Page 30 of A Love Like Christmas Time
“Thank you,” Nic says sweetly and reaches for her latte macchiato. While the two of them take a sip of their coffee and dig into their cake, I lean down to greet Jensen.
I don’t understand why everyone keeps talking to him in that weird, high-pitched baby voice. Seriously, we can communicate perfectly without exchanging any words at all. He flops down on the ground in front of me, which means, ‘Pet me, human.’ When I pull a treat out of my pocket, he knows that holding up my finger means for him to sit before he gets it. No need to tell him, much less with my voice five octaves above my regular speaking range.
“You’re so good with Jensen,” Nic says, watching me with curious eyes as she props her head on her hand. “Did you ever have a dog?”
“Nope,” I say and get back up.
“Jensen wormed his way into Caleb’s heart and revealed his inner softie,” Henry says proudly, with a smug grin that makes me reach for my notepad and tap it against the back of his head with only a little force.
“Ouch.”
Maybe a little more force than I intended.
I make my way back to the counter, collecting empty mugs and glasses as I go. Shawna has already left for the day — she only helps out during the lunch rush, after all. I can usually handle the aftermath on my own when things slow down. There will be one more rush right before closing time in the late afternoon, but I will have caught up by then.
“It’s time!”
The sound of a loud, shrill, singsong voice coming from the door makes me fear for my windows and sends my head whipping around.
“Well, you are definitely not a Mariah Carey,” Lauren says amusedly behind Kieran and brushes past him and Dick van Dyke. “Hi, Caleb.”
I nod at her. She holds my eyes for a moment, then breaks into a smile and finally makes her way to Nic and Henry.
“Hold on, let me check what pastry goodness you have for us today.” Kieran rushes to the counter and peeks at the glass showcase, letting his leash drop to the ground. His dog trudges over to the others’ table, probably getting ready to annoy the heck out of Jensen.
I set the dirty dishes on the pass-through window I built to the kitchen. I’ll put them in the dishwasher later.
When I turn around, Henry is at the counter too, but he’s not looking at the display. There’s a worried crease between his eyebrows as he musters me.
“Are you okay?”
“You are the second person to ask me that today,” I reply with an eye roll, reaching for a towel to wipe an invisible spill off the counter.
“That should probably make you question why,” Henry points out and leans his elbow on the counter.
My eyes dart behind him, to one of my windows facing the street. There she is again. The strange woman that nobody in Wayward Hollow appears to recognize. Henry slowly turns tofollow my gaze. As soon as she realizes we’re watching her, she whips her head around and scurries off.
“That's her, right?”
“Yeah,” I say without moving my mouth. Kieran is scooting closer, the usual smile on his face tight and not reaching his eyes.
“I remember her,” Kieran whispers, whipping his head around before he continues, as if he’s telling us about a secret conspiracy. “She had the weirdest reaction when she came in here for the first time. Did she recently move here?”
“Trust me, if anyone moved here, you’d be aware,” Henry says absentmindedly.
“I have a mad sense of déjà vu with her,” Kieran admits, putting his arms on the counter and leaning his chin into his palms. “She’s not famous, though. I checked.” I tip my head. How would he have checked that without knowing her name? “But I could swear she reminds me of someone.” He massages his temples, then his eyes flick between Henry and me. “Really. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite grasp it.”
Henry nods slowly. “I know what you mean. After our last conversation, I thought it might be Andrea’s daughter since the description kind of fit, but it’s not her.”
Right. The infamous daughter who moved overseas. I’ve never met her, but the woman who scurried off doesn’t resemble Andrea in the slightest.
Kieran folds up his sleeves. “I’m going to stalk back the stalker. You two just wait.” He rolls his shoulders, then folds his hands to crack his knuckles.
“Stop that,” Henry scolds him, and reaches for my notepad to give him a gentle slap to the back of his head with it.
“Copycat,” I mumble as he sets it back down on the counter.
“I’m sorry, sorry,” Kieran grins and rubs the back of his head. “Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be, like, a medical professional? And yet knuckle-cracking manages to freak you out?”
