Page 7 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

“Good morning, Mrs. Bochart!” Talula chimed, the perfect picture of pleasantness.

Mrs. Bochart said nothing, her flour-pale eyebrow twitching.

“Have you had a nice week?” Talula carried on.

Mrs. Bochart ignored her.

“It’s been so…weathery, hasn’t it? So much sky and perspiration. Nope, I mean precipitation, don’t I? Whichever one is the wet one.” Talula laughed awkwardly. “Unless it’s an inappropriate kind of wet, of course!”

The baker grumbled. “What do you want, girl?”

“One baguette, two croissants, and a loaf of sourdough, please.”

“Carbing up for a big orgy?” Mrs. Bochart snapped open a brown bag and stuffed it, snatching up a croissant so forcefully that buttery flakes fell all over the table display. “Or ritual sacrifice?”

“Nope, not this weekend!” Talula responded cheerily. “I’m craving a grilled cheese on your amazing sourdough, maybe with brie and tomato compote. What do you think?”

“I think your sandwich isn’t my problem,” Mrs. Bochart muttered, but Talula saw her grimace soften just a tiny bit. The baker was intrigued, despite herself.

Talula continued, “But maybe your sourdough would be better for a pub-style grilled cheese, with aged cheddar and pickles.”

Mrs. Bochart entered numbers into the register, but instead of stabbing them like usual, she thoughtfully poked them. “Hmmmm.”

“Or, I could make a Vietnamese-French-Cuban fusion banh mi Cubano sandwich with ham, pork belly, pickled vegetables, and melted cheese on the baguette. The question is…” Talula leaned forward, baiting her trap for a positive social interaction. “What kind of cheese would tie all of the cuisines together?”

The older woman paused. A beat later, Mrs. Bochart’s eyes lit up.

Hah! Talula thought gleefully. Got you!

But whatever Mrs. Bochart was going to say was cut off by a sickly-sweet voice.

“Hello, Mrs. Bochart!” called Kristen Richards, Pine Hollow First Presbyterian Church Choir’s most prominent soloist and Talula’s most prominent archnemesis since eleventh grade.

Mrs. Bochart swiveled toward the young woman, her voice warm. “Hello, Kristen sweetheart, can I get anything for you?”

“Just the usual, Mrs. Bochart,” Kristen cooed in the voice she had used to get out of detention and speeding tickets. Talula hated that voice.

Years ago, Kristen had been Talula’s first kiss. First so-infatuated-can’t-think-straight high school romance. First…well, there were a lot of firsts before Kristen decided some things were more important than secretly hooking up with Talula. Like her chance at homecoming queen.

“Of course, sweetie,” Mrs. Bochart said, filling a small box with bread and assorted pastries. She daintily placed two buns in a separate bag. “Here, try these new breakfast buns, on the house.”

“You’re just too sweet. That cinnamon smell is amazing!”

“Actually,” Mrs. Bochart said, “these are a little different from my normal recipe. Only a dash of cinnamon and a heap of—”

“Cardamom,” Talula finished.

Kristen and Mrs. Bochart jerked. But Talula couldn’t help it; she’d only seen cardamom-spiced pastries on her food-obsessed social media feeds. “Kind of like kardemummabullar, the Swedish cinnamon rolls made with cardamom instead of cinnamon. Is that where you got the idea?”

“Oh, honey,” Kristen sneered prettily, “I know you hardly ever talk to people, but can’t you tell when you’re not invited into a conversation?”

Embarrassed heat prickled at Talula’s cheeks. She opened her mouth to respond, but Mrs. Bochart shoved the bag of baked goods into her arms.

“Thank you for your business! Next customer!”

Talula took the hint (and her baked goods). “See you next week, Mrs. Bochart!”

She hopped on her bike and pedaled out of the market, somewhat victorious. Despite the usual unpleasantness with Mrs. Bochart and Kristen, it’d been a good morning at the market. Talula was proud of herself for not faltering in the face of the baker’s prickliness and Kristen’s mean-girl attitude. Plus, she couldn’t believe how close she’d gotten to having an actual conversation with Mrs. Bochart. Maybe it was the lip balm that did it.