Chapter One
Drinda McKenzie smiled at the elderly customer with purple boots and an orange jacket. It was a great outfit for Halloween, but it was already January. Her gray hair was short and spiked up with golden tips. “Can I get you anything else, Mrs. Lunghamer?”
“I keep telling you to call me Franny, dear, and I would love a slice of that Black Forest cake.” She patted her gently rounded belly. “Not that I need it, but the smell of fresh coffee and that chocolate are making me drool.”
Drinda smiled at how the winter jacket’s fitted design accentuated Franny’s fit form. She packed up a slice of cake and set it beside the whole-wheat bread and gingersnaps her customer had already requested. Mrs. L. never left without her cake; she bought a slice on every one of her twice-weekly visits. She had sincethe day Drinda opened The Coffee Loft. “Mrs. Lunghamer, you look perfect.”
“Thank you, dear.”
Drinda tallied up the items, grateful for the continued support of her fledgling business. She smoothed her pink and blue coffee loft apron while Mrs. L. rooted around in her cavernous purse for her wallet.
“I love the cup wall,” Mrs. L. said. “Remind me to get my girlfriend a mug for her birthday next month. She’d love the one on the left, second row from the top.”
Drinda glanced at the twelve-by-twelve cube shelf on the far wall. Each cube was just large enough to hold a coffee mug or cup and saucer. She was proud of the collection she’d gathered for sale. Some had pithy quips, others were antiques or just plain pretty. They were a great source of income. “I have another of those in storage. I’ll save it for you.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it. Have you met my grandson yet?”
Holy steaming latte. She had only been in town for four months and open for three and people, well one person, were trying to set her up. “I’m not certain.”
“Oh, you’d know if you met him. He’s one hot stud.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “Literally. He’s a fireman. Shift supervisor. Tall, handsome, sexy blue eyes, black hair, pecs that won’t quit. Strong arms, great guns.” Her grin was irrepressible.
Drinda didn’t know whether to laugh or be appalled at the comments. “I’ll keep my eye open for him.” Drinda had a pretty good guess which one the septuagenarian meant.
All of September, Drinda had been swamped with renovating the old church she’d turned into a coffee shop. Then, she’d spent all of October and November sneaking peeks at the firemen as they worked on their rigs. With snowfall, she watched them shoveling and cavorting in the yard. The fire hall was less than a block away. From the window of the bakery, she could see the firefighters’ antics.
Over the past few months, she’d noticed at least a dozen different fire fighters. There were two women, half a dozen blonds, two redheads, one older gentleman, and several with dark hair. At least two of those were in relationships … if she could judge their status based on the women she’d seen them around town with.
That left two men. One was short and stocky; the other was tall. Very tall, and from the looks of him, rock solid. She’d drooled over his biceps and shoulders more than once. Except for the tall, dark one, they’d all been in more than once for coffee and snacks. She was the closest food establishment to the station. The day the first snowfall came, she knew a moment of sadness that they would no longer be messing around outside where she could ogle them.
“Would you add two dozen assorted cookies to my order?”
She packed the treats and they completed the transaction. Mrs. Lunghamer scurried away leaving the cookies behind. “Mrs. Lunghamer, you forgot your cookies,” Drinda called.
“Oh dear, call me Franny, and could you please deliver them to the fire station for me? A treat for our boys in uniform. I must run, I’m late for canasta. Take care, Drinda. And thanks.” She waggled her fingers in a wave and was off like a shot. For someone who looked to be in her seventies, she moved well. She schemed even better.
Drinda sighed. She could hardly refuse to deliver the generous treat to the station. The cookies were bought and paid for, and she did offer delivery, but usually for a fee. Still, much as she was disinclined to meet Franny’s grandson, Franny was her best customer. The only others who came even close were the firemen and local law enforcement officers.
She slipped into her jacket and boots before hanging aback in five minutessign on the door. Locking up, she scurried down the street through the slush.
This week had been unseasonably warm and that heat, combined with the salt and sand the town maintenance department laced the streets with, meant everything was a sloppy mess. Sheglanced at her leather boots as she splashed across the intersection. They’d need a good cleaning tonight or she was risking the salt destroying their finish. She’d kept them perfect for three years and wasn’t going to let one slushy day wreck them.
She hustled up the walkway and through the station door. The scent of antiseptic and cleaner lingered in the air. The walls were institutional cream with gray doors and frames. The dull palette was brightened by bold fire safety posters and nature prints.
She paused inside the entry.
“Hello?” she called out, doubting anyone could hear her amid the raucous laughter coming from the back room. Shecouldleave the cookies on the table she saw through an open door.
“Coward,” she whispered.
“Who’s a coward?”
“Jeepers!” She clutched her chest with one hand, nearly dropping the cookies. She whirled toward the voice. There he was in person. Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome himself. Her breath caught. Holy cupcakes with buttercream frosting. He was a tall steamy lattefor certain. Laughter glimmered in his deep blue eyes. A girl could get lost in eyes like that.Sugar plums.She was staring.
“Who’s a coward?” he repeated a somewhat smug grin on his face.
She shook her head to clear her distraction. “Nobody. Don’t you know not to sneak up on people? Especially being a fireman and all. You’ll give someone a heart attack.”
“I heard you come in and when you spoke, I assumed you were talking to me.” He bowed slightly. “My apologies. A fire station is a safe place to have a heart attack.” He winked and thrust out his hand. “We haven’t met. You must be Drinda.”
