Twenty-two

“It’s mighty cold out there,” Nancy declared, stamping her boots.

Esther tugged the wool hat off her crushed bouffant and removed her mittens. “My nose feels like a specimen in a cryo-lab.” As she tugged the black frames off her face and cleaned her fogged-up lenses, Nancy hugged herself.

“My nose isn’t the only part of me that’s cold! My poor—”

Esther raised a hand. “Please, spare me the titular details. I’m abreast of the situation!”

“I need more layers!” Nancy complained.

“You’re too skinny. What you need is more carbs…”

Esther put away her coat and messenger bag, tied on her apron, washed up, and joined me behind the pastry case.

“Wow, these look amazing. Hey, Nancy, why don’t you eat a few of our new Twinkie Tribute Cupcakes for breakfast? It might solve your padding problem!”

“Tempting,” Nancy said, stifling a yawn at the espresso machine. “For now, I’m sticking to my morning double and buying a hoodie to wear under my coat.”

Esther shrugged. “Suit yourself. But little golden cakes with gooey marshmallow filling are a much tastier solution.”

I waved Esther closer. “How did it go last night? Were you able to get the word out on our new project?”

“Absolutely. Remember that really cool pic of the shop that Dante painted? I posted a photo of it in all my social media groups with text describing our new Writer’s Block Lounge. My slam poetry community has an Events page, and I posted it there, too, along with a teaser for a future poetry slam, staged right here, featuring Writer’s Block patrons.”

“Great idea. Do you think they’ll bite?”

“When I checked this morning, we already had more than a dozen people interested in stopping by to check things out, and four solid bookings for tomorrow.”

“Five,” I said. “Dante will introduce you to Tony Tanaka when they’re finished in the attic.”

“Not bad for the first day, Boss Lady, don’t you think?”

“It’s a start,” I said, finally feeling pretty good. That is, until Esther shifted topics to her favorite customer.

“So what’s the word on Mr. Scrib’s condition?” Behind her glasses, her dark eyes stared at me with a cross between hope and dread. “If he’s still stuck in the hospital, I’m going to visit him when my shift is over. I’m sure I can cheer him up with our poetry game.”

“That’s very nice of you,” I said carefully. “I mean about visiting him.”

“So he is still in the hospital?”

“Yes, and we’ll know more soon.”

“Soon?” She planted a hand on her hip. “Is something going on that you’re not telling me? I mean, can’t we just call the hospital right now and find out how he’s doing?”

“Since we’re not family, I doubt they’ll update us,” I said, which was all too true.

Esther frowned. “Then how do we find out—”

“Mike promised to track down more information this morning,” I said quickly. “He’s asleep upstairs. When he wakes up, we’ll know more…”

As my voice trailed off, I considered confessing the whole truth about last night’s assault on her elderly friend. But seeing Esther’s distressed face froze my tongue. Instead, I forced a smile.

“Let’s hope for the best and be patient, okay?”

Behind her glasses, Esther’s worried eyes squinted slightly. For a moment, I expected her to grill me on why Mike Quinn was suddenly involved. Instead, she pursed her lips and (in her own Esther way) expressed her trust in me with an aggrieved yet accepting—

“I guess…”

“Good. Now let’s get the coffee started.”

Fifteen minutes later, I signaled Nancy to flip our CLOSED sign to OPEN, unlock the door, and let our first customers in.