Cinnamon and Spice Conundrum (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

Chapter 29

Sadie

I muddle through the next morning at the café in a funk, missing J... Ryan and wishing he were here while at the same time I’m so angry at him I could spit tacks. These mixed feelings form a conundrum of sorts, part of me wanting him back and the other part never wanting to see him again.

Customers come and go, but I barely communicate with any of them. With the festival now over, there’s no long lines, and Judith handles both the coffee bar and bakery orders with ease.

“So, you broke up with what’s-his-name?” Agnes says, peering at me through her thick glasses. She’s graduated to using a walker, so no wheelchair.

“Ryan. Jack’s name is Ryan,” Georgeanne adds helpfully.

“Wasn’t he Jack Ryan? Is he now Ryan Jack?” Agnes asks, her brow creasing.

If I wasn’t so mad at what’s-his-name, this conversation would be amusing.

“His real name is Ryan Turnbill. Liar extraordinaire,” I say.

Michael’s childish comment about Ryan being a liar, liar pants on fire comes to mind. Think I’ll call Ryan that next time.

The ladies exchange pointed looks.

“Word around town is that he wants to apologize,” Georgeanne says.

“You should hear him out,” Agnes adds.

I put my hands on my hips, tossing the pair a paint-peeling glare. “You’re on his side? He duped you, as well as me and everyone else, about his real identity, you know!” I sputter .

Holding up her hand, Georgeanne says, “He explained everything to us.”

“I see. So he explained why he thought he should dupe an entire small town, plus his best friend’s sister, into thinking he was just an ordinary guy?” I snipe, sounding grumpier than Wilbur on his grumpiest days.

“I’m not sure dupe is the correct word,” the older lady adds.

“Okay, how about deceive, hoodwink, or bamboozle? Do those fit better?” My voice rises along with my anger.

The pair wince at my bitter comeback and I feel bad, turning my anger towards Ryan on these sweet old ladies instead.

Cool it, Sadie!

“I think Ryan’s motives for lying to everyone were rational, he just got in over his head,” Georgeanne explains.

Her words give me pause. After witnessing the type of women who are after Ryan, I don’t blame him for hiding out. But why couldn’t he tell me the truth?

“It wasn’t exactly lying,” Agnes says. “More like a little fib.”

“I think he’s a little embarrassed about being on that most eligible list,” Georgeanne whispers behind her hand as if Ryan’s lurking in the corner. “Despite being a billionaire, he’s really a down-to-earth guy.”

“Plus, he’s such a nice young man. And handsome to boot,” Agnes says.

I thought these ladies and I were a sisterhood, but they don’t sound like they’re supporting me. At least I have Judith and Jolt on Team Sadie.

“I’m sorry to take my anger out on you,” I say, after taking several calming breaths. “Mr. Turnbill needs to go back to Denver and his fancy, schmancy life. Tell him I don’t care if I ever see him again,” I say, then stride off before I start crying.

I’ll just hide out in the back for the rest of the day. I don’t need any more locals coming in, touting Saint Ryan’s strong points and telling me to listen to his sob story.

“I need to feed Michael and Ella their snack,” Judith says, jogging into the break room. “Are you okay to cover the front for a while?” She throws me a concerned look. After witnessing my meltdown in front of Georgeanne and Agnes, she probably wonders what will set me off next.

The kids and I have been playing Old Maid, Go Fish, and a rousing game of War. Since I’m exhausted from the card games, I’m grateful for the break.

“Sure, I’m all cooled off,” I say in a joking tone, rising to my feet.

She smiles then asks the kids if they want a cookie or a muffin. The chocolate chip cookies I baked this morning win out over the pumpkin spice muffins.

Taking my spot behind the bakery case, I glance over the smattering of patrons scattered throughout the café. I breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t recognize anyone occupying the tables and booths. Excellent! Hopefully all the locals have come and gone so I don’t have to listen to a barrage of advice about Ryan. Just as that thought flits through my mind, Wilbur and Dilbert stroll in. I brace for whatever is coming next.

“Sadie! We’re so happy we caught you,” Wilbur says. The joviality in his voice instantly puts me on high alert. He hasn’t been this upbeat since he won the Sunset Pines pinochle competition.

“How can I help you?” I ask, my tone clipped but professional.

Dilbert and he exchange glances.

“We’d love a cup of that delicious pumpkin spice brew and a couple of those wild blueberry muffins,” Wilbur says, sweetness dripping from every syllable. He doesn’t make a single complaint about prices. And when did he start drinking anything other than plain coffee?

As I retrieve the muffins from the bakery case, Wilbur elbows Dilbert.

“Oh, right,” Dilbert says. With the grace of a newborn colt, he fumbles around in his pocket, then pulls out a slip of paper. “Ryan Turnbill is a man with a broken heart,” he starts to read.

“Not that part!” Wilbur hisses. “The other part.”

Is everyone on Team Jac—, er, Team Ryan? How did that happen? Dilbert squints at the paper. “Mr. Turnbill was an idiot. He requests the presence of Sadie Hawthorne tomorrow at six o’clock in the morning at the Cinnamon and Spice Café located at—”

“She knows where it’s located!” Wilbur bellows, glaring at his friend.

“Oh, right... At six o’clock to hear him out as to his motivations for acting like such an idiot.”

“He also wants to apologize for his grievous actions,” Wilbur adds.

Who wrote this drivel? I smell Agnes’s hand in this.

Plunking down the plate with the muffins, I fill their cups without a word. My actions are jerky as I contain the tirade that wants to spill forth.

“She’s still mad, isn’t she?” Dilbert whispers behind his hand.

“How’d you figure that out, Sherlock?” Wilbur replies.

“Gentlemen, I’m standing right here and can hear everything you say.”

The pair stares back at me with guilty eyes.

“Sadie, we’re doing this because Ryan feels really horrible about what he did,” Dilbert says.

“Just awful,” Wilbur adds.

“Is he paying you to do this?” I huff .

“What? No? We met and came up with a Team Ryan Battle Plan,” Dilbert replies while Wilbur motions frantically with his fingers for Dilbert to keep his lips zipped.

That explains a lot. “And who exactly are the idiots who met with the lying idiot and came up with this idiotic plan?”

Dilbert ignores Wilbur’s wild hand gestures. “Me, Wilbur, Stuart, Julio, Georgeanne, and Agnes. We’re the idiots,” he says proudly.

Wilbur snorts.

I suspected everyone was in on this except for Julio. I’m going to need to have a discussion with my employee about loyalty.

“I see,” I say as I ring up their purchases. After they pay, I add, “You can tell Mr. Turnbill that I’m not available tomorrow at six o’clock or any other time to meet with him.”

Dilbert’s face falls. “He just wants to apologize.”

Ryan is my kryptonite. I know the minute I see him I’ll crumble and accept his apology. How do we resume our relationship as if none of this happened? He lied to me. Will I always have doubts as to whether I can trust him?

“The poor guy is crushed,” Wilbur says, tossing out one final Hail Mary.

“Sorry, but I’m not available to talk to Mr. Turnbill tomorrow or any other time,” I say.

The pair toddle off to a booth in the corner, where they talk in hushed tones. Thankfully a couple more customers, none of them on Team Ryan, come in and place orders, giving me a good excuse to ignore the turncoats.