Page 2 of Just Desserts in Pelican Point
The rest of the morning flies by in a blur of lattes and laughter. Candace helps me restock napkins while Joselyn tries to convince me to host a pastry decorating class for one of her winery events. The whole place hums with the kind of energy I dreamed about when I was kneading dough in the back of a chain café and saving every tip.
It isn't perfect, not yet. The floor creaks, the coffee machine hisses like it's perpetually annoyed, and the back counter still needs replacing. But it's mine. All mine.
Mrs. Waverly lingers longer than usual, sipping her tea slowly, watching the world outside with a soft smile.
Before she leaves, she pulls me into a hug that smells like lavender and rose water. "You’re doing a beautiful job, sweetheart. Don’t forget to live in it while it lasts." It’s something she tells me every time she leaves.
I nod, heart full. "You too."
She walks out, the bell jingling behind her, and I don’t know it yet, but it’ll be the last time she ever says those words to me.
Chapter2
Marcus
Ilike routine.
It keeps me focused, grounded. Predictable. And when you spend a decade in the military, that kind of discipline becomes a second skin. You learn to crave structure because chaos is always lurking, and if you're not ahead of it, it'll swallow you whole.
So every morning, like clockwork, I stop by Seaside Sweets for a black coffee and whatever pastry Julie Harper pulls fresh from the oven. The place opens at six, and I’m usually there by 6:15, the bell chiming above the door as I step into the warmth and the sugary scent that clings to the air like a promise.
Julie’s always behind the counter. Dependable. Structured. Beautiful.
She’s all sunshine and energy—smiling at every customer like she means it, always with a smudge of flour on her cheek or in her hair. She talks fast, laughs easily, and remembers everyone's favorite treat. She knows Mr. Greene likes extra powdered sugar on his lemon bars. That Officer Nguyen prefers almond croissants but only on Wednesdays. That kids from the middle school love her chocolate chip cookies because she uses sea salt on top.
She knows I drink my coffee black and like the raspberry danish. But that’s all she knows about me.
We’ve never talked beyond my order. I keep it that way.
“Morning, Officer King,” she calls out as I walk in.
“Morning.”
“Got your danish ready—just pulled them from the oven.” She smiles, radiant and effortless. “And I even made extra this time. They go fast around here.”
She says it like we’re friends, like we’ve had whole conversations, but it’s just her way of giving great customer service. She treats everyone like they belong here. Like they matter.
I nod. “Thanks.”
She grabs a to-go cup, fills it without asking. “Busy day ahead?”
“Same as usual.”
She hands me my coffee and the warm pastry in a paper bag, her fingers brushing mine. She rings me up, her smile not fading for a second. “Will you ever try something else, or are you a creature of habit?”
“I like what I like.”
Julie laughs, the sound light and musical, and I feel it in my chest more than I want to admit.
“Well, if you ever change your mind, the peach turnovers are to die for. Be safe out there.”
I offer the barest twitch of a smile, take the bag and coffee, and head back out before I can do something stupid like ask her what time she closes.
Julie Harper is too bright. Too open. Too... alive.
People like her make me nervous. Not because there’s anything wrong with them, but because they remind me of everything I lost. Things I stopped believing I could have.
And yet, every damn morning, here I am.
