Page 82 of Frosted Fakes

Chapter Twenty-Five

Gossip travels fast in a small town. By the time Elliott arrived down in the bakery the next morning, half of Oakhaven apparently already knew that Tara was now Tom.

She'd expected problems. What she hadn't expected was Mrs. Monmouth, seventy-three years old and built like a disapproving wardrobe, to be the first customer through the door.

"I heard about young Tom," Mrs. Monmouth announced, setting her handbag on the counter with the air of someone preparing for battle.

Elliott braced herself. "Did you?"

"I did." Mrs. Monmouth fixed her with a steely gaze. "And I want you to know that if anyone gives that boy trouble in this bakery, you send them to me."

Elliott blinked. "Right. I'll do that."

"Good." Mrs. Monmouth nodded sharply. "Now, I'll have two of those almond croissants and one of the raspberry tarts. And tell Tom I said hello."

She left with her pastries and her dignity, and Elliott stood behind the counter feeling slightly blindsided. She'd prepared herself for bigotry and instead got fierce solidarity. It was disorienting. She scolded herself for judging a book by its cover and hurried off to give Tom Mrs. Monmouth’s greetings, only to find that his shift hadn’t started yet.

The morning continued in much the same vein. Most customers were either supportive or simply didn't care, more interested in their coffee and pastries than anything else. Old Mr. Struggs asked what "trans" meant, nodded thoughtfully when Elliott explained, and then asked if they had any of those scones with the orange bits.

There were a few uncomfortable moments. A woman Elliott didn't recognize made a pointed comment about "knowing what's what" and left without buying anything. A man muttered something under his breath that Elliott chose not to hear, mostly because she was fairly certain she'd throw a croissant at his head if she did.

But for every sidelong glance, there were three customers who made a point of being kind. The vicar's wife ordered a cake for her book club and asked Elliott to pass along her best wishes. Jamie popped in twice, once to check on them and once to steal a pain au chocolat, which Elliott pretended not to notice.

When Tom finally arrived for his shift, he looked like he hadn't slept enough, dark circles under his eyes and shoulders hunched with anxiety. He paused in the doorway, scanning the shop like he expected an ambush.

"Mrs. Monmouth says hello," Elliott said. "Also, she wants you to know that she'll fight anyone who gives you trouble."

Tom's face brightened. "Mrs. Monmouth? The scary one with the handbag?"

"That's the one."

"Huh." Tom blinked rapidly. "That's… unexpected."

"Most people are." Elliott handed him an apron. "The difficult ones are easy to spot. Everyone else is just trying to buy pastries."

Julia appeared from the back, immediately gravitating toward Tom like a concerned mother hen. "How are you feeling? Did you sleep? Have you eaten breakfast? Elliott made those scones you like."

"I'm fine." But Tom was smiling now, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Really. This is better than I expected."

"I’m glad." Julia squeezed his arm. "You're one of us now. Officially. We've got your back."

Elliott felt something warm settle in her chest, watching them. This strange little family they'd begun to build. Julia, with her sunshine optimism, Tom, with his quiet courage, even Jamie, hovering protectively next door. It was more than Elliott had ever expected to have. More than she’d thought she’d ever have.

Then the bell above the door chimed.

Candice Green swept in wearing a smile that could curdle milk and a pink jacket that made her look like an aggressive flamingo.

"Good morning! I just wanted to pop in and see how everyone's doing. I heard there's been some excitement around here."

Elliott's jaw tightened. "Can I help you with something?"

"Oh, just browsing." Candice's eyes swept the shop, lingering on Tom with an expression that made Elliott want to punch something. "It’s always so quaint in here. Very… cozy."

"Thanks," Julia said, not sure how exactly ‘cozy’ could sound like an insult. "Can I get you anything?"

"Not today, I think." Candice picked up a croissant, examined it, set it down again. "I've just been doing some thinking, you know. About small businesses. About authenticity. About how important it is to be honest about what’s what."

The words made Elliot’s stomach tighten. She stepped forward, positioning herself between Candice and the counter. "Is there something specific you wanted to say?"