Page 4 of Almost Ours
“Well, welcome!” he said. “I’m Benny. I own the place. You picked a good day to stop by–our cinnamon rolls are practically famous!”
I offered a small smile. “We were just stopping in to look around.”
Connor stood rooted in front of the glass case, eyes wide, nearly fogging the glass. Rows of golden croissants, flaky danishes, and icing-drizzled cinnamon rolls stared back at him.
Benny followed my gaze, then looked back at me with a raised brow and a knowing smile. “Uh-huh,” he said gently. “Why don’t you grab a seat over there–” he nodded toward a cozy table in the corner near the window, “–and I’ll bring over some hot chocolate. On the house.”
“Oh–thank you, but that’s not necessary,” I said quickly, heat rushing to my cheeks.
Benny gasped and clutched his flour-dusted chest. “Not necessary? Darling, of course it’s necessary! You’re new in town, which means it is my civic duty to welcome you properly. And besides, my hot chocolate is legendary. Life changing. Possibly illegal in six countries.”
Connor laughed, eyes bright.
I blinked, caught between amusement and embarrassment. Before I could argue, Connor was tugging at my sleeve, silently pleading with me to say yes.
I nodded, my throat tightening. “Thank you.”
Benny grinned like he’d won a prize. “Excellent choice. You won’t regret it.”
A few minutes later, Benny returned with two steaming mugs and a plate holding two generously glazed cinnamon rolls, icing still warm and glistening.
“I put extra whipped cream on this one,” he said, setting Connor’s mug down with a flourish and a wink.
“Mom, can I eat this now?” Connor asked, his hands hovering over the roll.
“Go ahead,” I said, smiling at his enthusiasm.
“You’ve got a polite young man there,” Benny said, ruffling Connor’s hair. “Good job, Mom.”
I laughed softly, though the compliment twisted something inside me. If only he knew how much of that came from Connor–and how often I wondered if I was getting any of it right.
Connor dove in, groaning with delight as sticky glaze coated his fingers and cheeks. “Mom, this is so good!”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” I said, handing him a napkin, amused as he wiped his face without pause between bites.
As Benny turned to help another customer, I wrapped my hands around the warm mug and took a sip, letting the heat spread through my chest.
The bakery had filled quickly–every table occupied, the line at the counter stretching to the door. The scent of nutmeg and vanilla hung thick in the air, and the clink of mugs blended with low conversation into a cozy hum.
Benny moved effortlessly behind the counter, greeting customers like old friends–some of them probably were. He asked about kids, commented on snow tires, complimented coats and haircuts like it was second nature. People responded in kind, smiling, laughing, waiting patiently for their turn.
It was the kind of place that made you feel like you belonged, even if you weren’t sure how yet.
But what caught my attention was that Benny was doing it all alone. Pouring coffee, boxing pastries, chatting, wiping tables–no other staff in sight. He made it look easy, though I noticed the slight quickening of his pace as more people came in.
I glanced at Connor, happily finishing the last bite of his cinnamon roll, cheeks flushed from the warmth and sugar. His legs swung beneath the table, carefree.
The doorbell jingled as someone new entered, the cold air curling inside. My gaze lifted automatically, and my body went rigid before I could stop it. Same build. Same dark hair. Hishood was pulled low, shadowing most of his face, and for a split second the resemblance was too close–too much like Reid.
Just a man in a heavy coat, brushing snow from his shoulders.
Still, I slid my plate toward Connor, offering the last bite without a word.
The sense of calm began to slip, replaced by something harder to define. New places always held promise–and the possibility of disruption.
I forced myself to look away, inhaling slowly through my nose, steadying my breath. We’d face whatever came next. We had to.
I pushedthe bakery door open, and a wave of warmth rushed over me, chasing away the bite of the frigid morning air. The smell of fresh bread and roasted coffee wrapped around me, settling into my flannel like a second skin.
