Page 148 of Huckleberry Hill
“I’m not worried. Dad vouched for your character.”
“Is your dad hurting this morning?”
“No. Wade was pouring him apple juice in whiskey glasses the whole night.”
“I knew it!” he yelled and then immediately winced. “Ow.”
“You really sure I can’t make you toast before I go?”
“Where are you going?”
“I figured you’d want to go back to bed. After all, hangovers at your age must be debilitating.”
“Cruel woman. Making fun of my age.”
I grinned. “Dad said it only took you three shots to get completely trashed. You know that’s endearing, don’t you? A cowboy who isn’t a huge drinker is hard to find.”
“I aim to please. And when I’m feeling better, I’ll do just that.” He sighed. “Toast would be good. Dry, though. The idea of butter makes me want to throw up.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Bakery
* * *
Midmorning the next day, I parked downtown a block away from Sweet Teeth. When I got to the bakery, I saw a line out the door, snaking down the sidewalk.
“What’s going on?” I asked the woman who was in front of me. “Why’s there a huge line?”
“You don’t know?” she asked in surprise.
“I don’t.”
“Sweet Teeth went viral on social media. I drove here from Sandpoint. I hope they don’t run out of cinnamon rolls.”
I raised my brows. “I had no idea.” I stepped out of the line and then headed toward the door.
“No cutting!” someone shouted.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said back. “I just need to use the restroom.”
It was a lie. With a line winding out onto the sidewalk, I was sure Gracie was overwhelmed. When I went inside, I saw her at the register. Her hair was in a lopsided ponytail and her cheeks were flushed.
“Gracie,” I greeted. I attempted to sidle up to the bakery display, but there were four customers squashed together in my way. “Hey, Abby.”
“Hadley!” Abby sent me a panicked look.
“Put me to work.” I rolled up the sleeves of Declan’s flannel shirt.
Gracie tossed me an apron. “You know how to work an espresso machine, right?”
“Absolutely,” I said with a grin. “I worked at an Italian restaurant, remember?”
“Great. I’m moving Abby to the register so I can get to the back and make some more donuts.”
“Hey, we’d like to order,” a middle-aged man grumbled.
“Absolutely, sir,” I said, working my way behind the counter. “Tell me what I can get you.”
