Page 13 of Just Desserts in Pelican Point
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The bell over the door chimes again barely a minute after Marcus leaves.
"Was that Officer King who just drove away in the police cruiser?" Emma asks, arching a perfectly shaped brow as she crosses the bakery and sets her purse on the counter.
My cheeks heat instantly. "Maybe," I murmur, my voice a blend of uncertainty and embarrassment.
She grins, wide and knowing. "So, it was."
I busily arrange a stack of freshly wrapped muffins behind the counter, trying to steady the tremor in my voice. "He was helping me move some deliveries." I add, though it sounds more like an excuse than a fact.
"Uh-huh. Is that what we're calling it now?" she teases, her tone playful yet edged with curiosity.
I roll my eyes. "Nothing happened, Emma."
She leans in, voice softer now. "But you wish it did?"
I glance through the large front windows, watching the slow dance of shifting light on the pavement. "I don’t know. Maybe. He’s just... unexpected," I confess, the words hanging in the air like a secret waiting to bloom.
Emma reaches out, her hand warm and reassuring as she squeezes mine gently. "How are you really doing?" she asks, the simplicity of her query unwrapping layers of hidden emotion.
The question fractures my composed facade. I shake my head rapidly, blinking away the swell of memories. "I’m sad. I’m angry. I keep thinking about Mrs. Waverly walking through that door again. Like she’s only late, or busy with the next flower arrangements."
Emma’s eyes soften. "I miss her, too. But you know she wouldn’t want you to sit in this grief forever. She’d want you to live. To thrive. She definitely would not want you to mourn her, Julie."
A bittersweet laugh escapes me as I sniff, nodding slowly. "She’d probably yell at me for letting the scones go stale," I add, the memory mingling sorrow and a hint of mischief.
"Exactly," Emma says with a light, playful smile that draws a small laugh from me.
Just as the silence begins to wrap the room in familiar comfort, the bell chimes once again. A tall, striking woman enters, her long blonde hair catching the light and a bold red leather jacket marking her arrival. She surveys the cozy interior with bright, inquisitive eyes. "Is this the place I’ve heard about—the bakery boasting the most amazing coffee and pastries in town?" she inquires, her voice rich with enthusiasm.
Emma and I exchange a glance before responding in unison, "Yes."
The woman's laughter rings clear and confident, echoing off the walls. "Well then, I must be in the right place. I’m Crystal Evans. I just moved to Pelican Point."
"Welcome," I say warmly, already reaching for a freshly printed menu. "I’m Julie, and this is Emma. What brings you to town?"
Crystal beams, her smile vibrant as she explains, "I’m here on assignment. I work as a historian and marine archaeologist, researching a legendary sunken ship off the coast. It’s said to be brimming with gold and wrapped in mystery." She hands me back the menu. “Can I get a cup of coffee to go and a chocolate chip muffin?”
Emma whistles appreciatively, her eyes lighting up. "That sounds straight out of a novel."
"Or a movie," I add with a chuckle as I get her order ready.
Crystal grins broadly. "Hopefully not the kind where everyone dies a horrible death.”
We all laugh. It feels good.
Eventually, Emma checks the time. "Crap. I’ve got court in thirty minutes. Love you. Be good." She wraps me in a quick, heartfelt hug before hurrying toward the door.
Crystal glances at her phone. "I’ve got a meeting with the historical society, but I’ll definitely be back. This place? My new favorite already." She hands me some cash and drops her change into the tip jar on the counter.
"Thanks, Crystal. We’ll be here, and welcome to Pelican Point. You’re gonna love it."
When they’re both gone, I wipe down the counter one last time and let myself pause. Emma’s words echo in my mind.
Mrs. Waverly wouldn’t have wanted me to remain tethered to my grief. She’d have urged me to forge ahead—to keep baking, to keep living. I glance toward the empty seat by the window, once graced by her familiar presence, and a bittersweet smile tugs at my lips through the welling tears.
"Okay, Mrs. Waverly," I whisper into the quiet space, "I hear you. I’ll make you proud."
