The baking assistant had already gone home since the kitchen was clean, and there wasn’t much left to do for closing. Titus had already prepped all the ingredients for the morning rush, and thanks to Danica Waterhouse, he could get back to baking the usual number of batches. It wasn’t like he was leaving his little sister with tons of manual labor.
“Go eat your oatmeal, and get to bed by eight,” she said, waving him toward the door.
“Excuse me? I’m only four years older than you.”
Maya made a dismissive gesture. “Okay, boomer.” At his look, she added, “What, you already live like an old man, though maybe the cute repairwoman will liven you up.”
Pensive when he left the bakery, he tried to decide if Maya was right. Since their mom had died and he’d taken a break from dating after one too many failures, it did seem like all he did was work, go home, eat, exercise, watch something, then go to sleep. And if he was honest, he didn’t always work out, rationalizing that kitchen labor ticked that box. Those big-ass bags of flour were heavy, dammit.
For people who lived in town, commuting on a bike was doable in good weather, but he and Maya shared a place in the country, only fifteen minutes by car but roughly twice that on a bike, and country roads didn’t have bike lanes. Titus hadn’t grown up in St. Claire, but he liked the town enough to stay, even after his mom passed away and his dad remarried.
Still not over that.
In his view, six months was altogether too fast to move on after thirty years. And it wasn’t even like he’d been aware of any problems. Unlike many, his parents had always seemed happy, but six months later, Dad was marrying Susan and moving to Arizona. Now he was raising stepkids and barely seemed to remember his actual offspring.
Great, now I’m in a shitty mood.
Titus got into his blue Nissan Leaf, purchased used last year. His friends made fun of him, especially when he had the charging station installed at his house. St. Claire didn’t have public infrastructure for electric cars yet, but he liked knowing that he wasn’t making the world worse when he drove to work at 4:30 a.m.
It was a little embarrassing, but Maya was right. Bowling night was the center of his social life, and he’d gotten complacent. Danica gave you her cell number, so she probably wanted you to text her, right? Unless that was an oversight. Maybe she didn’t know that was written on the back, and if he contacted her, it might be creepy. Why was he even considering this?
Stop overthinking.
Before he could talk himself out of the impulse, he added Danica’s info to his contacts and sent a message. What did the baker say to the millennial?
Part of him couldn’t believe he was sitting in his car, waiting for the adorable fix-it person to message him back. But she did, and not with who is this?! either. She seemed ready for the joke: IDK, what?
You can’t have your cake and yeet it too.
Silence.
And there goes any chance you might have had. Just because she laughed at one of your jokes doesn’t mean she’d get all of them. Ah well, it was a pipe dream anyway.
Then, before he could kick himself for even bothering in the first place, Danica sent a goofy emoji and a laughing one.
Nice.
Titus decided it was too soon to respond, so he drove home, plugged the Leaf in to charge, and then went to play with Doris. She bounded into the fenced backyard to do her business, and while she did, Titus dug up her tennis ball. For about an hour, he played fetch with the dog. When she’d burned some excess energy, he snapped on her leash; otherwise, she’d try to drag him into the fields to chase rabbits.
Living in the country, his closest neighbors were half a mile away. It also meant that there were no sidewalks for Doris. Luckily, at this time of day, there were few cars too. Most people worked a bit later in the afternoon, so he and Doris jogged along the road, yielding for the rare cars that also swerved wide, often with drivers waving or calling out the window as they rolled by, because St. Claire was like that.
He moved to make way when he heard the engine rumble of a vintage truck, but the driver stopped on the road like Titus and his dog were an area attraction. Mr. Stevewell, the old man from the farm at the end of the road, called out to Titus’s dog like she might answer. “You’re looking good today, Doris!”
And, of course, she did—with a woof and a tail wag. Titus had adopted her a month after his mom died, and now it felt like Doris had always been with him.
“What breed is she anyway?” Mr. Stevewell asked.
“They weren’t sure, but they’re guessing Labrador and something else. I found a picture that makes me think maybe Bernese mountain dog. Look…” He paused, realizing he was like a PTA parent showing off his kid’s report card. “Sorry, you probably don’t want—”
“To see cute pictures of dogs on the internet? I’ve always got time for that!” Mr. Stevewell got out of his truck and came around to look. “Check out the ears on that girl. I agree, our Doris could be related.”
The dog had floppy ears, black fur with a white chest, a white stripe down the face, white tips on the paws, and a fantastic fluffy tail, similar enough to be Doris’s doppelganger. Puppelganger? Whatever. “They have DNA tests, but I haven’t gone that route.”
“DNA tests for dogs? Now I’ve heard everything.” Mr. Stevewell got back in his truck with a wave.
Titus continued his run. I can probably text Danica when I get home, right?
Chapter 3
Danica invoiced Sugar Daddy’s for the repair work, and Titus paid at once.
That concluded the professional portion of their relationship, but five days later, they were still texting. And she still wasn’t sure if he was flirting. The uncertainty didn’t stop her from swapping memes with him and sending the worst jokes she could find since he seemed to have a taste for them. She decided it was totally cool to flirt with a mundane; flirting wouldn’t impact her magic or ruin her life. Whatever they were doing, it boosted her mood like good medicine and made her disregard Darryl’s noncommittal ass as if she hadn’t even dated him.
With Clem back, the shop operated like a well-oiled machine. Not that they oiled any machines. They just had to pretend they did.
Tonight, it was their turn to host book club—the cover for their coven—which meant Danica had a reason to be outside the bakery at 7:57 a.m., queuing for cinnamon rolls like a fangirl. The funny part was, she wasn’t even first in line. There were two women ahead of her, four behind, and the ones in front were nudging one another and giggling.
“Do you think we’ll see him today?”
“Probably not. But God, he’s so…” The older woman pantomimed biting her knuckles, and the other one shushed her.