“Wait,” he says, following me. “So you’re basically stalking him, so thatyou’reall he’s thinking about until he comes around?”
I try to ignore the pity in his voice.
“No.Heis all I can think about. I can’t give up until he specifically tells me to leave him alone. You know, like how vampires have to be invited in? I have to be invited out.”
Indy laughs.
“Only a stupid man would send away someone who brings him cake daily.”
I grin. “Precisely. My grandmother was right. Anyway, Lebanese week was great, and Dutch week is going well so far. Are we really going to try the stroopwafels?” I raise my hands in prayer.
Indy rolls his eyes and bites his lip. “We can’t afford not to. It would be a sin to deprive this town of those beautiful thin wafers filled with that soft caramel melting over a cup of coffee.”
“Stop, you’re giving me a sugar boner,” I joke.
The front doorbell rings, and my smile widens when I see two of my favorite customers.
“Mr. and Mrs. Crawford. How nice to see you.”
“Good day, Bubble, my dear. Goodness, isn’t it cold out there,” Mrs. Crawford says.
Indy goes back to the kitchen, leaving me with them.
“You don’t need to tell me. I was cold by the end of the summer. I lost the feeling of my lower limbs by fall, and I’m pretty sure I’m just a walking frozen ghost by now. Anyway, what can I get you?”
“We’re going away until the new year but couldn’t leave without having one or two of Indy’s cinnamon rolls,” Mr. Crawford says. “Keep’em coming, Bubble.”
“Dear, remember what the doctor said,” his wife warns.
I smile at how they always warn each other about eating the treats they enjoy once a month at Spilled Beans. I never met my parents because they died when I was a baby, but I always thought they’d be a little like Mr. and Mrs. Crawford. Never taking each other too seriously and just enjoying life.
I prepare their coffees the way I know they like.
“Where are you going on this adventure, if I may ask because I’m totally nosy?” I ask.
“We’re doing a tour of Europe. Revisiting all the places we saw on our honeymoon,” Mr. Crawford says.
“But this time, we’ll actually see them,” Mrs. Crawford continues.
I chuckle and give them their drinks, returning to the counter for the cinnamon rolls.
“So you won’t be spending Christmas with your family?” I ask.
Mrs. Crawford is the one to speak up. “Our son and his fiancé are taking the kids to Florida for Disney World, so we thought that instead of sitting at home like two old fogies, we’d have our own adventure.”
I place the pastries on the table. “Oh shush, Mrs. Crawford,” I say, running a hand over her sweater. “Look at your style. You’re ageless. There’s no old in your vocabulary.”
“And how about you, dear? Are you doing anything special this Christmas?”
I beam. “As a matter of fact, yes. My best friend is coming all the way from the West Coast to visit. I haven’t seen her since I moved to Connecticut.”
“Sounds great. I bet you’ll have loads of fun,” Mrs. Crawford says.
I deflate a little. “I don’t know. I’m afraid she’ll find it a bit boring here. We’ll obviously watch tons of Christmas movies and eat our body weight in cake, but I’m not sure what else to do.”
I leave them to it to go check on Indy and see if he needs help in the kitchen. I find him jumping on the spot while holding his phone to his chest.
“Um…are you having an episode? Do I need to call someone? I should tell you I’m not good with blood, guts, or anything medical,” I say.
