready to dive back into the doughy goodness waiting for me to finish crafting it into a masterpiece.
“Speaking of knocking men on their asses.” Evie winks at me.
“Don’t you start,” I sigh.
But she doesn’t have to say another word—because the bell above the door jingles again, and just like that, the temperature in the room shifts.
Hayes Thatcher steps inside Dockside Café.
All six-foot-something of him.
