“Only nine times. Maybe thirteen.” Bri grinned back. Casey and Nathan had had their own surprise a few months ago, who was now nestled in the carrier at her feet, snoozing away in the muted sun streaming through the café’s beveled glass windows. “Why didn’t you tell me pregnancy was this exhausting?”
“Because you forget that part after realizing how much more exhausting the actual tiny humans are.” Casey snorted. “Want the horror stories yet?”
“Not yet. I prefer my naive ‘baking’ stage.” She rubbed her belly. She couldn’t believe everything that had happened in the past year. Marriage. A whirlwind honeymoon. An unexpected but most welcome surprise a few months later. And the grand opening of her very own nonprofit ministry café.
The café door opened, and Mabel and Agnes strolled inside. Mabel was walking with a cane now, but it barely slowed her down. In fact, Bri had seen her swing it like she was in a Broadway production more than once.
“We’re not late, are we?” Mabel hobbled across the tile floor. “I was wanting one of those legendary grilled cheese sandwiches.”
Bri headed for the refrigerator. “You’re right on time. And I might have stuck one back for you.” Turned out she was better at cooking more than just sweets. Who would have thought? It was funny what one could do with a hefty check, a heartfelt dream to serve, and the perfect location a few blocks down from the Puff. Well, the former Puff, anyway.
She heated the sandwich for Mabel and slid it across the counter to her on a paper plate—pink, of course.
“Have we mentioned that we’re proud of you?” Agnes’s voice grew slightly raspy as she braced her forearms on the counter.
“Yes.” Mabel nodded solemnly. “That, and we want a souvenir from Paris.”
Agnes elbowed Mabel, and she huffed. “Well, it’s true. You know you do too.”
“She’s right. We do.” Agnes nodded. “Preferably something purple.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” They were leaving the next morning for a week in Paris before her third trimester hit, when it would be more dangerous to travel.
“And for the record, I’m proud of us too.” Mabel held out her hand to Agnes, who reluctantly slapped it a high five.
“We knew the truth about you two the minute he roared into the bakery last year, you know.” Mabel gestured with her sandwich.
Agnes nodded. “Obnoxious motorcycle and all.”
“I know.” Bri smiled across the counter at Gerard, who was leaning against the display, strong arms crossed over his broad chest, talking earnestly to Mr. Peters. Gerard gave him his full attention and respect—just as he did the other homeless, poverty-stricken, or simply “having a bad day” folks who ambled through their doors every week. She’d married a man who’d not only helped her recognize her dreams but helped carry them out. “There’s no one I’d rather go to Paris with. It’ll be a fun trip.”
“Who ever heard of going to Paris twice in a year? You two didn’t get enough on your honeymoon?” Agnes huffed.
“Clearly they got plenty.” Mabel gestured to Bri’s rounded stomach.
Agnes elbowed her again, harder.
“Don’t make me whack you with my cane.” Mabel slapped at her with the hand not clutching her sandwich.
“You already do. Quit pretending like it’s always an accident.” Agnes rolled her eyes as she ambled to the table next to Casey’s booth.
“We’re just trying to make the most of our time before Junior comes.” Bri followed, handing Mabel a napkin and gesturing for her to wipe cheese off her chin.
“Aha!” Gerard pointed at her from across the room, interrupting his own conversation. “You said Junior. So you do know it’s a boy.”
Now it was Bri’s turn to roll her eyes. “He’s still incorrigible, you guys. Not even marriage can fix that.”
“Hey, did you hear business is pretty slow down at Charles’s franchise?” A wry grin slid across Casey’s lips as she reached down and offered her now-waking baby boy a pacifier.
“Is that so?” Bri kept a neutral expression as she ambled over to the counter and began to wipe up bread crumbs. Charles sure hadn’t wasted any time tearing down the love-lock wall—save the portion with her parents’ lock that Gerard surprised her with in her own front yard a week later—and remodeling the Puff into a well-known chain.
Casey blew out her breath in a short laugh. “Oh, come on. Quit acting like you don’t care.”
“I genuinely wish Charles the best.” She could say that honestly now, as she took in the blessings around her. Love. Family. Friends. An opportunity to live out her heart’s desire. Charles was the one to be pitied—manipulative and alone.
Unless you counted Sandra, which Bri most often did not.
Bri pulled her purse from under the counter and slung it over her shoulder. Hard to think in a few months it’d be a diaper bag. At least she had Casey to help guide her through this next adventure. She nodded at her friend. “Thanks for coming to lock up for me. We’re heading to put flowers on Mr. Mac’s grave before the sun sets.”
“And Betty’s?” Casey leaned forward in her seat and raised her eyebrows.
“Of course.” Bri grinned. “I’m sure I’d hear about it somehow otherwise.” A bittersweet twinge plucked, the way it always did when she considered the sweet man’s recent absence. But he and Betty were whole now, and together with their Lord. Yet another love story for the books.
Speaking of . . .
She held out her hand for Gerard, who came to her side. She twined her fingers through his, smiling up into the face of the one who knew her best and loved her anyway. They’d helped each other unlock their fears and insecurities—and guided each other toward the One who held the key to true love. There weren’t Parisian streets or kitchen slow dances or keys tossed overboard in the Seine. There weren’t heavy burdens and secret recipes and financial stress.
After all this time, her story sure hadn’t turned out like her
