Page 49 of Kandie Shoppe

For the next hour, eat-in diners fill the space. A pleasant hum fills the bakery. The smell of coffee, savory breakfast, and pastries has my stomach growling.

“Take a break,” Kandie says, handing a plate filled with cheese grits, Conecuh sausage, two biscuits, and soft eggs, which explained why she dipped away for a moment.

“Go head, I’ll bring some of that coffee you made,” she says, nodding to an empty table in the far corner along the wall.

Ignoring the cheeky grins and stares of the lookie-loos, I weave my way through them until I reach the far corner. As I settle in the chair, I look around, marveling how Kandie was able to transform the old diner into a bakery with a mix of English tea shop and French coffee house aesthetics. It’s like she couldn’t make up her mind and decided she would take what she loved from them both and make a creation all her own. The mix of light blue, purple, black, and pink isn’t lost on me just as they weren’t when she revealed her sister’s favorite colors. The chairs are tufted and I wonder how she afforded them but then I know from my mom how she loves to DIY, so she probably made them herself. I can see her now going to estate sales all over the county and buying the furniture for this place. The small tables are all the same color, but when you look at them closely, you can tell no two are quite the same. They’d only been repainted to look as if they are.

I’m digging into my feast of soft scrambled eggs, grits, and sausage when the door chimes.

Assistant Pastor Nathaniel comes in. His face is not a wreath of smiles, like normal. He stops by several tables, patting folks on the back, even giving me a wave and nod of acknowledgement before turning to Kandie.

“Hey there, Nathaniel, you want the usual?” I hate the way she smiles at him. I more than hate the way he looks at her so admiringly in return. Still, he’s a stand-up guy who does more than his fair share for the community. He was on the volunteer fire squad until the Takedas joined with Mama-Pete putting pressure on the state legislature to fund one here recently.

“Sure.” He nods, leaning against the counter in what looks way too comfortable to me.

Usual? Does that mean he’s also a regular? Is he coming by here every morning like some lovesick schoolboy begging for her attention?

I know I’m too old for this shit. Jealousy is beneath me. I’m a fucking Shelby. She’s mine. Everyone in this town knows it. It seems like this little motherfucker needs a reminder. Setting aside the fact that he’s ridiculously close to her height, sure he has blond hair, but not like mine. Am I making a comparison because of the way he’s looking at her or because of the way she seems to be a little bit extra kind to his ass?

She comes back, handing him a breakfast sandwich and a to-go cup, setting it in front of him. Just as she’s about to retreat, he grabs her hand clasping it between both of his.

I’m out of my seat in an instant and so fast that the chair rocks back, catching the wall, drawing several glances my way. The look on my face has them swinging back around to see what or who has me so riled. I barely notice the whispers as I trek over to the two.

“I think you need to get your hand off her partner if you still want to be able to pass that collection plate around.” The motherfucker seems to have a death wish because his ignorant ass takes a tad bit too long letting my lady go.

“Sheriff,” he acknowledges like he didn’t nod in my direction just before he headed over to the counter like a simp. He gives her hand a little squeeze before releasing her.

My stare trains on the hand he defiled for a long moment before I allow my gaze to travel up her soft arm, past her plump breasts to her full lips, only to stop at her troubled gaze. She looks so vulnerable as she regards me. Only that look stops me the from molly-whopping this guy and dragging his ass out here to dump him on the curb.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat, breaking the connection between us. “It’s good to see you watching over her. I was just letting her know that the congregation over at Second Baptist stand behind her. Pastor Lowry wanted me to pass that along personally. He sent messages out to everybody about the break-in and we will find those vandals, Kandie. You can count on us.” Standing tall after that statement, his eyes full moons of emotion just for her, he adds, “If you need anything, I’m here for you.”

I almost admire his bravery, declaring himself to my woman in front of me. Maybe it’s his closeness to the Most High that has him wanting to meet him so soon. I don’t give a fuck.

“No, you won’t.” I give him a hard stare.

“I beg your pardon?” he stammers.

“Did I stutter?” I allow the low ominousness to bleed through those few words.

He swallows hard, then looks at Kandie, who stands stunned, her eyes on me. Good. That’s exactly where I want them.

He grabs his to-go cup and sack, leaving amidst the swirling murmurs and outright speculation of us having a love triangle.

Everyone who didn’t know about the break-in of her place, which seems like the majority of the morning people, now do after checking the messages and text threads. The news is out townwide that Kandie’s home was vandalized.

The crime quickly replaces my little squabble with the assistant pastor as the news of the day. In no time people are volunteering services and the like to help their favorite baker furnish her home.

The thing about Shelby-Love — people are nosey and messy as hell, but they are still good people. Some of the guys from Cruz Construction stop by with paint the color of robin’s egg blue.

“I don’t want them to see what’s on that wall.” She sounds miserable turning to me when they start unloading the paint.

“I’ll take care of it.” Pressing a kiss on the crown of her head, I release her before calling out to halt the workers.

Never let anyone say painting doesn’t take skill. Especially when you’re covering a blood red slash on the entire wall.

It takes me nearly two hours, then another, for the fans they brought to dry the wall between coats before it’s primed for them to paint, with no one seeing the slur on the wall.

While I worked, Oz and the other cousins removed all the furniture. Kandie teared up when they put the slashed and broken beyond repair recliner she reupholstered in the back of Pa-Pete’s truck. I’ve never been so glad that she was in jail. It was probably the safest place for her. I won’t even allow myself to think of what could happen if that asshole had caught her at home.

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