“No, he’s not.” Bryony’s cheeks burned.

“You’re blushing,” Lillian said.

“I’m standing in front of the oven,” Bryony said.

“You can’t fool me,” Lillian said. “I think you like this Mister Bumbleberry who’s new to town and conveniently—for all we know—not married.”

“I need to unlock the door for the delivery truck.” Bryony headed to the back of the shop.

“You need to unlock something other than the door,” Lillian called after her.

The morning rush lasted longer than usual, the day being warm and sunny. Bryony had no time to consider whether Lillian’s accusation carried any truth, but the idea nagged at her as she poured coffee, plated or packaged bagels, re-stocked pre-made sandwiches, keyed orders into the computer, made change, and provided a credit card receipt when requested. Right on schedule, the customers slowed to a trickle. The three fixtures, Abby, Etta, and Mister Parker, arrived on time, ordered one coffee each, and took residence at their usual spots, predictable and silent.

After cleaning up the tables, loading the dishwasher, and prepping for lunch, Lillian and Bryony agreed on a short break.

“My feet hurt.” Lillian put her coffee on the table nearest the cash register and furthest from the fixtures. “If anybody else comes in, you take care of them, Bry.” She sat down.

“No problem.” Bryony placed her cup on the table and sat down facing Lillian.

“I ran into Susie Quatman at the bank today. She’s back in town for an extended stay, cleaning out her parents’ house, putting it on the market,” Lillian said. “She asked about you.”

“Why?” Bryony asked. She hadn’t seen or spoken to Susie in years, and then only to be polite at a class reunion.

“You know Susie,” Lillian answered. “She asked about several people, poking around for trouble, looking for something to gossip about.”

“I am not gossip worthy,” Bryony said. Nothing about her would interest Susie Quatman, and Bryony planned to keep it that way.

“And what is up with your Mister Bumbleberry?” Lillian asked.

“He’s not my Bumbleberry,” Bryony said, though the heat in her torso might tell a different story. She squelched the feeling.

“Maybe he is,” Lillian said. “Maybe he’s the one.”

“Stop it, Lil.” Every time Bryony mentioned a man, Lillian was ready to marry her off. “I told you. I’m happy on my own. Not everybody will find their soulmate and live happily ever after.”

“Rick and I aren’t happy all the time,” Lillian said.

Bryony raised her eyebrows.

Lillian smiled and sipped her coffee. “Okay, we’re happy. But just because you haven’t found your soulmate doesn’t mean he’s not out there. Give it a shot, Bryony. When’s the last time you went on a date?”

“When I was fifteen,” Bryony said. She went out with the boy three times before he dropped her for someone else. “I told you. I don’t date. Dating is too uncomfortable.”

“Right,” Lillian said. “You met Nathan because he filled in when someone went on maternity leave, and you kept running into each other at the vending machine.”

“And then we started having dinner together, as friends,” Bryony said.

“And spending weekends together,” Lillian added.

“And holidays.” Bryony’s mother had adored him.

“How could he prefer sun-scorched snorkeler to smart, sensational you?” Lillian put her hand on Bryony’s arm.

“Maybe he preferred twenty years younger,” Bryony said.

“Ugh!” Lillian lifted her hand and made a swatting motion, as if brushing away a fly, a spider web, a foul smell. “Nathan is history. There’s someone else out there looking for your future. Go on a date.”

“I told you, I don’t date.” Bryony sipped her coffee while looking over the brim of her cup.

“Then go on a non-date. Are you telling me you haven’t been interested in anyone?”

“Nope.”

“Until Bumbleberry.”

Bryony’s cheeks burned again.

“See? Every time I mention him, you blush.”

“Hot flashes.”

“Call it whatever you want, I think you’re interested in Chuck’s sub.”

“He’s an interesting man.” Cal Forster reminded Bryony of someone who might be seen on a stage or in a movie. His face was expressive, captivating. “Anybody who met him would be interested in Chuck’s sub.”

“Oh, I’m going to meet him,” Lillian said. “I want to meet the man who sets your face on fire.”

“He does not!”

Etta left her chair and approached the counter. She stood looking at the employee work area as if unaware of Lillian and Bryony sitting nearby. Bryony scooted around the counter and stepped up to the spot opposite Etta.

“May I have a second cup of coffee?” Etta asked.

“No problem.” Bryony took Etta’s cup, re-filled to one-half inch below the rim, and returned it with a wisp of steam curling up from the black liquid below. “Be careful. It’s hot.”

“Thanks,” Etta said, placing a five dollar bill on the counter.

Pushing the cash back toward Etta, Bryony said, “Second cup’s on the house.”

“Then put it in the tip jar.” Etta shoved the bill back to Bryony.

“Thanks!” Bryony said, but Etta had already turned her back to return to her seat.

When Bryony dropped the money into the tip jar, she noticed writing on it. She fished the bill back out, unfolded it, and read. Relationship tip—Assume the other person likes you as much as you like them and act accordingly. If they don’t like you, you have lost nothing. If they do like you, think of all you would have lost if you’d never tried.

Bryony dropped the money back into the jar.