“Awww,” someone even says.
“Happy Tuesday to you too, guys,” Steven huffs as he comes into the shop.
But he’s not really angry, none of us are. We’re still on our high from the market. It was the best weekend any of us have had in a long time. While we missed each other—since it turns out in the past we did spend a good deal of time just chatting and getting free product from each other’s booths, though we’ll never admit it out loud tohim—we had a ton of tourists.
We did blow up online for a little bit with the ice sculpture mishap, but that only helped. The Roasted Chestnut account went viral all on its own, thanks to some foodie gal tagging Cadbury in her reel featuring my Creme Egg Cookies.
And not one of the visitors balked at my higher prices! Not one! I couldn’t believe it.
So…I’m not sure what to say to Mr. Money Bags. On the one hand, I could thank him for his very blunt, helpful feedback. On the other, he is so rude! This was a win and I’d like to shove it in his gorgeous, frowny face.
But he didn’t come in for coffee yesterday.
And, since it’s late enough that Maxine’s already leaving to go open her shop, looks like he won’t come by today either.
I should be relieved. He makes me nervous and when I’m nervous I misspeak and when I misspeak I feel stupid again. I hate that feeling more than anything. Save maybe being left behind. They’re tied, probably.
I should be freaking pumped he’s stopped coming here.
Aunt Bobbie said she thinks she saw him leave in the chopper, though her eyesight is less than reliable. Maybe he’s not coming back until July. Maybe he’s not coming back at all. That would be great! I should be excited!
But...I’m not.
CHAPTER 16
Harper
Ding!
I know it’s him before turning around. Four days. He lasted four days without my—Dad’s—coffee. He didn’t outlast the crowd, however. The usual gaggle is here, watching and whispering.
Aiden sighs when he reaches the counter.
I wordlessly pour our house black, today just a Columbian blonde roast and our secret ingredients. I push it across the counter to him, and rearrange some coffee cake squares in the closest display while I wait for his food order.
He doesn’t say anything until I look up. Once I make eye contact with his black irises, a terrifying act on its own, he barks, “Quiches again.” I raise an eyebrow, ready to be angry. “Please,” he adds.
I cool my jets with a nod and begin to gather them. He takes a sip, which I only know because I hear him sigh in ecstasy afterward.
“So good, isn’t it?” Maxine prods the Lordof the Mansion.
I glance over to see him staring down at his to-go cup like it holds all the secrets of the world. He shifts his grumpy stare to her and asks, “Do you know what it is? That flavor?”
Maxine chuckles and shakes her head, “No one does.” Aiden looks at me and Maxine adds, “So don’t bother asking.”
I smile a tiny bit.You tell him, Max.
“Surely we can make an arrangement,” Aiden mutters under his breath.
“Nah, man,” Braxton says, piping up from where he is, believe it or not, studying. “You’ll just take the special sauce and bottle it, sell it, take it worldwide, and, like, ruin it. Then it won’t be special sauce, bro. Like, no offense.”
The Dark Lord scoffs, “None taken, I suppose.”
“Sorry,” Braxton pipes up in his seat, “Hey are you going tonight to the—”
“Heyo!” Tyrone cuts him off.
Aiden looks around, then back at the poor kid. Now we’ve done it. I get the feeling if there’s one thing Mr. Rich Pants can’t stand it’s not knowing what everyone else in a room knows. Too bad.
