Page 10 of Almost Ours
“If it isn’t my favourite newcomers!” he beamed. “Second official day in town, and back for more. I must be doing something right!”
I smiled, nerves jangling. “Hi, Benny. I–uh–I actually wanted to ask–”
That’s when I caught it–the sharp scent of something acrid beneath the warm sugar and cinnamon.
Smoke.
“Oh hell,” Benny muttered, eyes going wide. He tossed his towel on the counter and bolted toward the back, his voice trailing behind me. “Flapjack Fridays are a lie!”
I stood frozen for a moment, blinking at the swinging kitchen door. The line didn’t flinch–no one shifted, no one murmured. A few customers chuckled softly, like this was just another Wednesday at Benny’s. Sure enough, he came rushing back out a moment later, slightly red-faced and fanning smoke from his apron like it was business as usual.
“Crisis averted. Only sacrificed two muffins this time,” he said, brushing a bit of ash from his sleeve. “Sorry about that, sweetheart, what were you saying?”
“Oh,” I said, backing up slightly. “It’s no problem. I… I’ll just come back later. You’re busy.”
“No, no, not at all,” he said, waving his hand dramatically. “Talk to me. How’s your second day in our snowy slice of heaven treating you?”
I opened my mouth and then closed it. My courage, already fragile, evaporated like steam from the coffee cups lining the counter.
“It’s good. I’ll just… just two cinnamon rolls, please,” I said finally, forcing a smile.
“Two cinnamon rolls it is,” he said, though he looked at me a beat longer than necessary, like he knew I was holding something back. Yet he didn’t push. He just gave a gentle wink and moved to box up the pastries.
I returned to our table, setting the rolls down in front of Connor, who immediately dove in,
“This place smells so good,” he said, his mouth already full. “Do you think they have chocolate chip cookies too?”
“Maybe,” I replied, only half hearing him. My eyes were on the counter, on Benny, on the slowly shrinking line. My fingers picked at the edge of the napkin beside my plate.
I stood, brushing crumbs from my jeans and making my way back to the counter just as the last customer stepped aside. Benny was wiping the counter clean, whistling under his breath–until his gaze snapped to the far corner of the bakery.
I followed his line of sight to a table of older women knitting in a cozy tangle of yarn and teacups. One of them, a petite lady in lavender with a sharp chin and sharper eyes, met Benny’s stare with a smug little smirk.
Benny scowled.
“Linda,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Think she’s slick after taking second place at the Fall bake off. Store-bought crust, I’m telling you. Store-bought.”
He gave an exaggerated shudder. “If she ever offers you an apple pie, run.”
I laughed, more nervous than amused. “Benny,” I said quickly before I could lose my nerve again, “I was wondering if you were hiring. I mean, if you’d consider… me. I’m looking for a job.”
There. It was out.
My voice cracked slightly at the end, but I didn’t look away. I couldn’t.
Benny’s eyes widened, his hands freezing mid-wipe.
Then he slowly set the cloth down and leaned against the counter, studying me with a surprising softness.
“Well now… that’s not what I was expecting.”
I shifted on my feet. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have–”
He held up a finger, eyes narrowing slightly–not unkindly. “I don’t even know your name yet.”
“It’s Harper,” I said quietly. “Harper Bishop.”
He nodded slowly, almost as if committing it to memory. Then he sighed, glancing toward the kitchen. “You know, my father ran this place by himself for thirty years. Said too many cooks spoil the cinnamon rolls. I’ve been doing just fine on my own.”
