Page 2 of Cocoa Kisses
“Last minute decision,” he says. “There’s a cease-fire until January, so there was no reason to stay for the magazine. But I sublet my apartment until the beginning of February, so . . .”
“You’re kicking it with your parents. I bet they’re thrilled.” They get to see him more than anyone else, but never as much as they like because they have to catch him in DC between assignments.
“They will be when I tell them,” he says. “I haven’t even stopped by the house yet. Once my mom gets hold of me, I’m doomed.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes. Smothered by love. How sucky for you. Do you have a minute? Grab a table, and I’ll take care of the Greers so we can catch up.”
“Sure.” He takes the table I point to.
“Sorry, Greers.” I dart back around the counter and count out their correct change. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Taylor,” Mrs. Greer says, picking up the bakery bag with two mint chocolate brownies inside. She’s a tiny woman, and she tucks her arm into her husband’s and smiles up at him. “We’re spoiling ourselves because we solved the final puzzle onWheellast night.”
“Good job.” I give them a distracted smile. I’m dying to visit with Levi, but I love the Greers, so I rally. Or try to. “What was the final answer?”
“Chief executive officer,” Mr. Greer says. “We solved it right away.”
I lean across the register and bat my eyes at him. “When are you going to leave Mrs. Greer and marry me, Mr. Greer?”
This is their favorite joke and probably half the reason they come into the café every week. The tops of Mr. Greer’s ears turn red.
Mrs. Greer cackles. “You make excellent brownies, Taylor Bixby, but until you can make my blue-ribbon meatloaf, you don’t stand a chance.”
I snap my fingers in an “aw, shucks” show of regret. “One of these days I’ll snag him. Merry Christmas, Greers.”
“Merry Christmas, gal.” Then they’re off, leaving the café with the jingle of bells hung over the door for the holidays.
“One more minute,” I tell Levi. I walk to the storage room and poke my head in. “Hey, Celia,” I say to my part-timer who’s busy filling in an order sheet. “A friend of mine stopped in, so I may need you to come out if we get more customers.”
“No problem. I’m almost done in here anyway.”
I round the counter to sit with Levi, smiling that I had panicked about my hair and makeup. That’s never mattered between us. He pushes out the chair across from him with his foot, and just like that, no time has passed; we are Levi and Taylor again, childhood best friends catching up over the holidays.
I plop down in the seat and prop my elbow on the table, chin in hand. “Knife fight. Chicken versus wombat, chicken has the knife.”
His grin flashes at me, but he shakes his head. “Chicken every time. But it probably doesn’t even need the knife.” We’ve been having this debate over which animal would win in a fight against every other animal if given the right weapon since we had biology together our freshman year.
“Conceded.”
“Sword fight. Gorilla versus lion. Gorilla has the sword,” he says. “You have flour in your hair.”
I swipe at it, not actually caring where it is. I study him as I consider my answer. Heavy scruff covers his cheeks and the angles of his jaw, but it’s still easy to see that his face has thinned. If he lost another ten pounds, he’d be gaunt. He’s always been lean but solid. He still looks solid but with some wear and tear. Job hazard of eight years as a globetrotting reporter. “Gorilla. You forgot to shave.”
He reaches up and scratches his chin. “Definitely gorilla.” He holds out his hand for the palm-slap-slide-to-fist-bump we always did. Do.
Our rhythm is back, and I slip right into it, completing the handshake.
He looks around. “This place is pretty great.”
“Thanks.” I try to see it through his eyes. When I’d made the decision to move back to Creekville four years ago, I’d known my success would hinge on creating a café that would draw in all kinds of people. It couldn’t be too country cute or it would alienate young customers. It couldn’t be too modern and curated or it would put off older folks.
He meets my eyes, a smile on his face. “It’s very you.”
“That was the goal.” Bixby’s is designed to feel contemporary rustic, but with more flair than the monochrome aesthetic all over the home improvement channels. I’ve gone with an overall color of soft white walls and gray furnishings, but with surprising pops of turquoise in the accessories.
It's perfect for weaving in orange accents in the fall, then trading those out for holiday reds after Thanksgiving. NeverbeforeThanksgiving, though. I’m an autumn and Christmas purist. Let each season shine, in the décorandthe bakery case.
The tables have mini poinsettia or rosemary bush centerpieces, garlands of wooden cranberries swoop around the tops of the walls, and small white lights twinkle slowly in the front window, a sleepy blink here and there so it doesn’t overstimulate my guests.
