Page 27 of Like A Daydream
Andrew parks his truck in the front of the store, and lets Roscoe out before clipping his leash on and heading inside. He spots the ‘Help Wanted’ sign with the yellowing edges in the window, and it gets the wheels in his brain turning as he steps inside.
The little girl that he saw run in the other day, tears streaming down her face, is sitting at one of the café tables coloring, with a muffin on a plate in front of her beside a glass of milk.
She’s humming, and looks up just as Roscoe practically pulls Andrew’s arm out to get to her.
The dog is not subtle at all.
“Roscoe, wait!” Andrew says, planting his feet against the dog’s strength. Roscoe stops on a dime and the little girl squeals with laughter.
“He’s pretty!” she says, but she doesn’t move from her chair. “Can I pet him?”
“Of course!” Andrew says, signaling for the dog to sit. Roscoe immediately sits, and he thinks that the dog is trying to show off because he’s never responded to a command that quickly. “Thank you for asking, that’s really good manners.”
“Mama always told me that, no matter how bad I want to, I can’t just pet a dog because I don’t know them,” she says, shrugging. “I have to introduce myself, first.”
The little girl hops off her chair and approaches slowly, holding her hand out for Roscoe to sniff. The dog’s tail starts wagging a mile a minute, and he stands up and starts licking all over her face.
She squeals and throws her arms around his neck, giggling as he keeps licking her.
“I think he likes you,” Andrew says, squatting down so he’s eye level with the girl. He grins at his dog’s antics before taking his collar and making him sit again.
“What’s his name?”
“Roscoe,” Andrew says. “after –”
“Roscoe P. Coltrane?” the girl asks, eyes going wide. “FromDukes of Hazzard?”
“How do you know about that show?” Andrew says, laughing at her reaction. He didn’t even know they put reruns on TV, let alone that an elementary schooler would know what it was.
It had been one of his favorite shows for as long as he could remember, his parents had always let him stay up late to watch it. It was eitherDukes of Hazzard, or NHL games, and that was just about all that was on in the house past seven at night.
“How doyouknow about that show?” she counters, folding her arms over her chest. “My dad saidno one elsewatches it.”
“I think hehadto say that,” Andrew says, raising an eyebrow conspiratorially, “it’s like a secret club.”
Her eyes get even wider, if that’s possible. “A secret club?”
“A secret,secretclub,” he says with a nod, “and you and I are members. So, we can’t tell anyone.”
“I promise I won’t,” she replies.
“Pinky swear?” Andrew asks, holding out his pinky.
“Pinky swear,” she says, wrapping her own pinky around his. “My name is Harper. I’m six years and nine days old.”
Andrew grins, doing quick math in his head. “My name is Andrew, but you can call me Andy. I’m thirty-two years, two months, and seven days old.”
He stands to his full height.
“I saw you working hard coloring when I came in,” he says, “and I don’t want to keep you from it. I just came to get some coffee.”
“My Aunt D makes thebestcoffee.” Harper says, bouncing up and down on her toes, “at least that’s what the grown-ups say when they come in. I can go get her!”
Before Andrew can say anything else, Harper takes off through the bookstore to the back, where he assumes the office is. He smiles, shakes his head, and walks over to the pastry case.
Normally, during the off-season, he tries to keep to a semi-strict diet. Not as harsh as during the season, but enough to keep himself in shape. Since coach had basically told him to do some soul searching, he figures that he can have a pastry or two.
Nothing says finding yourself like puff pastry, cheese and sugar.
