She laughs again. “True. Come on, there’s more in the truck.”
It takes us two trips to bring the fresh pastries in, and I gently rib her for thinking she was going to do it all on her own. But that’s Michele for you, independent and full of fire. She’s got a big heart too, which fits right in around here.
“So,” she says, leaning against the counter while I sign for the delivery. “When’s the new neighbor moving in?”
I shrug. “Beats me.”
“Did you see those solar panels on the greenhouse out back? I thought greenhousesweresolar.”
She laughs again as I head around the counter to make her coffee. It’s our morning ritual. She delivers the day’s pastries, and we chat while I make her a flat white before she heads back to her bakery.
“I’ve wondered the same thing,” I admit, priming the steam. “I was also wondering just this morning what kind of business even needs a greenhouse.”
“Any theories?” Michele asks conspiratorially while I stretch and steam the milk. “I tried looking through the front, but the glass is all papered over.”
I confess my thoughts about a dispensary before pouring the milk. Michele’s contagious cackle has me laughing, which makes the tulip design more feathered thanintended.
“Oh, that’s just what this town needs,” she says, grinning while I finish my pour. “A cannabis cultivator. There’s definitely an opening for that.”
I shake my head, chuckling. I’m not entirely sure that’s what this town needs.
“What if they’re an edibles chef?” I tease, popping a lid and a sleeve on her to-go cup. “Then you won’t be the only one in town with addictive brownies. You might lose your ‘best brownies’ title.”
Michele just laughs, flipping her dark braid over her shoulder as she reaches for her coffee. “Can you imagine? We’d have to do a brownie-bake-off and let the town council decide who has the best ones.”
She cackles again, probably imagining some of the more elderly members of the council trying edibles, and I can’t help laughing right along with her.
It takes us a few minutes to settle down, but damn, it feels good to laugh like that. Truth is, I’ve been wrangling a low-level anxiety around the unknown next-door neighbor for the past few weeks.
Pineberry Springs is a friendly town, and there’s something unnerving about the fact that the newbie next door has been making changes without ever showing their face. I’ve wondered more than once if it’s some flipper from one of the big cities with plans to take over our little town one business at a time.
Cynical, I know.
But that’s what the mind does when you let it wander unchecked. Which is why I keep coming back to focusing on what I can control and what I know to be true.
“I need to get these set out,” I tell Michele, motioning to the baked goods she just delivered.
It’s honestly more than I’ll probably sell today with the way business has been lately, but I don’t tell her that. My livelihood supports hers after all, just as hers supports mine. Like several other local businesses, her bakery and my coffeehouse are interconnected strands in the web of commerce in this town. More than that, though, we’re friends. And friends support each other. Always.
“I should get going too,” she shares. “I need to feed Doughlores and the Yeasty Boys today.”
I shake my head, chuckling at her sourdough starter names as I round the sales counter to see her out. “Have fun with that.”
“I will.” She grins. “You have a great day, Jake, and thanks for the coffee.”
“Any time.”
“And good luck with the ganjapreneur next door,” she says, smiling. “Hopefully, we’ll meet them soon.”
“We don’t know that he’s growing weed,” I point out, getting the door for her.
She nods, taking a sip of her coffee.
“Dang, you make excellent coffee, Jake. Bestpart of my day.”
I smile, a sense of pride and contentment swelling in my chest at her praise. I work hard to make the best coffees I can, and seeing others enjoy my brews fills me up in a way I can’t explain.
“I’m glad you like it,” I tell her honestly, helping her into her truck.
