As much as I wanted to hear the gossip about Sherry, I left the table and slipped the charge receipt into the cash register. It was her money. I grabbed the store’s handheld and dialed Sadie’s number. When I got her answering machine, I left a terse message about bringing in whatever she had done today. Then added “please” and “thank you.” I didn’t have the strength to be mad at a friend. Not today.
By the time Toby Killian, my midday barista and South Cove’s part-time cop, showed up at noon to take his shift, all the tables at the coffee shop were filled and there were people wandering through the bookstore, waiting for places to sit. Toby’s eyes widened as he slipped on an apron and started a new pot of the hazelnut coffee I’d just drained. “Tour bus?”
I shook my head. “The alarm company cut a line and everyone’s security systems went crazy. So we got the displaced employees.” I sighed in relief when Sadie pulled up and parked her PT Cruiser in front of the shop. When her son, Nick, followed her into the store, their arms were filled with Pies on the Fly boxes. “You got my message.”
I took a box and unpacked the still warm apple pie, set it in the display case, and went back for another.
“I got all five of your messages. Nick, run out and get the rest.” She scanned the crowded shop. “What happened, tour bus break down?”
I filled her in on the cut line. Then added, “Sorry about leaving so many messages, but I was freaking. I was down to my last box of brownies.”
“Don’t be silly. This was my fault. I shouldn’t have taken on Sherry’s business without taking care of your order first. I’m still learning how to juggle this small business thing you do so efficiently.” Sadie nodded toward the coffeepots. “I’d love a cup to go.”
Toby poured her coffee and returned to the cash register, finishing the last customers in the line. Sadie and I packed as many pies and cakes into the front case and then took the overflow to the freezer in the back room.
Nick set the last box on the table and then looked at his phone, quickly reading a text. “Lille’s calling me in for an extra shift. I guess she got swamped, too.” He gave his mom a kiss on the cheek. “I brought my skateboard. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Sadie watched him walk through the back door. “He’s growing up so fast. Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted on the job.”
“Nothing wrong with a little elbow grease for the kid. Besides, from the gossip around town, he got into quite a few of those fancy Ivy League schools back East. You’re going to need the money.”
“His father took care of that. The man loved his life insurance. I’m pretty sure I griped about the premiums early in our marriage.” Sadie’s eyes had that distant look she always got when she talked about her deceased husband. He’d been killed in an oil rig accident when Nick was a kid. From what I could see, ten years later, my friend still missed him.
“So once Nick’s out of the house, are you finally going to think about dating again?” We’d had this conversation several times, but Sadie had always changed the subject. This time, her eyes twinkled.
“Maybe I’m not waiting until fall.” She bit her lip, trying not to smile.
I pulled her down into one of the chairs around the table. “Okay, you have my attention. Who are you seeing?”
Sadie shook her head. “It’s not like that. We’ve had coffee after Wednesday night services at the church a couple of times, and he’s asked me to go with him to the mystery thing over at the winery.”
“Do I have to wait until I’m on stage and see you in the audience to know his name?” I leaned closer. I was so happy for Sadie. She deserved every happiness.
“You’re going to laugh.” Sadie ducked her head, her checks flaming. “I can’t believe we have so much in common, it’s freaky.”
I held up my hand in some sort of scout symbol. I could never remember if it was two fingers up or three. “I swear I won’t laugh.”
She glanced around the room to make sure no one was listening. “Dustin Austin.”
I stared at her.
“See, I knew you would laugh.” She started to stand, but I put my hand on her arm and she settled back into her chair.
“I’m not laughing, I’m shocked. He’s so . . .” I reached for a word that wouldn’t offend her.
“Granola? I know. He’s knows so much about gluten-free baking, it’s not even funny. He came to talk to me at church one day wondering if I’d considered adding a gluten-free line to the Pies on the Fly shop.”
“Gluten-free pies?” I almost choked. From what I’d seen, Dustin Austin didn’t have a shirt that wasn’t tie-dyed, and he sported a fine set of dreadlocks for a white dude from Montana. He ran the bike rental shop in town and the annex at the beach in summer.
“He says there’s a big market for gluten-free products. Especially if I sell on line. He’s working on setting me up a website.”