Several tables sit around me, and there’s more on the sidewalk outside, and I know she didn’t do all of this alone. I can picture her family—minus me—spending a whole day together, painting, wiring, and moving in furniture and sacks of flour. Three Days Grace or Five Finger Death Punch blasting over a speaker. Jax probably brought pizza. Madoc, the beer.
“It was strictly a summer business while I was in college,” she tells me, letting her eyes float around the room, “but now that I’m done…”
She runs a hand down the counter, and I notice a lock of hair spilling out of the cap and down her cheek.
She goes on. “I can do more seasonal confections—apple cider donuts, pumpkin hand pies, peppermint fudge for Christmas. Soon, I’ll be adding some light lunch fare…”
“Pizza?”
She smiles. “Yes.”
But the way she says it, almost an intimate whisper but filled with joy, like a…like a kiss.
I don’t know what happens, but it hurts to breathe, and I’d love to hear her say it again like that.
I blink, swallowing and turning, looking for anything to distract myself. I gesture to the sidewalk out the window. “Picnic tables in the summer?”
She nods, and I can see the delight in her eyes. She loves what she does.
“Would love to rent the place out for kids’ baking birthday parties,” she explains. “Book club meetings…”
“You’ll need a liquor license for that one.”
She laughs, and I look anywhere but at her. The floor-length mirror on the wall catches my attention, my reflection staring back at me. It’s the size of a door, the ornate gilded frame chipped and worn. But stunning.
And confusing. This building is wider from the outside. I’d love to see the blueprints. This room seems like it should be bigger.
“How’s Dubai?” I hear her ask.
I blink. “Humid.” I sigh. “But…it’s good. People are a little nicer there.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, the penalty for being rude is heavier,” I point out, remembering that even vulgar language and finger gestures can lead to fines or jail time in Dubai. “So is the penalty for crime.” I wander a little, taking in the wrought-iron light fixtures and beautiful butcher block counters. “With the way your brothers still act around you, I’m guessing the penalty for crime is steep here too.”
Laughing, she slides her hands into the pocket of her apron. “Oh, you caught that last night, huh? When I hung out with you, they’d loosen the leash,” she jokes. “But after you left… Suffice it to say, I didn’t have many dates in high school.”
She stands to my left, that side of my body warming to the point of burning.Good.I mean, not good. She should’ve had a normal high school experience, but how many dates does she need? Maybe prom? That’s about it.
What about college? She had to have boyfriends in college.
I clear my throat. It’s none of my business.
The silence stretches, and I still haven’t looked at her.
“So, you like it?” she finally asks. “The shop?”
I nod. It feels like her. But most importantly, she gets to run the show. The Quinn I used to know would’ve loved the independence this place would’ve given her. Does she still feel that way?
“Let me show you my favorite part,” she says, excited. “It’s still a secret.”
She leads the way back into the kitchen, and I follow her around a large steel rack, down a short dark pathway with boxes stacked on both sides.
I stand behind her as she flips a latch, and all of a sudden, two dark green shutters swing open. The early morning air hits me, and I move around her, my hand grazing herwaist. A jolt spreads up my arm, damn near stopping my heart.
I yank my fingers away, trying to steady my breathing.
Looking out onto the sidewalk of the side street, I notice plenty of room for curb parking. First Avenue was never very busy. Foot traffic would be easy too.
