“When your ankle is healed, we’ll come back.”
That sounds an awful lot like future planning, but I don’t want to read into it. I can’t.
We go to the pharmacy, where a teenager who cannot be older than seventeen fills the prescription without blinking and asks Gibb if he’s still got the spotted Nubian. They talk goats fora few minutes, Gibb keeping a watchful eye on me to make sure I’m not putting any weight on my ankle.
When we step back out onto the sidewalk, Gibb tucks the small paper bag into his pocket. “I could carry you,” he offers as we walk the short distance to the café.
“Through town?” I shake my head. “No thank you. I’d like to sit at one of those cute tables for a few minutes, though if you don’t mind?”
He holds the door open for me, wafting cinnamon, vanilla and coffee into the crisp air. “I don’t mind at all.”
The place is busy but the line-up I’d seen earlier is gone. Gibb helps me into a seat at a little round café table.
“Gibson Hart.” An older lady with grey corkscrew curls bustles towards us, engulfing Gibb in a hug. “You need to come down off that mountain more often. You’re getting skinny.”
“Mae, it’s good to see you.” Gibb wraps his arms around the woman. “I just need some of your famous cinnamon rolls and I’ll be all set.”
“Didn’t you see that line-up about an hour ago? Where do you think I’m going to find you a dozen fresh cinnamon rolls?”
“I called ahead,” he replies with a grin.
Mae throws her head back and laughs. “Ah, you’re the mysterious customer Malcolm mentioned.” The woman turns to me. “And who do we have here, Gibby?”
My eyebrows go up. “Gibby?” I mouth in his direction.
“Mae, this is Poppy Johnson. Poppy, this is Mae Whitlock. She’s more famous than me around these parts for her amazing baking and magic lattes.”
“Nice to meet you, Poppy,” she says. “And how do you know Gibson?”
“I found her in the forest, like a fairy,” Gibb says. “Pretty sure that means I get to keep her.”
Mae’s eyebrows shoot up. “Keep her in what way, Gibby?” Mae’s eyes sparkle and I’m desperate to hear the answer, but before Gibb can reply, a tall man walks up to Gibb and claps a hand on his shoulder “Hart”.
Gibb turns. “Treyton, good to see you.”
Gibb makes another introduction, and I start to wonder if there’s something in the water here because something must be producing all these good-looking men. This guy is tall and broad with dark hair and dark eyes and a five o-clock shadow that I suspect is visible for all but the first thirty minutes of the day after he shaves.
Treyton shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you, Poppy.”
Gibb motions to an empty seat at our table, but Treyton shakes his head, holding out a box. “I just came by for the rolls, but I’m glad I ran into you. I finished that cabinet you wanted for the library at your place.”
“Perfect. I’ll call you to set up a time for delivery if that’s okay?”
“Sure, no problem.” Treyton cocks a hip on the back of the chair. “Everything good out at your place after the storm?”
“Yeah, I’ve got to call someone about upgrading the fence at the far field, and I probably need to clear some deadfall, but generally I made out okay. What about you?
“All good on my end.” Treyton nods at me. “Well, I’d better let you get back to it, and don’t let Gibb hog all the cinnamon rolls, they’re definitely not optional.”
Mae comes back to the table with a pretty robin’s egg blue box. “Here’s your order.” Then she places two plates down. “I might have been saving a couple of rolls in case you were hungry after the clinic.”
I blink in surprise. “How?—”
Gibb nudges the plate towards me. “Mae knows all.”
The woman pulls out the empty chair at our table and sits, leaning forward. “I do. Just like I know there was trouble up at your place just a few days ago.”
“It’s been resolved,” Gibb says before taking a mouthful of the fluffiest looking cinnamon roll I’ve ever seen.
