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Landon murmurs one more I love you before he says goodbye to both Devyn and me.
The minute the door shuts, Devyn gives me a shit-eating grin.
“Hush,” I warn her, but I can’t keep the smile off my face.
“He said he loooves you,” she says in a sing-song voice as I turn my attention to the containers of macarons. I begin to unpack them and scoff.
“Are you twelve years old?” I tease, unable to sound as gruff as I want to. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“She’s almost twenty, but she acts twelve,” Luke says, heading up to the cash register.
Devyn shrugs. “I can’t help if I’m excited about my friend having the best love story of all time,” she says. “And I refuse to stop talking about it.”
Together, Devyn and I organize the pastry counter, rearranging and adding new flavors, including her peppermint chocolate macarons.
My day is spent organizing, chatting with customers, and reading sales reports.
I flow back into working as if I never left the café. The only difference is this time, I mention April to every customer.
And because it’s no secret what happened to me, they listen intently.
Every person that buys a coffee or pastry knows exactly who April is and what she looks like. They also know who to call if they think they see her.
I don’t realize Tammy is there until the end of my shift. I finish talking to a regular about April, and I turn to see her standing in the doorway to the back room, her eyes glassy.
I pull her into a hug, and she reciprocates. “How much did you hear?” I ask her.
She sniffles. “Everything,” she says. “Thank you for never giving up on her.”
I shake my head. “I never will. Just like you never gave up on me.”
I’m not talking about when I went missing, either.
Even at my worst, Tammy has always welcomed me like a second daughter. She’s seen me at my lowest and at my best.
And she’s stayed.
“Come into the back with me,” she says. “I want to chat for a minute.”
I stiffen, a million different worst-case scenarios flitting through my mind.
“It’s nothing bad, honey,” she says. “We just need to touch base.”
I follow her to the stockroom, and we sit at the small white table.
It’s not about April, I think. It can’t be. They would have told me.
“So,” Tammy says, “your mom called me.”
I freeze until familiar anger boils up in me.
“Ah. How nice of her, after seeing me on the news,” I deadpan.
Tammy sighs and her expression softens. “I know,” she says gently. “Too little, and far too late.”
I shrug. “What did she want?”
“She asked about you, how you were doing.”
