Page 18 of Huckleberry Hill
“Sweet Teeth,” I said. “The bakery. You been yet?”
He shook his head.
“Gracie’s a friend from high school. Her husband’s family owns the bakery,” I said. “I was going to stop in and say hi.”
“I’m yours to command,” Declan joked. “So, Italy . . . why were you going to Italy?”
“Italian food,” I quipped.
“I’ve noticed you divert people’s attention with humor when you don’t want to answer a question.”
“Astute of you to notice.”
“So, Italy?” he pressed.
“Why so curious?”
“Why so secretive?” he pushed back. “Just trying to get to know you, buddy.”
“Inquisitions aren’t the way to do it, friend.”
Declan opened the door to Sweet Teeth, and I walked in first. The bakery didn’t look at all like a bakery. It had a rustic, cozy cottage vibe, with heavy wooden tables that were much more suited to a beer hall, several plants hanging from hooks, and a skylight in the A-line roof.
I took out my phone and did a quick video, landing on Declan.
“Say hi.”
“Who am I saying hi to?”
“My sister and my friends,” I said.
“Hi ladies,” Declan drawled.
I ended the video and shot it off to the group text. “Thanks. My roommate Poet loves places like this. I wanted to show it to her.”
“Ah.”
We stepped up to the counter to order. I didn’t recognize the young barista.
“Hi,” I greeted with a smile. “Is Gracie here?”
“Who’s taking my name in vain?” Gracie yelled from the kitchen.
“The friend that kept your hair out of the toilet on prom night,” I called.
A moment later, my old friend popped out from the back, her cheeks pink from the bakery oven and her blonde curls a riotous mass.
She came around the counter and quickly embraced me. “I didn’t think I’d see you until Christmas.”
I didn’t say anything as she released me.
“You have time for a coffee and a chat? Or are you just stopping by?”
“I have a few minutes,” I said.
“Excellent.” She turned her attention to Declan. “And who are you?”
Declan grinned. “Declan Brewer. The new wrangler for Connor Powell.”
