The Bakery
“Hi, Poet,” Gracie said from behind the counter at Sweet Teeth. Her gaze tracked to my grandfather who stood next to me.
“Hey, Gracie. This is my grandfather, Jack.”
She reached over the counter to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“Please, call me Jack.” He flashed an affable grin.
“Jack,” she repeated. “I thought you were in England on sabbatical.”
“My reputation precedes me,” he said.
“He came for an impromptu visit,” I said hastily.
“I see,” Gracie murmured, her gaze bouncing between us. “And he’s met?—”
“Brooks, yes.”
There was a slight pause and then Gracie said, “We’re big fans of Brooks. And by we, I mean me.”
A ghost of a smile appeared on Grampy’s lips. “Is that right?”
“That’s right.” Gracie nodded for emphasis. “He loves your granddaughter and makes her happy. And he bought her a safe car.”
“What more could a grandfather want, then?”
“Exactly.” Gracie beamed.
“They’re getting married in December,” Grampy said.
My gaze narrowed at him.
“A December wedding!” Gracie exclaimed, clapping her hands together in excitement. “Oh, Poet. You’re going to look like a fairy princess!”
I smiled through a clenched jaw. “Yeah, can’t wait. Listen, I’ll have Hadley’s Hooch and a lemon poppyseed muffin please.”
“You got it,” Gracie said. “For you, sir—Jack?”
“Same.”
Grampy pulled out his wallet, but I waved him away. “Brooks has a tab for me.”
She plated two muffins and handed them to us as the barista began to fix our concoctions.
“Who’s making the cake?” she asked.
“Uh, you?” I guessed.
She beamed.
I turned and gestured to the farthest table in the corner. We sat down across from each other.
“Why did you do that?” I demanded.
“Do what?”
“You know what. Don’t play dumb.”
