The Summer of Us (Mission Cove Book 1) by Melanie Moreland

Author:Melanie Moreland [Moreland, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-04-29T16:00:00+00:00

16

Linc

I sipped coffee and watched Sunny race around the bakery, her owner hat firmly in place. She directed, moved, adjusted, instructed, and never once lost her patience or the smile on her face. She was in her element, and I felt a glow of pride observing her.

I had put aside my own work for the next few days. The long weekend would bring in a flurry of tourists, many of whom would want to buy cookies, biscuits, or other tempting treats. Sit for a few moments and eat a sandwich or sip a coffee. Sunny had extra staff, lots of her delicious baked goods, and tons of supplies for sandwiches and coffee on hand. She also had one area set up with samples. Her idea was simple. Let them taste before they buy. Because, she assured me with a wink, once they taste, they always buy.

That was my job this weekend. Official sampler overseer. I had a T-shirt and hat, both branded with Sunny’s logo. Abby was helping in the kitchen. She was excited and relaxed, which was great to see. Much to my delight, she and Sunny had become friends, and the two of them worked well together. We were both eager about helping out Sunny.

The door opened, and Michael came in, his arms filled with towels and linens. Sunny liked white cloths on the tables, and she went through a lot every day. Michael kept them clean, as well as all the towels, aprons, and other items she wanted pristine. Her entire shop had an old-fashioned feel to it. The soft color on the walls, the woodwork, linen cloths, and the mismatched pieces of china all gave it a homey vibe. It suited Sunny.

Sunny hurried forward with a smile. “I’ll take those, Michael.”

He gave them to her, then came over and shook my hand. “Linc.”

Sunny came back through the kitchen door. “Sit, and I’ll bring you a coffee.”

He smiled as he sat, pulling off his baseball cap. “A cinnamon bun would go well with that,” he called out. “I’ve been smelling them baking all morning,” he informed me. “A man can only take so much.”

I chuckled. You could smell the bakery for blocks. The rich scent of cinnamon, sugar, and butter drew you in.

Abby came out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of the cinnamon buns. Her wild curls were held back with a hairband, her bright-pink stripe vivid against the blond. She was wearing her pink high-top sneakers and swaddled in an apron. After talking to Sunny, she slid two buns onto a plate and carried it over to the table, along with a coffee. As she approached, I turned to say something to Michael, except he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at Abby, his eyes focused entirely on her.

“Holy mother of god,” he mumbled.

I tried not to laugh, especially when I looked at Abby and saw her returning his stare with one of her own.

She slid the plate and mug in front of Michael, their gazes never wavering.

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