Cinnamon and Spice Conundrum (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

Chapter 4

Sadie

Five o’clock comes far too soon. Probably because I dreamt about the guy sleeping below me, which caused me to toss and turn all night. After further inspection last evening, I’ve decided Jack is cuter and younger than I originally thought, maybe closer to thirty-five than to sixty, making him in my range. The age thing is a relief because I’m twenty-five and wouldn’t want to date an old codger, no matter how attractive he is.

Yeah, my brain is getting way ahead of itself.

But seriously, give the man a wardrobe update to shed the Gramps image and he’d probably be downright hunky. Those brown eyes, that lanky frame, the nice smile. Plus, he was kind to Jolt, and he didn’t complain inordinately, like some of my past boyfriends, about how much stuff I packed and how long it took me.

I tumble out of bed, dress in my baking uniform of jeans and a T-shirt, and quietly distribute Jolt’s food. He chomps on it while I eat a piece of toast to hold me over. I’ll have coffee at the bakery and nab one of those blueberry scones I’m going to bake.

After the dog and I are fed, we quietly slip out the door so as not to wake Jack. Jolt and I climb into my junker, and fortunately it doesn’t protest too loudly when I start it. A couple of its usual loud backfires and all my stealthiness this morning would be for naught—that sound could wake up even the soundest sleeper.

When I get to the bakery, I’m pleased to discover that the ceiling is no longer dripping. As long as reliable Bob comes sometime today, I should be back in my little apartment and out of Jack’s hair in no time .

Humming happily, I mix up the dough for the scones, shape and place them on a cookie sheet, and pop the pan in the oven. I’m making seven dozen of them this morning because scones are my Wednesday special. Pulling several other prepared pans from the fridge, I also slide three dozen cherry popovers and four dozen orange-cranberry muffins in the commercial-grade oven. Soon I’m surrounded by enticing smells of vanilla, cinnamon, and baking pastries.

A noisy squirrel draws my attention and as I stare out the window, I realize how much I love this time of year, when the leaves turn brilliant shades of yellow, orange, and red. Autumn is my favorite season, with the cooler temperatures and the promise that Pinecone Festival goers will purchase hundreds of my baked goods and coffees, turning the Cinnamon I can hardly keep them in stock.

Jack wanders in at 6:15 looking even more hunky than I remember. He’s still covered by his nerdy attire, but this time I notice the subtle hint of well-developed chest muscles hiding behind that dumpy sweater. Swoon! What would Sam think if I wanted to date his assistant?

Shoving those misplaced thoughts aside, I’m glad Jack arrived early for some training on the coffee brewing system and the cash register. We open at six-thirty, so that gives me a few minutes for a quick overview.

“Good morning,” he says in a much more chipper voice than I expected from a self-proclaimed non-morning person. “It smells delicious in here.”

“There’s freshly baked blueberry scones,” I say, jutting my chin towards the pan cooling on the counter. “Let me teach you the brewing machine and cash register first, then you can get a cup of coffee to go with the scone,” I say.

We head to the main area of the café. I’ve already brewed a pot of pumpkin spice, the carafe warming on the boiler plate. “How about you brew up some hazelnut?”

He nods. “Sure. As long as it has caffeine, I’m in.” His rather unenthusiastic reply leads me to conclude he’s one of those plain black coffee drinkers, just like my locals.

We discuss the machine that both grinds the beans and brews. He’s a quick learner, and in a few minutes, a pot of our special hazelnut blend belches into a waiting carafe.

“This system is very similar to what we had at the coffee shop I worked at in college,” Jack says as we lean against the stainless-steel counter in the kitchen. We’re each sipping a cup of coffee and nibbling on a scone.

“And I thought it was your Einstein-level intellect that caused you to learn so quickly,” I tease.

He grins, and I take a moment to survey today’s outfit closer. He’s still wearing an ugly brown cardigan—maybe the same one—but the pristine white collar shirt has been replaced by a light blue one. I think he’s wearing the same pants with that perfectly pressed seam running up each leg. However, since there’s no wrinkles, he either pressed them again this morning or it’s another pair in the same boring tan color. After I get to know him better, I’ll subtly suggest some wardrobe updates that someone under forty would wear.

The timer on my phone pelts out “I’m Too Sexy.” I cringe at my embarrassing song choice, especially when Jack starts singing along about being too sexy for his shirt. My eyes flit to his pecs. That line fits him perfectly.

Jack chuckles. “Favorite song?” he teases.

“That’s my reminder to open, be back in a second,” I chirp, covering my humiliation. Note to self: update timer ringtone.

My new barista gulps down his last sip and follows me back into the main area of the café. A few customers are already hovering outside the shop. I wave to them through the glass as I turn over the Open sign and unlock the door.

“Come on in!” I say in a welcoming voice.

The regulars greet me with “Hello Sadie” or “What’s the bakery special this morning?” Others I don’t recognize head straight for the coffee bar where Jack’s already taken up residence. I give Jack a thumbs up and take my spot behind the glass display case of baked goods.

“Raymond, which one of these blueberry scones has your name on it?” I ask the older gentleman eagerly peering through the case. He’s here every morning at exactly 6:30, rain or shine.

“How about that big one,” he says as he points. “Who’s the new guy? I haven’t seen him about town before.”

“That’s Jack, my fill-in barista. He’s my brother’s assistant.”

Raymond winks. “I think he’s wearing the cardigan I wore back in 1998. And I quit wearing pressed trousers like those when Gladys left me.”

My shoulders shake with laughter. The octogenarian is pointing out style-challenged Jack’s outfit flaws while he himself is sporting a bright red button-up sweater. It’s kind of like the pot calling the kettle black.

“Jack is super nice. You’re going to like him.”

He grunts and wanders off to give Jack his coffee order. Those two will get along well, since Raymond isn’t a fan of what he calls “frou-frou-flavored coffee” either.

“Hello, how may I help you?” I greet the next customer in line. The rush has begun.

Two hours later, the waiting line has dwindled down to nothing. From now until noon, we’ll get an occasional patron, but they’ll be few and far between.

“You did great!” I enthuse as I waltz over to stand beside Jack.

An adorable blush turns his neck and cheeks pink. He’s such a modest, down-to-earth guy. I’d bet there’s not an egotistical or snooty bone in his body.

“Your business is hopping! I wasn’t expecting such a rush,” he says, returning the compliment.

I shrug. “It’s scones day. That really brings them out.”

Jack barks out a laugh. “Sadie, it’s you, this charming café, and all your baked goods that brings them out.”

We exchange goofy grins for a few seconds, my attraction to this guy skyrocketing. Why does he have to be my brother’s assistant? There would be no conflict of interest if Jack had just walked in off the street and I hired him. This situation is so typical of how my love life goes. Find a guy I could care less about and he’s available. Find a guy I’m interested in and he’s off limits.

When I hear a faint knock on the back door, I say, “Be back in a jiffy! Hold down the fort.” My visitors are a good excuse to take a break from Jack’s magnetic pull .

Dashing into the kitchen, I peer through the back window. Judith and her two kids smile back at me. They’re clad in summer clothes, not a sweater in sight. Now that it’s getting a little chillier outside, I need to round up some warmer clothes for them. If I convince Jack to update his wardrobe, maybe we can give them a couple of his ugly cardigans.

“Come inside for a few minutes and warm up!” I say, directing them towards our small break room. “How about a scone?” I ask the kids. The boy, Michael, hides his face behind his mom’s legs while the girl, Ella, looks around as if she’s never seen the inside of a bakery before. Maybe she hasn’t. I usually give them a to-go bag while Judith insists that they wait outside.

“Scones and a warmup will be lovely, Sadie. We sure appreciate everything you do for us.”

I wave my hand in a dismissive fashion, then motion for them to sit at the tiny table crammed in the corner. “Oh shoo! This is nothing.”

Flitting back into the kitchen, I almost collide with Jack.

“Everything okay back here?” he asks, obviously curious about our visitors.

I pull him aside and whisper. “I help a single mom and her kids. They looked cold so they’re warming up the break room. Can you handle out front for a few more minutes?”

He stares at me as if he wants to ask a stream of questions, but then nods. “I’ll brew another pot of pumpkin spice. That’s selling like wildfire.” He saunters back to the front, and under the kitchen’s florescent lighting I notice that today’s cardigan is a slightly different shade of brown than his one from yesterday. Possibly coffee brown?

Rounding up three scones, along with their usual goodie bag, I bustle back into the break room, balancing Judith’s to-go coffee cup and two half-pint-sized milk cartons for the kids.

“Thank you, Sadie,” Judith says to me for what must be the hundredth time since I bumped into her going through the dumpster out back. She was mortified and admitted that she didn’t have any money for food. Ever since then, I’ve been providing the sweet family with at least one meal a day.

I never want her to feel bad about my handouts, but she continues to express her gratitude all the time. Pointing to the white paper sack, I say, “There’s some yummy sausage and spinach quiche in there for your lunch or dinner.” I always try to provide them with some protein as well as sweets.

“What’s keesh?” Ella asks, wrinkling her nose.

An embarrassed laugh floats from Judith’s lips. “Honey, it’s an egg dish. You and Michael will love it.”

The girl looks doubtful while Michael looks bored. He’d be more excited if it was a hot dog or chicken nuggets, I’m sure.

All three of them snarf down the scones like they missed dinner last evening. A twitch of concern hits. Did they not have any dinner?

“Let’s scoot!” Judith says crisply, jumping up and stacking their plates into a neat pile. “Miss Sadie needs to get back to work, and you need to get to school.” She collects the white sack, then gives me a hug. “We couldn’t survive without you,” she whispers, bringing a few tears to my eyes.

“Have a great day. Don’t forget Friday is cranberry muffins!”

“I don’t like cranberries,” Ella informs her mother and Judith tosses me another embarrassed look.

The little family disappears out the back door. Where Judith goes while the kids are in school, I don’t know. I hope they aren’t living on the street.

Shoving those concerns aside, I head back to check on Jack. Remembering my water situation upstairs, I glance at my watch. Where’s the dang plumber?