This has become our routine. I pay for Joey, Reese, and Dylan’s coffees, while Mason insists on paying for mine. We walk together to the bakery and chat for a few minutes before he tells me he’ll see me later, takes the treats I offer him, the ones I now know go uneaten, and crosses the street.
I watch him slip inside the studio. Joey and Dylan watch me watch Mason slip inside the studio. The three of us exchange teasing looks, then we all proceed to get to work.
But Mason isn’t here today, and I knew he wouldn’t be. After breaking our breakfast plans due to a work obligation, I knew I’d be going through this morning ritual alone.
So why am I still looking for him? Why am I still expecting to see him leaning against that wall in loose shorts and a T-shirt that clings to his muscles, his hair still damp from a shower, casually unkempt in a mess of waves on top of his head. His blue eyes bright and engaging, and that charming smirk lifting his mouth.
It’s odd, how I expect him. It’s automatic. I want him to be here, and he’s not.
I carry my order down Fayette street, my eyes shifting between the sidewalk ahead and the studio as it comes into view. Cars and large delivery trucks obscure my sight. When a break in traffic comes, I strain to catch a glimpse of Mason, teaching his class, but the brutal glare of the sun blinds me.
Oh, well. I’m sure I’ll see him later.
I step inside the bakery and smile half-heartedly at Dylan as she works her fingers through Ryan’s blonde wavy locks.
I still feel like an asshole for yelling at her like I did. I regret not sending another apology via text last night.
And one early this morning.
She lifts her head and grins back at me, all casual and pleasant, as if nothing unusual happened yesterday. “Hey. Where’s Mason?” Her eyes trail over my shoulder.
Okay. I guess this here is all good. I can probably get rid of those classifieds I swiped from the recycling bin last night.
I sit the coffee carrier on the display case next to Ryan. She swings her legs in the air, her pink ballet slippers catching in the light and sparkling. “He had a class really early today,” I explain, dropping my hand to Ryan’s knee and giving it a light squeeze. “Hey, girlfriend.”
She stops chewing her muffin, looking up at me, her cheeks stuffed with food. “Hi, Aunt Bwooke,” she mumbles, spitting bits of blueberry onto her dress.
“We have that cupcake order that’s going to be picked up at eleven. Five dozen red velvet. Can you get started on them?” Dylan asks in a tone that suggests I do as she says.
Her questions regarding work-related duties are never to be interpreted as questions. They are always commands.
Do these or I will fire you.
Roger that.
I nod and grab my coffee. “Sure.”
“I’ll be back to help you as soon as I get this mess fixed.” She sighs exhaustedly, staring at the back of Ryan’s head as she struggles to work out a knot. “No more letting Daddy braid your hair, baby, okay? He has no idea what he’s doing.”
I wave at Ryan and slip into the back, sidling up to the worktop. I set my coffee down and begin pulling supplies off the shelves.
Mixing bowls. Cupcake tins. A few spoons and spatulas.
Reese enters the kitchen with Drew in the infant carrier, his free hand straightening out his tie.
“I hear you suck at braids. What’s up with that?”
He stops short and gives me a puzzled look.
I laugh and point to the doorway. “Ryan. Your wife is in there untangling her hair. With two girls you really need to step up your game. Watch a YouTube video or something.”
His eyes widen. “They have videos like that on YouTube? Hair braiding tutorials?”
“Yup.”
“Huh.” He looks down at Drew, his hand flattening down his tie. “All right. Thanks. I’ll check it out.”
I watch him exit the kitchen, smiling at the idea of Reese, Mister Serious, hovering over his laptop late at night without Dylan’s knowledge, because knowing him, he will want this to be a surprise. He becomes a hair braiding expert overnight and twists Ryan’s hair into some elaborate pattern, completely flooring his wife.
I can also see him getting extremely frustrated when he can’t figure it out after countless tries and leaving heated comments below the videos, explaining his aggravation.
NumbersGuy: This tutorial is too complex. You need to break this down better and explain your steps as you go through them. No one can follow this. The image quality is also quite terrible. Do better.
Either scenario makes for a funny story.
I retrieve my apron off the wall and slip it over my head, wrapping the long strings around the front of me and tying them together into a loose bow.
A gift from Joey when I first started working here. Right after we first made nice.
I run my fingertips over my embroidered name, remembering how excited I was when I first put this on.
Did I know then that I’d be making a career out of this job? Or how much I’d end up loving it here?
My phone beeps from the back pocket of my jeans, breaking into my little moment of nostalgia. I pull the device out and open up the new text.
Mason: Sorry I had to cancel breakfast.