I’d been so sure of so many things I’m not sure of anymore. In the very best way.
We stop off at a coffee truck and Miles orders my coffee without asking what I want. “I’d order something to eat, but I’m fully expecting to raid your stash when we get to The Porch.”
“Hmm. I’ll consider it.” I take my cup from him, then lead us away from the truck and down the street on the now-familiar route to the bakery.
“I want one of the scones,” he says. “And maybe a lemon bar—did you make lemon bars?”
“So this is why you’re coming with me,” I say, teasing. “I’m just the food lady.”
“Eh.” He shrugs as if to suggest he agrees.
I smack him, and he apologizes. “I’m coming with you because I want to show you something.” He takes a drink of his coffee.
“Something on the way to the bakery?” I ask.
“More like something at the bakery.” He doesn’t look at me, but I can see him smiling.
I eye him for a few seconds, but he keeps his gaze focused ahead. “What did you do?”
The smile widens. “You’ll see.”
Excitement bubbles up inside me, though I have no idea why. I was literally at the bakery last night, and I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.
I have no idea what he possibly could’ve done... only that I can’t wait to find out.
I’ve always loved surprises.
We cross the street and head toward the entrance to The Porch, but instead of going through the front, Miles turns to the right, then down the alley in the back. Since I walk to the bakery, I go in through the front door, and I’ve only used the alley entrance when I’ve had a lot of stuff to haul in.
I’ve only been out there maybe four times.
It’s an alley.
I slow my pace as Miles steps to the side, more intent on watching me than where we’re going. I look at him and see anticipation on his face.
“Miles, what did you—?” I realize as the full area comes into view that while I’ve been baking and organizing and painting and decorating inside my shop nonstop for days, Miles has been working on turning the exterior of the bakery into a fully functional—and amazing—extra dining area.
It almost doubles the space.
It adds so much to what we’ve been doing inside, but... how did he pull this off?
There’s a stand with “Fresh-Squeezed Lemonade at The Porch” painted on it in my branded colors. There are whimsical, colorful garlands hanging in swaths over a mix of picnic tables with benches and tall tables for people who prefer to stand. Outdoor rugs are neatly positioned all around the space, and there are potted outdoor plants of varying sizes that breathe life into an otherwise drab area. He’s taken a blank, urban, concrete canvas and turned it into something small town, inviting, and warm.
My favorite part, though, is the sign hanging on the back wall of the building. It reads:The Back Porch.
“The storefront is kind of small.” He steps over to the lemonade stand. “And I thought it would be cool to have spillover seating for the nice days. You could take orders out here—or not. And there’s”—he walks over to a small area in the corner right upagainst the building and pulls out a large wooden square—“corn hole.” He picks up a bag of beanbags and shakes it.
“We used to play that on the farm,” I say, doing nothing to keep the wonder out of my voice.
“Didn’t every kid who grew up in the Midwest?” He tucks the board back where it was and walks over to me.
“When did you do all this?” I ask.
“I’ve been working on it off-site,” he says. “At my office. And we installed everything overnight last night after you left. It’s a small space, but I think we’re maximizing it. I was thinking we—”
I hold up a finger to shush him, turning to set my coffee and bag down, then spin back and throw my arms around him, pulling him close in a tight hug.
I put my mouth close to his ear and whisper, “Thank you.”
