Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
I checked to see if anyone was looking and clandestinely flipped her off, rolling my eyes when she blew me a kiss.
Of course, Stacy stopped to chat with Court and someone just out of my field of vision, gesturing at her belly before hugging Court and speed-waddling toward her car.
I braced myself, wondering if he’d come into the shop and wondering what the hell I’d say if he did. Wait. No, that was silly. We were adults, and I’d blossomed into an expert conversationalist over the years…if I did say so myself. I welcomed a meeting with Court.
I caught my reflection in the coffeemaker and practiced my friendliest smile, adding a pinch of nonchalance before turning toward the door and—
He was gone.
End of sighting.
I took a breath and chastised myself for being an idiot. But after a quick internal examination, I was happy to report that I felt nothing out of the ordinary. No heart palpitations, no sweaty extremities, no butterflies. Just curiosity.
Sure, it was almost Thanksgiving, but it was also hockey season. What the hell was Court Henderson doing in Elmwood?
A few days later, I still wasn’t sure why Court was home.
There was a rumor going around town that he’d retired and another that he was in the process of changing teams, but neither explained his timing. Hockey players didn’t retire in November unless they’d been injured. Did they? And wouldn’t his parents want to celebrate? I hadn’t heard a peep from Henderson’s Bakery next door. And if Court was changing teams, wouldn’t they need him at practice?
I wasn’t exactly a hockey expert, but something was missing.
Stacy had actually spoken with Court, but she didn’t have a scoop and her true focus these days revolved around impending motherhood. As it should.
But me? Still curious here. So I gave in and googled him.
I found a lone article from Charleston’s local paper, The Post and Courier with exactly one line stating that the Sea Snappers had parted ways with defensive powerhouse Court Henderson. That was it.
No reason, no speculation, no footnote.
Odd, but I didn’t dig any deeper. I was a busy man. And after putting in long-ass days at Rise and Grind, I was exhausted by Friday.
I kicked leaves as I shuffled toward the coffee shop at five a.m., not bothering to hide my monster yawn. There was no one on the streets and—
“Bon matin, Ivan.”
I jumped and whirled around on the sidewalk. “Holy fuck! You scared me.”
“Hmph. I brought you a croissant from Henderson’s to apologize for making fun of your pumpkin art. Before you ask, my boyfriend made me do it.” JC shoved a bakery bag into my hand and winked. “I still think it looked like a white hairy testicle.”
“Thank you.” I beamed a sunny smile I’d bet my next paycheck would earn me a growl. And there it was.
“It’s not me you should thank. It’s Riley,” he assured me.
“He is a lot nicer than you.”
“Agreed.”
A word about Elmwood’s celebrated chef: Jean-Claude—or JC, as most of us called him—was a brusque French-Canadian bear of a man in his early forties with a broad Quebecois accent, reddish hair, bushy brows, a bit of belly, and an occasionally acerbic tongue. He was the kind of guy who said what everyone else was thinking…usually without apologizing. That was why I liked him.
He’d mellowed out a bit in the two years since he’d met his boyfriend, former NHL star Riley Thoreau, but he was still JC…a sometimes grumpy yet surprisingly thoughtful friend.
I jingled my keys and stepped toward the front door. “You coming in for a latte?”
“Not today. I’ll have coffee at the diner. We’re hiring for the holidays at both restaurants, and Nolan scheduled early interviews. Penny promised me fresh croissants and as I have very little time this morning, I had to choose…croissants or a latte? She won. No hard feelings.” JC held up a second bakery bag and slipped his free hand into his jacket pocket when the crisp autumn breeze rustled the leaves lining the curb on Main Street.
“None taken. Mmm, these are the bomb.” I bit my bottom lip and crossed my fingers. “Did you get me the chocolate one?”
“Mais oui.”
“You have no idea how happy I am. I could bathe in a tub filled with chocolate croissants.” I sighed happily as I fit my key in the lock.
“That is a disturbing image, Ivan,” he deadpanned.
“I know, right? Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” JC inclined his head, frowning as he tipped his chin toward the bakery next door. “By the way, you should talk to Penny and Frank about selling their baked goods here. Maybe expand or go into business together. And before you say it’s a bad idea, I will point out the obvious—they serve terrible coffee and you have no pastries here. Worth thinking about, yes? Au revoir.”