The temperature had dropped low enough to justify pulling my fall and winter clothes out of storage. We were still a few weeks—and a good fifteen degrees—away from official sweater weather, but who could blame me for being excited? Fall in Rose City was something special.
In just a few weeks, the streets of our little downtown would be crawling with visitors from near and far. We were already expecting a record turnout for this year’s festival—largely thanks to the dates coinciding with the baseball playoffs—and we hadn’t even had our first committee meeting yet.
I made a quick mental note to email the list of festival volunteers later today, in between packing book box orders and setting up for this evening’s visiting author event.
I had one hell of a busy day ahead of me, which meant I was going to need reinforcements of the caffeinated variety.
A bell chimed over the door when I stepped inside Would Smell as Sweet, nearly plowing into a familiar head of hair. There weren’t a lot of six-foot-something strawberry-blonds running around these parts.
“Ma’am,” Matty greeted over his shoulder.
His silky-smooth twang might have done something for me if not for the Southern pleasantry.
I’m at least ten years away from being a “ma’am,” right?
“You know my name, Matty. Feel free to use it.”
He tipped his imaginary hat.
“Noted,ma’am.”
He grinned when I rolled my eyes.
“Mi amor,” Jo greeted from behind the counter, elbows deep in dough. “You saw my Instagram?”
I smiled. “Of course.”
Jo had posted on the bakery’s social media pages last night that fall flavors were back. Unlike Clarke and Dani, who had access to the Roasters’ on-site coffee shop, I relied solely on Jo for feeding my caffeine habit.
“You know I wouldn’t go anywhere else for my taste of fall.”
“And that’s why you’re my favorite customer.”
His biceps bulged as he dug into the dough with his elbows. Forget baseball players; bakers were built.Andthey smelled like cookies.
“What am I, horse manure?” Matty playfully demanded.
As the cashier boxed up his treats, I couldn’t stop myself from scanning the room. From what I could tell, Matty was on his own, but you never could be too sure. These Roasters tended to travel in packs.
“What’ll it be,mami?”
“Let’s do a brown sugar latte and a cardamom morning bun.”
“That sounds good,” Matty said, stating the obvious. “Can I add a couple of those buns to my order?”
“Of course. Got to make sure my boys win tonight.”
“Gracias,Jo.”
“Seven more wins, yes?”
“Seven more.”
From what little I knew about baseball—most of which I had learned from watchingBull DurhamandA League of Their Own—the Roasters were vying for the top position in the playoffs. And they only needed a few more wins to make that happen. That must have been exciting for a first-year team, not to mention all their fans.
Matty held up his overflowing pastry box. “Thanks for the grub. Pink’s going to love it.”
“Give the birthday boy my best. I’ll be rooting for you both.”
