Page 12 of The Clause in Christmas
Shecoulddelete the voicemail and block the number. But considering Derek left theI miss youtext last night, followed by a voicemail the next morning, he would only get a new number and try again. Apparently, Costco sold unlisted numbers in bulk.
Gritting her teeth, Cassie pressed play.
“Hey, stranger!” Derek’s slick baritone assaulted her eardrum, and Cassie yanked the phone away, switching to the speaker.
“Listen, we need to talk. It’s important. And it’d be nice to hear your voice, too.” A heavy sigh filled the pause. “I miss you, Cassie. Call me, okay?”
Click.
Tears burned her eyes as Cassie hurled the phone onto the quilted mattress.
How dare he sound so casual! As if nothing had happened. As if—
Dismissing the painful memories with a sharp shake of her head, Cassie snatched her phone and deleted the message before adding the number to the slew of others she’d already banned.
The tiny upstairs bedroom she’d chosen as her temporary abode suddenly felt cramped and suffocating. Grabbing her purse off the antique Singer sewing machine that doubled as a table, she stuffed her phone inside.
She needed fresh air.
And a double shot espresso.
While she’d decided to limit her time in town, save for a few trips to the small market when necessary, Cassie needed a haven—somewhere she could get a calming cup of coffee and clear her mind.
But as she strolled down the cobblestone sidewalk along Main Street, her optimism evaporated. While the town boasted an entire store dedicated to yarn—seriously, was knitting an epidemic here?—there wasn’t a single coffee shop in sight. Her only hope was a run-down bakery called Maggie’s Place. Fortunately, the tantalizing aroma of vanilla bean and toasted chestnuts overpowered the pink, sun-bleached awning and peeling paint of the same Pepto Bismol color.
A bell jingled overhead as Cassie pushed through the front door, the frosty air dispersing into the warmth generated by a grand river rock fireplace. While the prosaic decor was underwhelming at best, the glass pastry cases burst with the most delectable confections Cassie had ever seen. Rich, gooey brownies drizzled in gallons of chocolate fudge sauce. Buttery lemon scones with an icing glaze so thick it defied all reason. And the pies—mulberry, apple, elderberry—all so huge they could double as private islands.
“Welcome! And what can I get for you on this lovely morning?” A motherly, rosy-cheeked woman greeted Cassie from behind the counter.
Maybe it was the way her silver-streaked ebony curls framed her round features or the kind sparkle in her hazel eyes, but Cassie instantly liked her.
“Do you serve lattes?”
“Oh, dear. I’m afraid not.”
“A regular coffee, then?” Cassie asked, hopefully.
“Self-serve at the end of the counter,” the woman said with a smile. “How about a nice pastry to go with it? On the house.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—” Cassie started.
But the woman merely waved away her protest before selecting an enormous brownie covered in crushed pecans and toffee chips. “I know a gal in need of chocolate when I see one.” Her eyes crinkled around the corners as she handed a day’s worth of calories to Cassie.
“I, uh, thank you very much.” Dumbstruck by the woman’s generosity, Cassie slowly made her way toward the dubious-looking air pot.
In Cassie’s experience, air pots were rarely a good sign.
Setting the brownie on the counter, she selected one of the white ceramic mugs and tentatively pumped it full of the lukewarm liquid. Cassie cringed, noting the contents of her mug more closely resembled a storm drain than a proper cup of coffee.
“It tastes as bad as it looks.”
Startled, Cassie darted her gaze to a blonde woman scooping fresh cranberry scones into one of the pastry cases. She appeared to be in her mid to late twenties, maybe a few years younger than Cassie.
An amused smile tugged at the corners of the woman’s mouth, and a guilty blush crept up Cassie’s neck.
“Oh, well, it doesn’t look so bad,” she stammered, certain her cheeks were as red as the plump cranberries.
The blonde snorted. “You’re a bad liar. And you’re also new in town, aren’t you?” She scrunched her pretty features, as though trying to read Cassie’s mind, when her dark eyes suddenly widened in realization. “Wait! You must be Cassie! I’ve heard all about you! And the clause in your grandmother’s will.”
