Cinnamon and Spice Conundrum (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

Chapter 23

Ryan/Jack

Day five of the festival brings even more crowds. Today is the Pinecone on a Spoon race where the spoon is a garden trowel, as well as Pinecone Lawn Bowling where the pinecones act as pins. Tonight is the Pinecone Dance, and tomorrow evening is the grand finale, the Pinecone Concert featuring some local talent and a once-famous female country singer that the geriatric set can’t wait to hear.

Sadie’s been called into action to act as emcee again for the two activities being held this morning. Earlier Dilbert came into the café in a tizzy insisting that only Sadie could kick off the Pinecone on a Spoon race. Apparently he’s afraid of heights and the two-foot-high stage is simply too much for him to maneuver. He even wrangled her into handing out the lawn bowling trophy. I’d never tell Sadie, but Dilbert is sweet on her and used his acrophobia as an excuse to flirt with her. Since he’s at least thirty years her senior, I’m not feeling very threatened.

As the day ticks on, I’m feeling more confident no one is going to recognize me. I’ve been laying low, not attending any of the other activities, and if someone I recognize comes into the café, I have Judith cover while I make a trip to the backroom for “supplies.” That’s only happened twice—thankfully it wasn’t Victoria who visited the café but someone who’s a mere second-tier acquaintance from my Denver sphere and who probably wouldn’t have recognized me anyway. The upside is that the coffee bar has never been better stocked with napkins, stir sticks, and sugar packets.

Judith covers while I retrieve another batch of pumpkin spice beans from the backroom. That blend has been selling like hot cakes today. The cooler weather has put everyone in the mood for a taste of autumn. My dumpy cardigans now inconspicuously blend in, because this is what my mom calls “sweater weather.”

As I come around the corner carrying the beans, a nasal voice I’d recognize anywhere floats across the coffee counter. Skidding to a stop, I listen and watch while I remain out of sight.

“I ordered an extra-large pumpkin spice with two pumps of caramel flavor. What’s taking so long?” the woman snipes. My teeth hurt after overhearing that sugary order.

Judith wrings her hands under the intense glare of none other than Brandi Cargill, one of the obnoxious Cargill twins. Both twins turned into stalkers after that most eligible bachelor list was published. Brandi emailed me every day for two weeks asking me to meet her for a coffee date, while her twin Candi accosted me outside my apartment with a dinner invitation. Both women became snotty when I tried to gently turn them down, to the point that I had to get nasty before they would leave me alone. They’re two of the reasons I’m hiding out in Pinecone Pines.

“Jack’s bringing more beans—” Judith replies in a watery voice, but Brandi’s harsh tone cuts her off.

“What kind of place is this? Running out of beans?” she screeches.

If Judith wasn’t on the verge of tears, I’d run back into the supply room and hide. Praying that neither twin recognizes me, I march up next to Judith and pour the beans into the grinder. With my back turned, I say in a high-pitched voice, “It will only be a minute.” Judith throws me a confused side-eye look at my attempt to make my usual baritone voice sound like a soprano.

A loud, put-out sigh comes from one of the twins. They chat about our poor service, not even attempting to lower their voices so Judith and I don’t hear them. Fortunately, the grinder whirs and whines, drowning out their conversation from the rest of the patrons in the café .

“Can you get their baked goods order and I’ll finish their beverages?” I whisper to Judith. She nods and flits over to the bakery case. In a few seconds, I whip up the pumpkin spice brews and Judith rings up the obnoxious pair. They waltz off with their orders as if they own the world, settling in a booth in the back.

“What tacky pinecone crafts! They look like my two-year-old niece made them,” Candi says when she notices the display in the corner. This time her voice carries across the whole café. A couple three tables away glance up from enjoying their food, sending the pair an annoyed glare.

Barely holding onto my temper, I busy myself at the coffee bar with my back turned to the pair. I’m just thankful that sweet Georgeanne or Mabel aren’t here to overhear that rude comment. A relieved-looking Judith scurries off to check on the kids when I tell her it’s okay to do so.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

I glance over my shoulder to see Candi Cargill standing at the coffee counter. Her irritated look and finger tapping with those blood red fingernails make me cringe.

“How may I help you?” I ask over my shoulder, using that falsetto again.

“I ordered one pump of caramel and one of vanilla,” she says, sliding her half empty mug across the counter.

Since I overheard the order, I know both twins asked for two pumps of caramel, no vanilla, but I’m certainly not going to correct her.

“Okay, I’ll fix that,” I say. Grabbing a new mug, I pour the pumpkin spice brew then add a pump of caramel and then a pump of vanilla flavor. Dreading having to face her, but having no choice, I turn around and hand her the cup.

Her eyes narrow. “Do I know you?” she says, staring at me for several beats .

“No, I don’t think so.” I try not to squirm under her intense gaze, hoping that Sadie’s grandad’s hat sufficiently covers my face.

Her eyes bore into my skin for a few more seconds, making me feel hot and prickly, then she picks up the newly poured cup, turns, and strides back to join her sister.

My shoulders sag with relief. She didn’t recognize me, did she?

When someone says they dodged a bullet, I now know what they mean. A huge weight lifted off my shoulders after the Cargill sisters left. Candi gave me a stink-eye when she waltzed out the door, and I felt like giving her much more than a stink eye but I refrained.

After the encounter with the twins, you’d think I would be even more cautious with my disguise, but the next morning I spill ketchup on my one remaining clean cardigan. Eating breakfast in my barista outfit was a bad idea, but I’m feeling like the risk of the twins coming back to the café is low—what with our poor service and all—so I ditch the stained cardigan. I still don’t look much like Ryan because I’m not wearing pricey designer clothes or my contacts.

Sadie glances up when I walk through the back door, then she stops rolling out dough, giving me a double take. “What? No cardigan?” she asks with a teasing grin.

Reluctant to admit to my ketchup mishap, I say, “I’m taking your advice. How do you like my new look?” Holding out my arms, I turn in a circle, hoping she’ll forget I ever looked like Mr. Rogers.

She shakes her head and laughs. “Very nice. But how about you also pitch that hat? Toss it in the back dumpster.”

Even though I detest the hat, it does a decent job of covering my face. Wearing it is almost like having a security blanket. “The hat is working. All the out-of-towners who come into the café think I’m a local. ”

Sadie rolls her eyes. “Speaking of out-of-towners, Judith told me about that obnoxious pair from yesterday,” she says. “I simply don’t understand such rudeness.”

At least my co-worker didn’t mention my strange soprano voice. Oddly enough, she never asked about it during the rest of my shift either. I have a feeling that Judith has a few secrets of her own, so she isn’t prone to being nosy.

“I don’t think they’ll be back,” I say with a shrug.

“As long as they don’t write a one-star review, I don’t care if they ever return,” Sadie says.

I wouldn’t count on the twins not wielding their vitriol in a review, but I keep my mouth closed about that. The festivalgoers are so busy, they probably don’t have time to read reviews, plus this is the only bakery in town. Sometimes having a monopoly is a good thing.

“I know you don’t dance, but will you go with me to the Pinecone Concert tonight? Dilbert is performing with his band,” Sadie says. “He’s so excited about the performance, I’d hate to miss it.”

This is the same guy who’s afraid of heights and can’t emcee some quirky pinecone activities? Her dance comment makes me feel a ping of guilt. The “I can’t dance” was my excuse for not attending the Pinecone Dance last evening with her, lest one of my Denver acquaintances would recognize me. Did she go with Dilbert? A twinge of jealousy quickly replaces the guilt.

“How was the dance?” I ask, deflecting her question about the concert.

“It was okay. The usual stuff,” she says with a shrug. “The DJ played a rousing version of Y.M.C.A. that was very popular with the out-of-towners, but the locals kept messing up the letters.”

How difficult is it to spell Y-M-C-A with your arms?

“Georgeanne kept spelling O-H-I-O. I guess that’s a thing from where she’s from. The locals were following her lead. ”

I chuckle imagining half the crowd spelling YMCA and the other half OHIO. That must have been a mess.

“Then Wilbur threw out his back trying to do The Hustle.”

My eyes widen. What? The old curmudgeon dances.

“Wilbur? The Hustle?” I sputter.

Laughing, Sadie says, “Wilbur and Stuart—the man who provided all the hip rehab information at the hospital—got into a dance competition, each trying to outdo the other one. I must say, Stuart does an excellent version of the Funky Chicken. It was a stiff competition until Wilbur had to withdraw.”

“Did this competition have a prize? A dancing pinecone?” I ask between laughs.

She nods. “Yes, there’s a trophy. It’s a dancing moose.”

“Made out of pinecones, of course?”

“No, Dilbert whittled it out of wood. It’s rather, er, rustic looking.” She pauses with a grim expression that hints as to how “rustic” the trophy is. Hopefully Stuart was pleased to win it. Tapping on her chin, she adds, “I’m not sure why they deviated from the pinecone theme on that one.”

Why am I not more surprised? I guess I’m getting used to expecting almost anything from the residents of this quirky town.

“Back to my original question. Will you attend tonight’s Pinecone Concert with me?”

Despite the possibility of running into the Cargill twins or Victoria White, I can’t let Dilbert woo my girlfriend again. What if she ends up falling for him? The auto mechanic/oven repair guy/wood carver is one of the youngest of the single male locals.

“I’d love to take you. It’s a date! Shall we pull out all the stops and go out for dinner afterwards?” With all the elderly locals attending, the concert starts at four o’clock so it doesn’t run beyond anyone’s bedtime .

A broad smile crosses Sadie’s face. “That sounds wonderful, Jack! I’ll make a reservation at the Strobilus Bistro for six o’clock.”