“His proposal was conditional.” Joy picked up a bolt of fabric and followed Meredith down the flannel material aisle. “He doesn’t want his fraa working. Nett even at mei family bakery.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I tried to explain how it was more than a job. He didn’t listen.” She lowered the bolt of fabric next to where Meredith placed hers.
“I thought you wanted to win him back.” Meredith removed a pen from above her ear, jotted the yardage on a pad of paper, then tucked the pen back into her kapp.
“I thought I did too.” She followed Meredith to the cutting table. “He said I’ve changed and I’m sure I have, but so has he. He never discouraged me before about working. He used to love everything I baked.” She lowered her head and stared at the metal yardstick attached to the cutting table. “He didn’t want any of the cookies I made him. I guess that should tell me something.”
“You know who does want them.” Meredith elbowed Joy’s side. “You should mail them to the Peppermint Man.”
“At least they wouldn’t go to waste,” Joy muttered.
“Do it.”
“I was joking.”
Meredith pulled the pen from behind her ear and handed it to Joy. “You have his address, right?”
“Jah, it’s in mei handbag.”
Her friend nudged the handbag draped over Joy’s shoulder. “If nothing else, you’ll feel better once they’re out of sight.” Meredith nodded. “You will. If you keep them, they’ll only remind you of Henry.”
A customer entered the shop and Meredith crossed the store to greet the woman.
Maybe her friend was right. She didn’t want the blaring reminder of Henry’s lack of interest, and if she took the cookies home, her brother-in-law might eat them and that wouldn’t be good for his diabetes.
Joy removed the envelope and the note she had started from her handbag. She slipped the note inside and addressed the box. She chuckled while wrapping the box with clear packaging tape. This time he couldn’t complain about her not using enough tape.
Another customer entered the shop. The man’s gaze scanned the room. Studying the quilts hanging on the wall, he nearly stumbled over the braided rug on the floor. Joy pretended not to notice. She looked toward the back room, hoping to get Meredith’s attention.
“Excuse me,” the man said.
Joy turned.
He stared at her a second as if he’d forgotten what he’d wanted. “I was wondering if you could help me.”
“I can try.” She studied him a moment. Dark, wavy hair flipped out from under his hat. He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw and looked again at the wall hangings.
“How do you kumm up with your designs?” He pointed to a wall hanging of a quilted peacock.
“I’ll find out for you.” Joy lifted to her toes and spotted Meredith helping a customer near the shelved bolts of cotton fabrics. She approached the two women. “Excuse me,” she said. “There’s a man wondering about the bird quilt on the wall. He’s interested in the pattern.”
“Patterns in general,” he said, coming up beside Joy. “I’m nett really interested in the bird.”
“Most of them are on a rack near the pegboard of thread,” Meredith said. “There are some over by the quilting magazines too. Do you mind showing him?”
“Sure.” Joy led him over to the larger section first. “What are you thinking about sewing? Maybe I can help you.”
“Nothing.” He pulled one pattern off the rack, turned it over, then returned it. “I’m looking for a horse-and-buggy pattern.”
“What size?”
“I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess about so.” He stretched out his arms.
She smiled. “The size of a place mat.”
“Even a potholder would do.” He continued searching.
The man certainly appeared to be in a hurry. Either that or he was very uncomfortable in a fabric store. He was probably the first male customer since the store opened five years ago. She glimpsed his profile. Tall. Midtwenties. He wasn’t from Sugarcreek. She would have recognized him from Sunday services or as someone she had gone to school with.
“I don’t see anything that could work,” he said. “Do you?”
“I, uh . . .” She shouldn’t have been staring. Now her cheeks heated as though she were in front of a roaring woodstove. “I’ll check by the magazines.”
“Having any luck?” Meredith called out from the cutting table.
“Nett yet.” Joy glanced at the man. “Sorry. I don’t see any here either.”
“Danki for your help.”
He turned to leave when Meredith said, “If you give me a minute, I’ll look through our catalogs. There might be a pattern we can order.”
“Okay.” He circled the perimeter of the room, gazed at the quilts on display, and probably wished he hadn’t agreed to wait when it didn’t seem like the customer Meredith was helping would leave.
Once Meredith rang up the customer’s purchase, she retrieved several thick catalogs from behind the desk. “What pattern were you looking for?”
“A horse and buggy,” he said.
Meredith flipped the pages.
The man leaned against the counter and practically twisted sideways to eye something. After following his line of vision to the pastry box, Joy cleared her throat.
He motioned to the box. “I live in Berlin. Nett far from the cabinet shop,” he said. “I could deliver that for you.”
Meredith looked up from the catalog and smiled.
Joy shook her head. “That—”
“That’s very kind of you.” Meredith set the book aside and swiped the box off the counter before Joy did, then handed it to him.
“Would it be easier if I stop back tomorrow to see if you were able to find a pattern?”
“If it isn’t too much of a bother,” Meredith said. “That would give me time to look through them all. Otherwise you might be here for a while yet.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” He smiled and tapped the box. “And I’ll be sure to get this into the right hands.” He strode to the door.
Joy groaned under her breath as the man left the shop. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”
“I just saved you postage, and the hassle of having to mail it.”
“I go to the post office every day. Besides, I wasn’t even sure I was going to send it.”
Meredith smiled. “You don’t have to worry about that nau.”
“Jah, you practically thrust it at the man.”
“I didn’t force him. He offered.”
Joy scurried to the front window. The man was just getting into his buggy. She still had time to stop him.
Noah set the pastry box on the bench beside him. Noticing the package addressed to his cabinet shop was a pleasant surprise. He wasn’t sure if he would hear from the woman again.
Noah’s mouth watered. He grabbed the white box, but it was taped in such a way that he couldn’t pry it open. She’d gone overboard with the tape this time. He reached under the bench for his jackknife and had the box open before pulling away from the fabric store.
Noah took a bite of the peppermint cookie and chewed it slowly, allowing the sweetness to melt in his mouth. And she enclosed a note. He wished he knew which of the two women was his new pen pal.
The dark-haired woman who handed him the box or the woman with ivory skin and wheat-colored hair who helped him sift through the rack of patterns. He wouldn’t expect a baker to be petite, having to work around sweets like these, especially since she’d mentioned in the first letter how she’d eaten so many that they all tasted the same. Then again, the dark-haired woman seemed to know more about the fabric store.
As he pulled away from the store, he unfolded the note.
My eyesight is perfect. I’ve never worn glasses—not even the rose-colored ones you spoke of.
Short and to the point. Maybe she wasn’t as chatty as he first thought. He selected another cookie. Tomorrow he would make sure he made it to the bakery before they closed.