Fruit Street isquiet and dark when I step out, snow falling softly between the brownstones, sparkling as it lands under pools of orange light from the street lamps. My breath mists in the air as I crunch along the sidewalk, coat tight against the cold.
I’m surprised to see Joe’s Coffee is open when I pass, and I pop inside, hoping they might have a few cupcakes left. But thecabinet is empty, the shop quiet, and I glance back to notice the “Open” sign on the door flipped around. Shit, they’re not open at all. Whoops.
Disappointment trickles through me, and I head back to the door when a voice calls my name.
“Iris?” I turn to find Daisy coming out from the back room, folding her apron. “I thought that was you. Hi.”
“Hi.” I huff an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were closed. Should have read the sign.”
Daisy shrugs. “That’s okay.”
“I was hoping to grab a few of those delicious cupcakes, but I’ll come back tomorrow.”
She twists her lips to one side in thought. “What are you doing right now? Because I know where to find more.”
I lift my brows, intrigued. “I could stick around…”
Daisy grins. She pulls her phone from her pocket, fingers flying across the screen, then grabs her bag from under the counter, flicking off the light. The shop plunges into darkness, and I follow her back to the glow of the street, waiting as she locks up.
It occurs to me that she probably wants to go home to whoever gave her that gorgeous ring—not track down cupcakes for some random stranger.
“I, uh, this isn’t urgent,” I mumble, glancing along the street in the direction of the subway. “I didn’t mean to put you out…”
She waves a hand. “Don’t be silly. I offered. Besides, you can meet Poppy.”
Apprehension tugs at me as I follow Daisy along Fruit Street. Meeting new people isn’t my favorite thing, and I don’t do well in groups. One-on-one is fine, but the more people present, the harder it is to focus, to read what everyone’snotsaying, to keep a smile on my face. I’m already feeling a little fragile after today, so maybe I shouldn’t push it.
“How was your day?” Daisy asks casually as we walk.
I nearly say,good, then remember our previous conversation. The one where we both agreed that small talk is overrated.
“It was… intense.” I consider telling her about Aidan, given we spoke about him last time, but hold back.
Daisy picks up on it anyway. “Trouble with the hot older guy again?”
“Something like that,” I mutter. “I could use a gin and tonic, if I’m honest.”
She laughs, stopping outside a building with light spilling from the basement. I notice a small sign hanging by the basement door that readsPoppy’s Pantry, and above rises a beautiful Italianate brownstone, just like the ones at the firm. The windows glow with warm, inviting light. Poppy must work downstairs and live above.
I cringe, glancing at Daisy. This poor woman won’t want to be accosted by me after hours. I’m about to tell Daisy I should go when she looks at me with a warm smile. It’s so kind that I can’t get the words out. She’s going out of her way for me. I should be grateful. I’ll just pop in, grab the cupcakes, and go.
I follow Daisy down the steps to the basement entrance. She knocks lightly on the door, then opens it, stepping inside. She’s obviously close to this Poppy person.
“Come on,” she says, motioning for me to follow her inside. Taking a deep breath, I do.
Warmth envelops me as the door shuts behind us, the scent of cinnamon and sugar hitting my nose. I blink in the bright lights, taking in the wall of refrigerators and ovens. A tray of cookies cools on the expansive gleaming chrome countertop, and a woman with shoulder-length copper-red hair glances up from where she’s icing cupcakes.
“Hey, Daisy,” she says, grinning. Her grin moves to me. “Hi. Iris, right?”
My brows spring up in surprise. Daisy told her about me?
“Uh, yes. Hi.”
She sets her icing down, wiping her hands on her apron as she crosses to me. She’s younger than I expected—probably about my age—but that makes sense. I’d put Daisy in her mid-to-late twenties too.
“Sorry to intrude,” I say, glancing at the work I’m so clearly interrupting. Beside me, Daisy grabs a cookie off the tray and bites into it, like she’s done it a thousand times.
But Poppy shakes her head. “It’s no trouble. I’m not supposed to be working, anyway.”
