When my friend turned to me, I didn’t expect her to be laughing. “You can’t be serious, can you? Reece, you are a lot of things, but oblivious isn’t one of them.”
To be fair, it did seem obvious. It should’ve been as clear as day. However, because it was me and him, it was anything but.
“So… what’s next?”
Good question. One I didn’t have an answer to. I felt queasy. Was the world tilting? Spinning? Turning around, I thought I needed just a few more flowers before we continued into town.
“Reece?” Maggie asked, pushing into me to escape a buzzing bee circling around her, most likely attracted to her scent of lavender. “There is anext, yes?”
Excuse me, am I supposed to know everything about my own life?
I stared into the distance, my eyes grazing over the rolling fields of green, basking in the morning’s buttery sun, waving with the gentle breeze. Little picket fences lined the countryside, herds of shiner sheep scattered about. Shiners’ wool absorbs sunlight during the day. At night, whatever they’ve soaked into their skin transforms and their wool glows. They turn into little fluffy balls of light under the moon. The smells of breakfast from town drifted to my nose.Cinnamon and coffee.The sweet, good-morning scent I’d been looking forward to almost warmed my heart, but my moment of soaking it in came to an abrupt stop.
“Reece!”
“I don’t know!” I blurted, shrugging enough to make my neck disappear.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean I don’t know!”
“How can you not know?”
I stopped, frantically tossing my loose arms in the air. “I don’t know a lot of things!”
A silence formed between us for a moment long enough for Maggie to settle. She sighed, took her place at my side, and chilled the heck out. “Okay… what’s the problem?”
I bit my lips, thinning them against the tips of my teeth and humming. “I don’t know that, either.”
Maggie grunted and my chest rattled with a bit of pathetic laughter.
“Alright.” She dropped the conversation and accepted my answers. She’d always reacted in kind ways, allowing me time to figure it out later. She knew when to push and she knew when to not. I loved her—and hated her—for it. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend. Standing with arms full of flowers, it was still so obvious to me that the shop was her calling. And that it wasn’t mine. “Where are we stopping first?”
Ruth’s bakery, Sweet Fang, became the first stop on our tour for several reasons. One, it was the closest. Two, Ruth made the best melt-in-your-mouth cinnamon rolls and sold juice from local farms. Breakfast didn’t get better than that. And three, I needed to know she didn’t hate me for massively screwing up her order. The disappointment on her face had branded itself too vividly on my mind. I’d walked all the way back to the bakery, showing up with a torn box, a ridiculous excuse, and nothing save for some crumbs Butters left behind.
The small shop had a red-brick counter with a variety display, three round tables, and a tall table along the window.A jar of chocolate chip cookies sat on the edge where we ordered. An entire shelf of newly made bread lined the far wall, loaves of white and wheat, garlic cheddar, and cranberry with white chocolate. Ruth’s display changed and typically varied depending on preorders.
Cinnamon rolls, of course, were stacked as they were in heavy demand. The icing tasted of cream and heaven, not too sweet but sweet enough I could eat a gallon. The rolls, always cooked to perfection, fell apart in my mouth. A perfect balance between done edges and a soft, gushy middle with the faintest butter taste. Different flavor crescent rolls were on display, some with chocolate drizzles, some with fruit, and some made of chocolate dough with powdered sugar. Muffins could always be found in the mornings, too, but they weren’t my cup of tea.
Sweet Fang itself had a… unique sense of decor. Antiques (I thought) filled the walls and every shelf provided. Old ceramic jars, brittle wooden chairs hung from the beams, dust-covered books bound by aged leather, and a fishing pole or two. Again, not my cup of tea, but I respected the aesthetic it gave. It reminded me very much of Ruth, and that meant enough. Through the stone archway, the bakers rolled their dough and drizzled their secret ingredients in the kitchen, where the magic happened.
A cheery-eyed Ruth stood behind the counter in her pink apron and welcoming grin. “Morning, Reece. You’re up and out early.”
Was that a compliment or critique? It didn’t matter. “Morning, Ruth.” I offered a smile in return, hiding mynerves running rapid in my belly. “I have a friend in town and we’re doing a food tour.” I nodded to Maggie. We reached the counter, and I leaned over. “You know you had to be our first stop.”
A soft smile breached her lips, but did not reach her eyes. “Well, I should be honored, then.” Her voice carried gently, but I heard in it the slightest change of tone, the breath she released.
“Ruth,” I called cautiously. “I really am sorry for the other day. I promise to pay for the cake,” I blurted out like word vomit, eagerly searching her eyes for some flicker of emotion.
The baker nodded. “I know you will. But I can’t let you make any more deliveries,” she admitted, and rightfully so. “Orattemptto.”
Of course. “I understand.”
Ruth then lit up with her usual warmth. “The usual?”
I grinned tightly and my nerves calmed. “Yes, doubled, please!” Thankfully, she didn’t hate me. She actually bought two bouquets for their counter.
As we sat and ate, it didn’t take any convincing for Maggie to taste the magic of Ruth’s baking. Well, these cinnamon rolls weren’t literally enchanted, but their buttery crust and sweet icing and melt-in-your-mouth dough were magic all the same, if you asked me.
