Cinnamon and Spice Conundrum (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

Chapter 2

Sadie

Ugh! I stare at the ever-expanding water puddle, wondering what star I was born under that makes me a magnet for disaster. No matter how hard I try, misfortune, mishap, and mayhem cling to me like a second skin.

When I bought The Cinnamon & Spice Café, I thought my fortunes had finally turned. After working a plethora of weird jobs over the years—bubble wrap quality controller, professional plant irrigator, caffeine quality assurance specialist—buying an eatery was one of my better life choices.

The Cinnamon & Spice Café is a well-established bakery/coffeeshop/sandwich place located in a quaint, picturesque tourist town. Pinecone Pines is known for its quirky fascination with... giant pinecones. The popular Pinecone Festival every fall draws visitors from as far away as Denver—well-to-do people with lots of money to spend. The festivities are coming up in a few weeks and I’m praying that the proceeds the café rakes in turn my finances from red to black. Or at least to a light magenta.

Drip! Drip! Drip!

Water plopping on my head quickly pulls me from my musings. The water heater in my tiny apartment above the café burst and spewed its twenty-five gallons of water across all 989 square feet of my miniscule residence. The wet ceiling tiles continue to drip onto the black-and-white checkered tile in various areas of the eatery. Buckets and towels are spread around the floor in an attempt to contain the mess .

The only bright side is that this disaster happened after closing time and I’ve got until tomorrow morning to get the water under control so my patrons don’t have to wear galoshes or bring umbrellas.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Has the plumber finally arrived? He sure grumbled a lot about coming after hours, and I’m sure he’s going to charge me an arm and a leg for this repair. In fact, I wasn’t sure he was going to show up.

Jogging to the front door of the café, I fling it open. A puzzled expression fills my face. This is the nerdiest plumber I’ve ever come across.

He’s well over six feet tall, wearing a brown cardigan sweater, a prim and proper collar shirt, and pants with a sharply pressed seam up the leg. And he’s sporting a Minnesota Twins baseball cap. His outfit screams “Gramps,” and I wonder how old this guy is. Any age from thirty to sixty comes to mind.

“Where’s your tools?” I ask after ushering him into the café.

He squints at me. “Tools? I didn’t know a barista needs to bring his own espresso machine,” he says with a playful grin. I take note of the pair of gorgeous brown eyes staring at me from behind black rimmed frames. A woman could get lost in those eyes.

Ah ha! So, this is the fill-in barista that Sam felt compelled to send me. Although I’m annoyed for a beat or two that he’s not the plumber, I’m relieved to finally have more help at the café.

“So you’re Sam’s assistant?” I ask, squinting closer at him. My brother only described his assistant in vague terms: nerdy... geeky... bookish. This guy matches those descriptors down to a T.

“Yep. I’ll be your fill-in barista until you hire someone.”

His melodic baritone voice is pleasant to listen to, the sexy sound sending goosebumps up my neck. He’s going to be a hit with customers, especially the female ones over sixty. Upon closer inspection, I reconsider his age. Maybe he’ll also be a hit with the thirty-something crowd .

My brother is equal measures proud of and embarrassed by me, so at first he didn’t want to test his luck that I wouldn’t maim or injure his assistant. If I hadn’t called in a tizzy and begged Sam for help, I’m sure I never would have met... What did he say his name is?

Extending my hand, I say, “I’m Sadie. Welcome to the Cinnamon & Spice Café.”

He grins, shakes, and says, “I’m Ry—er—Jack... Jack Ryan. Nice to meet you.”

I bark out a laugh at his stumbling introduction. The poor guy must be nervous. Sam probably filled his head with stories of my misadventures and calamities.

Jack’s response finally fully penetrates my brain and I smirk. “Jack Ryan? As in the Tom Clancy character?”

He groans. “Everyone asks that. My mom was a big fan of The Hunt for Red October ,” he replies with a touch of chagrin.

“You’ve got to admit Alec Baldwin rocked that role.”

He shrugs as I mentally compare him to the movie character.

Tall . . . check.

Dark . . . kind of.

Handsome... maybe? There’s simply too much nerdiness to tell.

Obviously his mom picked out the name before she had the baby. I wonder if Jack was born wearing a pocket protector, with a calculator strapped to his belt. I do a double take to confirm whether he’s sporting those items right now or not. He isn’t. Maybe he’s not as nerdy as I thought?

When another drop of water lands on Jack’s head, he looks up, noting the soaked ceiling tiles. His eyes follow the trail of water down to the puddles on the floor. “Looks like you’ve got a water leak,” he says.

“Thank you for pointing that out, Sherlock,” I say .

A rumbly laugh emerges from his sweater-clad chest. “So you thought I was the plumber?” he says, harkening back to my introductory comment.

“Yep. You don’t happen to also know how to replace a burst water heater, do you?”

He grimaces. “Nope. I’m your man for lattes, espressos, or cappuccinos. In a pinch I can reprogram your cash register software,” he adds with a smirk.

My phone vibrates in my pants pocket with a text. I whip it out, scroll through the message, and frown. So much for customer service from Bob’s Speedy Plumbing and Repair.

“Bad news?” Jack says.

I glance up, locking eyes with the newcomer. “Looks like you and me are going to be cabinmates for a while.”

His eyes go wide. “Cabinmates?”

I reach over and pat his arm, which is a big mistake considering his bicep feels like steel and a zing singes my fingertips. The nerd must do weightlifting in between creating spreadsheets and scheduling meetings.

Pointing to the still-dripping ceiling, I say, “My apartment has no water and there’s a perfectly nice cabin six miles down the road.” I grin while Jack looks like he just sucked on a lemon. Sam mentioned the guy would be staying in Grandad’s cabin, but he looks like he wasn’t expecting to have a housemate.

“Give me five minutes to pack a bag and get my dog.” My brows furrow. “You’re not allergic, are you?”

He shakes his head, and that’s all the reply I need in case he changes his mind about sharing a house for a few days with me. Although he didn’t really agree, did he? Rushing up the stairs, my heart beats faster at the prospect of sharing grandad’s cabin with my brother’s intriguing assistant. I feel like there’s so much more hiding under that dorky exterior. Maybe my luck has finally turned.