Second Chances in Lavender Bay (The Lavender Bay Chronicles #3)

5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

A s Angie made her way back to Coffee Girl after her mammogram, she tried to calm down. She’d been made to wait thirty minutes in the reception area before being called in. During the wait, she constantly checked her phone. Finally, she texted Melissa to see how things were going. Melissa had texted back one word: fine . But now Angie reminded herself that she wouldn’t have to have another mammogram for a whole year, and she began to settle. She couldn’t wait to get back to work.

She parked her car out back and as the lot was almost full, she ended up at the far end, against the wooded field. The day was dull and damp and a light drizzle coated everything. As she neared the back door of the café, she spotted the black cat with the white chest. He looked as if he were wearing a tuxedo.

He took one step toward her and meowed.

“You again?” she asked. “I think you’re making a habit of this.”

The cat followed her to the door, and as she unlocked it, she looked down at him and smirked. “All right, hang on, I’ll see what I can find.”

She scrounged around in the break room refrigerator, but there was nothing. She’d eaten the last of the ham yesterday for her lunch and hadn’t yet replaced it. She went to the kitchen, announced to everyone that she was back, and quickly fried up an egg and added some cheese to it. After it cooled down, she walked down the narrow hallway to the back door, carrying the egg in one saucer and a little water in another. When she opened the door, the cat was nowhere in sight, but then to her left, she heard a meow.

She half turned, spotted him, and lifted up the two saucers. “Come on,” she beckoned.

The cat regarded her but didn’t move.

She approached him, not wanting to put the saucers down directly in front of the door as they were in and out of it all day. The cat took a step back.

She set the food and water down within reach of the cat and retreated. It stepped up to the dish and began eating. Satisfied, she went back inside. She gave her hands a good wash before she went out to the front.

She had just stepped behind the counter when she spotted Everett, who was paying for something at the register. In his hand he held one of the café’s signature white pastry boxes with the Coffee Girl logo emblazoned on the lid.

“Hi, Everett.” She smiled, happy to see him. He was recently out of residential rehab for drug addiction, and by all accounts doing well at his job over at Java Joe’s. She was grateful to Tom for giving him a chance, even if she didn’t always show it.

Everett smiled in response. “Hi, Aunt Angie.” She noticed he wore the St. Anthony medal around his neck that had once belonged to Angie’s grandmother. This pleased her to no end. Strangely, her sister Maureen, Everett’s mother, had found it on the beach decades after it was lost.

“How are you doing?” she asked. He should smile more often, she thought. It lit up his face.

“Good. Taking it one day at a time,” he said.

“That’s the way,” she said encouragingly. “What brings you here?”

“Pastries,” he replied, lifting the box slightly.

“Enjoy. How’s your mom doing?” she inquired.

“She’s fine. Busy with work and all that.”

“Sure.”

“I better get back.”

“Okay, honey, it’s good to see you.”

He walked away, crossing the street and walking directly into Java Joe’s. Why was he bringing a box of pastries into the competing café? she wondered.

Over the course of the next few days, she noticed one employee after another from Java Joe’s coming over for a box of pastries. Everyone, that is, except Tom. As she watched the latest one walk back across the street, she sidled up to one of her employees, Joel, who manned the till.

“Hey, Angie, what’s up?” Joel asked.

“Why are all these employees from Java Joe’s coming in and buying pastries?”

“Probably because they like them,” Joel said sensibly.

“Do they come in every day?” she asked.

“Like clockwork.”

“What do they order?”

He rattled off a list. It came to almost a dozen pastries and donuts.

Angie nodded, turned on her heel, went outside, and marched across the street to Java Joe’s.

Curiosity propelled her into Tom’s café. The aroma that greeted her when she stepped inside was slightly different from the one at Coffee Girl. There was the common scent of brewed coffee, but whereas her place smelled of baked goods, his smelled of grilled foods. Her mouth watered.

What was he up to with her pastries?

She quickly scanned the counter and the glass case, checking out the baked goods on display. It was the usual suspects: cakes and muffins. Approaching the counter, ignoring the line and trying not to be offended by his full café and obviously brisk business, she said to one of his counter staff, “Where’s Tom?”

“Back in his office.”

With a nod, she pushed through the doorway marked “Employees Only.” She’d never been back there before. The first door on the left was an employee restroom. Across from it, on the right, was a small room crammed with shelving and all the paper supplies. She was slightly offended at how organized and tidy it was. Does this guy have any faults at all? Yeesh. She tried the handle on the third room, but it was locked. The room directly across from that was a break room. One female employee sat there, legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles, eyes glued to her phone. She didn’t even notice Angie passing.

The door to the last room on the right side of the corridor was open, and despite the sign that read “Gone fishing,” Tom Sloane sat there in his desk chair, feet up on his desk, eating one of her pastries and scrolling through his phone. On the desk was a small plate with a second pastry heart. Next to it stood a tall cup of coffee.

Spotting her, he smiled. “Evangeline, this is a surprise!”

I bet .

He swung his feet off the desk, wiped flaky pastry from his hands, did a quick sweep over his beard for any runaway flakes, and set his phone down on the desk.

Now appearing all businesslike, he leaned forward, picked up a pen, and tapped it against the desk blotter. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well—”

“Sit down.”

“No thanks. I won’t be here that long.”

He shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.”

“I’ll get to the point.”

“Thanks.”

“Every day, someone from your staff walks over to my café and purchases a box of pastries.”

“I know. We love your pastries. I can’t get enough of these pastry hearts.”

Oh boy . They purchased the pastries for themselves. There was no nefarious intent on his part. No attempt to copy her creations and pass them off as his own. In her stupidity, which she had in spades, she’d almost gone and made a fool of herself. It was time to beat a hasty retreat.

But there was an expression of dawning realization on Tom’s face, which resulted in him jumping out of his chair and closing the distance between them. With a grin, he stood right in front of her, placing one large arm up on the doorframe, forcing her to take a step back into the hall to put more space between them.

“I get it,” he said. “You thought I was up to no good with your baked goods? Possibly trying to pass them off as my own?” His smirk was maddening.

“I, uh . . .” she stuttered.

“You always think the worst of me, don’t you?” he asked. “Always ascribe the worst possible motive to me, isn’t that right? Why is that?”

The back door opened, interrupting them, and they both looked over at a delivery man, who wheeled in boxes of supplies on a dolly.

“What’s up, Tom.”

“Hey, Mac, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Angie couldn’t say anything; she was too embarrassed. Mortified was more like it.

Once the delivery man disappeared down the hall, Tom turned his attention back to Angie. The grin was gone, and his voice was low and serious. “Do you always look for the worst in people? Or is it just me? Maybe if you took the time to get to know me, you might find that I’m not your worst enemy.” A muscle ticked along the edge of his jaw. “Can I do anything else for you, Evangeline?”

She knew she should apologize, but the words would not come out. “No, thanks,” she said curtly.

“Then let me get back to my pastry heart.”

She turned and made her exit.

By the time she arrived back at her own café, she was feeling pretty low. Why did she insist on giving him a hard time, all the time? Was it really because he’d opened up a café directly across the street from hers? There were thoughts coming up from the bottom of her mind that had nothing to do with his café, thoughts she didn’t want to examine too closely. But deep down, she knew the real reason. It wasn’t only Tom; it was any man that showed or expressed any interest in her. Her policy had always been to shut it down immediately. A failed marriage would do that to a person.

The best thing was to throw herself into her work; it was what she’d always done when she didn’t want to think about difficult things.