Page 30 of The Goode Girls of Maple Lane
“Thank you,” I say. “Offer accepted.”
A sign on the tea shop door saysNo pets, so Aggie and I wait out front while Everett heads inside to place our order. Several cute café tables are set up outside for the market, all of them occupied with people sipping from antique cups and saucers as a short, wirywoman with a nimbus cloud of unruly silver curls bustles in and out of the shop to wait on everyone. She’s in a ruffled eyelet apron over a floral dress and heather wool cardigan, all of which has a fluttery energy to it, though it’s her red and white spectator shoes that keep drawing my eye.
As she passes us while heading into the shop for the third or fourth time, her gaze drifts our way and she stops short, pressing a hand to her heart while the other grips a bright blue teapot.
“Are you the Goode Girls?” she asks me.
Heat floods my cheeks at the unexpected attention, which feels different here than it did in the park, where I’ve grown used to seeing a lot of the same faces as Aggie gets her exercise.
“Um, yes?” I stammer.
“Oh my lord,” she lets out in a gust. “What you’re doing for that dog is just wonderful.”
I send an affectionate glance toward Aggie. “It’s a mutually beneficial relationship.”
“Well, that goes without saying!” The woman scurries over and crouches by the wagon, giving me acan I?look, to which I nod, because Aggie deserves all the affection the world has to offer. The woman asks if we’re waiting for someone and I let her know my friend is inside getting tea for both of us. She says she’s honored we’re here, and introduces herself as Diana, the Havisham half of Havisham & Harrison. Introductions made, she fawns over a delighted Aggie while telling me about the seven or eight wire fox terriers she adopted through various rescue organizations over the years, and how much she loved each one, and what was unique about each, but how it’s been harder to consider having a dog now that she and her partner are older. This is something I’ve alreadylearned about Aggie, that she unlocks people’s stories about their dogs, which is a really beautiful gift, now that I’m thinking about it.
“I’m sure we’ll be back,” I say when Diana straightens up, looking at Aggie like her heart will break if she has to say goodbye. “We live nearby, though I saw your no-pets policy.”
Diana flicks my comment away. “We have to put that sign up to comply with city health ordinances, butqueensof all sorts are welcome anytime.” With that, she whisks open the shop door, calling out, “Arthur? Arthur! It’s the dog I was telling you about. And the girl who adopted her. They’re here getting tea and don’t you dare charge them for their order!”
The door swings shut behind her and a few minutes later, Everett emerges with two steaming paper cups and a dark green shopping bag with an H&H logo hanging off his arm.
“So much for my offer to treat,” he says through a breath of laughter.
I point an accusing finger at Aggie. “It’s her fault. She hooked another one.”
She lowers her head to rest it on the wagon’s front panel again, the picture of innocence, looking back and forth between us as her brows twitch the way I love so much.
Everett and I share a smile. Then he hands me my cup along with the bag, which turns out to hold half a dozen green and gold tins of loose-leaf tea.
“Apparently those are their bestsellers,” he says. “English breakfast. Earl Grey. Mint. They insisted, and I figured their tea was probably better than whatever you have at home.”
I stare at the contents of the bag. “They justgaveyou all of this?”
“They gaveyouall of this,” he corrects, and at my obvious swellof discomfort, he adds, “Sometimes people do nice things just to do nice things. Enjoy it, Cameron. It’s only tea.”
I don’t have a chance to argue because the shop door opens again and Diana drags a very tall, very lanky man out by the wrist. He’s mostly bald with a tidy silver mustache, while his collarless striped dress shirt and black vest give him the air of someone from another time.
“Go say hi,” Diana kindly but forcefully instructs him, and he shyly obeys, bending low to let Aggie smell his unusually long hand. Half a second later, she’s wagging her tail and inching her head forward for a pet, with her usual gift for overcoming anyone’s shyness.
As the man I assume is Arthur—and the Harrison half of Havisham & Harrison—strokes Aggie’s head, looking down at her fondly, Everett suggests making a TikTok of her grand day out, exploring our neighborhood and making new friends. I almost laugh. The Goode Girls account has been live for less than forty-eight hours. Everett’s known about it for half that time, and his content-creation mind is already at work. But also, his idea is cute and I tell him so, while authorizing him to be our official videographer for the day.
Diana and the man she confirms is Arthur are happy to participate, so Everett gets a shot of them with Aggie and me that includes the adorable store window with its teapots of flowers. Then Arthur heads inside to attend to the growing line of customers, casting one last glance at Aggie from the doorstep while slyly dabbing at the corner of his eye before he steps inside.
“He’s always been a man of few words,” Diana says, making me realize I’m not sure I heard him speak at all. “But he loved thoseterriers as much as I did. We carry on, as we must, but the grief never fully goes away. Make sure you come back and see us, okay?”
“Of course.” I grip my bag of tea a little tighter as I mentally replay Everett’s words.
Sometimes people do nice things just to do nice things.
It’s such a simple idea, and deep down, I know true kindness doesn’t inherently come with the expectation of a return, but I don’t know how to fully embrace that idea. I don’t know how to accept generosity at face value, which makes me wonder, maybe the greatest lesson Aggie can teach me isn’t how to be happy.
It’s how to trust.
THE REST OFthe morning follows a similar pattern.
We get free pastries at the German bakery, which is next door to the French bakery. The two have a historic rivalry even I know about, and this is my first time setting foot in either one. Johann Schneider, the friendly owner/manager of the German bakery not only tells us to ignore theNo petssign I now know is obligatory, he gives us a bag of the dog treats he bakes, which he sells alongside a mouthwatering array of strudels, cinnamon rolls, cakes, and doughnuts. He’s also delighted to be filmed for our account, a sentiment he sings rather than says, displaying a booming operatic voice that has my jaw dropping open with awe, until Aggie lets out a sharp bark at an especially impassioned note, and everyone breaks into laughter, even Johann.
