Eventually, Jill crossed the street to the bakery, drawn by the need for freshly brewed coffee with cream. A rustic scarecrow reclined on an Adirondack chair near the entrance, casually dressed in a neon-pink Dewberry Beach sweatshirt, faded jeans, and dingy white sneakers. Someone had laid a copy of the Dewberry Beach Trumpet on the scarecrow’s lap and opened it to the weekend schedule for the festival. Jill snorted in appreciation; Uncle Barney would have laughed at that.
Inside, the shop was loud and busy as numbers were called out and customers placed orders. Jill pulled a paper number from the dispenser and waited for it to appear on the neon board behind the counter. There were a few customers ahead of her but no one Jill recognized. As she waited, she peered into the glass case at the platters of Danishes, Italian cookies, and cupcakes. Behind the counter were trays of golden-brown muffins the size of softballs. And over by the wall were baskets of crusty, fresh bread. How long had it been since she’d had a real corn muffin? Or had allowed herself to have any kind of muffin at all?
“Number forty-five?”
Jill raised her paper, and the woman pulled the cord to advance the number, then pushed the sleeves of her gray cardigan up to her elbows and offered Jill a weary smile, as if it had already been a long day. “What can I get for ya?”
“She’ll have a plain green salad, Irene—dressing on the side,” a deep voice behind Jill rumbled with laughter.
Jill turned to see the man from the deli, the one who’d taken her order. His dark blue volunteer fireman T-shirt fit him quite well, Jill noticed, as she searched for a retort.
It turned out that Jill didn’t need one because the woman’s eyes widened in delight the moment she spied him. She reached across the glass case to grab his hand in both of hers and her tone lifted. “Danny, honey. How are ya? How’s your mom?”
“She’s better. Dad’s taking her up to Foxwoods this weekend so she’s pretty happy.”
“Good. Good.” A smile wreathed her face as she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Can I grab you something? We have the cream-filled donuts you like, just made. On the house.”
“Nah, not for me, thanks. I’m good.” As he shook his head, he shifted his weight and Jill noticed a faint scent of cologne that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “I’m just here to pick up our coffee order.”
“For the guys across the street?”
“Yeah. Roy said he called it in.”
“Lemme check to see if it’s put together.” She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Festival weekend is always a madhouse.”
Jill waited for him to apologize—or at least acknowledge that he’d pushed ahead of her in line—but he didn’t. He just stood, patiently waiting for his order as if Jill wasn’t even there.
“I was going to order a muffin, you know,” she said finally. If only to break the silence.
Danny turned toward her, nodding thoughtfully. “Good choice. The muffins are really good here. Blueberry’s the best.”
As he started to turn away, Jill blurted, “You were right about your nonna’s pesto. I liked it,” then immediately felt stupid for continuing a conversation he clearly had no interest in. “It was good,” she finished weakly.
“Here ya go.” Irene bustled from the back room loaded with an armful of flat pink boxes. “I got coffee coming too.” She jerked her chin behind her. “Darby’s making a fresh pot. You boys got enough cream and sugar over there? I know how you like your coffee sweet.”
“Yeah, I think we’re good.” Danny took the boxes, then offered a magnificent smile as he lifted his chin toward Jill. “Give the coffee to Green Salad over here. She can help me carry it over.”
“Is that right?” Irene’s eyes narrowed with sudden interest.
“No, that’s not right,” Jill snapped, annoyed at the assumption. She’d just left a terrible marriage and had absolutely no desire to date, or flirt, or meet anyone. Her life was her own now and she had no intention of sharing it. She lifted her chin and continued, “I happen to be working.”
“Oh sure, of course.” Danny nodded, though the smile remained stubbornly in place. “G’head with your order. What did you come for?”
“Coffee and a muffin please. A corn muffin,” Jill added defiantly. She’d entered the bakery with the intention of ordering a fat blueberry muffin, but not anymore. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“I’m sorry but Danny got the last of the corn muffins,” Irene said.
Jill pointed to the stacked metal trays behind the counter. “I see them right there.”
“Nah.” Irene frowned. “Sorry. Those ones are reserved for someone else… a big order at the Yacht Club.”
Danny lifted the boxes of pastry in his arms. “Got plenty of corn right here. In fact, they’re still warm. All you have to do is help me carry this stuff over.”
“That was a good batch, and fresh out of the oven too,” Irene mused. “Awful that you missed it, but you got Danny right there.”
“That’s fine,” Jill replied firmly. “I’ll have a blueberry instead.”
“Ooooh, sorry.” Irene’s wince seemed manufactured. “We’re out of those too.” She stepped to the side to block Jill’s view of the baking trays in the kitchen. “Sorry, honey.”
“Cranberry then,” Jill continued. Surely they had cranberry left? No one liked cranberry muffins.
Irene lifted her shoulder in a gentle shrug, but Jill didn’t believe her.
Danny lifted his boxes one more time. “There’s a couple of cranberry in here, if you want them. All you have to do is help me carry the coffee across the street.”
“Fine.” Jill
