“Who wouldn’t want an escape from poverty in the city to a romp by the seashore where everything is roses by the end of the tale?”
I nod. “Fiction is so much easier than real life because, as authors, we control the outcomes.” I don’t want to push her to tell me more, to talk about what was obviously a tough childhood. Not yet. It’s becoming clear to me why she is so happy all the time. She taught herself to be so she didn’t cause more problems. That’s my guess anyway.
She is still staring at her nightstand. I take a step forward and brush her sleeve with one hand.
“Eh, let’s go get a treat. All right?”
She shakes herself and agrees. “Pastry, yes!” Her eyes are wistful, but the smile is genuine.
I grab my cloak and trail her down the stairs and through the square toward Two Cats Bakery.
Working with her reminds me of the time I fell into the river when I was young.
The current swept me down the bend, all the way to a farm outside of town. I have so little control here. And I am not great at being a leaf in the stream, as they say.
Chapter 11
Colette
The bakery is packed to the gills, as my father used to say. Kaya’s talking cat, Sios, perches atop a shelving unit that houses canisters of brown, white, and pink sugar.
“Welcome,” he says as we push our way through the door. He licks one orange paw and flicks his ears, “to the chaos.”
Archer is gaping up at Sios, so I take the lead.
“Sios, what is going on?” I ask the large maplecat.
“A sale on cinnamon scones, of course.” He wiggles his whiskers.
“Ah,” I reply like I get it even though I don’t.
Archer eyes the room like everyone is a threat. I take his hand and drag him to the counter, whereKaya blows a hair out of her face and asks us how she can help.
“I suppose we must try the scones that are turning this place upside down,” I say, giving Archer a look. He just nods.
Kaya smiles at us and rings us up on her brass register. The chime rings, and though I reach for the small pouch of coins at my belt, Archer extends his hand around me and gives Kaya the proper amount.
The conversation in the bakery quiets slightly, and all heads turn toward us.
Kaya scowls at her customers. “Anyone who can’t manage to mind their own business will be promptly asked to leave. No scones for gossips today.”
I blink and trade a look with Archer as the crowd absorbs Kaya’s tutor-like announcement and they go back to whatever they were up to before we entered.
“I’m sorry there’s no seating,” Kaya says.
Archer tips his head to her. “Thank you for…,” he waves a hand, “that.”
“Of course,” Kaya says. “You’re both welcome to take my kitchen stools and hide out back there.” She is studying Archer’s face and I know she can tellhe is not in love with this crowd.
“That would be wonderful,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to peruse the kitchen of the famous Kaya!”
She laughs—such a lovely person—and I lead Archer through the door and into the flour-fogged kitchen.
Archer pulls a stool up to a shiny countertop and gestures for me to sit. I do, and he grabs a second one and joins me. He sniffs the scone and groans, closing his eyes. Warmth drizzles down my neck and gathers low in my belly. That was a very lovely groan.
I nibble my scone to keep from saying something wild. Cinnamon and butter and sugar explode over my tongue and now I’m the one making all the sounds. Archer lifts his treat like he’s toasting me and then takes a hearty bite. We munch in silence for a few moments. The conversation in the bakery drifts through the door, but the heavy cabinetry, hanging aprons, and thick walls diffuse the noise. In addition to the scone’s aroma, Archer’s own scent floats through the air. Spicy and alluring. I inhale and take another bite.
“It’s the perfect texture,” I say, trying and failing to catch a large crumb falling from my lips.
