The morning after her anxiety-provoking visit to the high school, Bryony prepped the drink area while Lillian attended to the oven.
“Remember when I told you about Chuck’s sub yesterday?” Bryony asked. “I talked to Mitch last night, and he said the sub retired from teaching high school English in Cleveland, but he has a Ph.D.” She finished filling the large metal urn with water for tea. “By the way, Mitch wants you to donate bagels for the Rotary meeting next week.”
“What’s he like?” Lillian asked.
Confused, Bryony answered, “You know what Mitch is like. Total cheapskate. I’m okay with you saying no, but I need it to not come from me.” Her relationship with Mitch had always been strained. She never knew when he would turn on her.
“Not Mitch, silly.” Lillian clanked a tray of bagels on the counter. “Chuck’s sub.”
The perfect answer popped into Bryony’s mind. “You know what he’s like? He’s like razzleberry pie.” She put a filter in a coffee pot and added scoops of ground coffee.
“And what goes in razzleberry pie?” Lillian moved around Bryony to place a warm tray of bagels on the shelf against the wall.
“Raspberries and blackberries.” Bryony held a second coffee filter under a dripping faucet to rinse off any loose paper fibers. “Or maybe bumbleberry pie.”
“And what goes in bumbleberry pie?” Lillian swiped her hands across her apron and picked up a tray of napkin holders filled earlier. “Will you place these on the tables, please?”
“Will you finish setting up the coffee?” Bryony asked.
“My pleasure,” Lillian answered.
Being with her best friend every day compensated for the low wages. Bryony lifted the tray from Lillian’s hands and sailed it over the counter. “Bumbleberry pie has raspberries, blackberries, strawberries, and blueberries.” She lowered the tray to the first table and began distributing the napkin holders.
“Sounds tasty,” Lillian said.
Bryony brushed a crumb off the next table before placing the napkin holder.
“Is he married?” Lillian asked.
“I don’t know, but maybe not,” Bryony answered. She was almost done with the napkin holders. “When Mitch told me he rented the Wyan’s old house on Parker Drive, he said, ‘It’s a lot of house for one person.’” Bryony plunked the last napkin holder on the last table and walked briskly back to the work area.
“Sounds promising,” Lillian said.
“Why?” Bryony asked. She stooped to put the tray under the counter and stood up again.
“Well”—Lillian put her hand on her hip—“because he’s all you’ve talked about since you came back from the high school yesterday.”
“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.
