Basil stopped in front of them. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite shop owner and her best friend.”
Polly rolled her eyes. “You got anything good here?”
“Only the best pancakes in the world.”
“Basil, you won that award thirty-five years ago.”
“And the recipe remains exactly the same.”
Maggie leaned forward. “She also loves your cinnamon rolls.”
Polly gasped. “Maggie!”
“What? You do. You say they’re the size of your head and so soft they feel like a pillow.”
“That they are.” Basil grinned at Polly. “I didn’t know you had such a love affair with my food.”
“I don’t,” Polly pushed.
“Oh, so you don’t want the last cinnamon roll?”
Her lips thinned. She wanted it.
Joel suddenly appeared on the other side of Polly.
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered under her breath.
“Morning, ladies.” Joel’s smile was wide. Probably as wide as Basil’s. “Did I hear something about cinnamon rolls?”
“And pancakes,” Maggie said, receiving a don’t-encourage-him glare from Polly.
“I haven’t decided what I’m ordering yet,” Polly said, half turning her back on Joel. “If you’ll excuse us.”
“So you need a few more minutes?” Basil asked.
“Yes.” Polly grabbed a menu and opened it, even though she knew every single item on the list. Like the pancakes, the menu also hadn’t changed in thirty-five years.
Maggie gave Basil a small smile. “Thanks. Shouldn’t be long.”
“Okay, but I’m not holding the roll.” Basil stepped over to Joel. “Anything else for you and the guys?”
“A cinnamon roll, please.”
Polly gasped and swung around to Joel. “You’re taking my cinnamon roll?”
“Yours? You just said you weren’t ready to order.”
“Of course I was going to order it! I love those stupid things.”
Basil put the roll on a plate and slid it in front of Joel. Then Joel did the unthinkable—he stuck a fork in it and put a huge chunk into his mouth. “Mm. That’s good.”
Oh, Jesus.
Polly’s jaw dropped, the anger so thick in the air that Maggie could almost feel it.
Joel offered her the fork. “Want some? I’ll share.”
“You want to know what I want?” Polly growled.
