Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain #2)(12)

I decided to let her kindness go, even though it was generous and considering there were only two other vehicles in her parking lot (one mini-van, one Harley), she and Ned weren’t exactly rolling in it. Then again, my father always told me if someone offers a kindness, take it. Just be the sort of person who does the same on a regular basis so you can be certain to even things out in your way.

“Who wouldn’t like your pool?” I teased, “I hear it’s the best in the county.”

She laughed, shook her head and muttered, “My Ned. He’s a bragger.” She threw me another grin. “Get to work, hon.”

“See you later, Betty.”

“Maybe tomorrow for coffee?”

“Yeah.”

Her grin got even bigger. “I’d like that.”

I smiled at her, walked into town and went right to La-La Land. I’d done the bakery and their coffee and donuts the first day. I’d tried La-La Land the second. La-La Land’s coffee was far superior and their banana bread was, if it could be believed, better than any donut I’d ever tasted and therefore definitely by far the best banana bread I’d had in my life.

I walked in and the man had purple-tinted, round framed glasses on this time. The woman had a tie-dyed kerchief shielding some but not all of her frizzy ash blonde hair.

“Hey!” the man cried, “You were in here yesterday!”

He said this like it was a miracle and he was considering calling the Vatican.

I felt my face go soft as I gave him a small smile and walked to the counter. “Yes.”

“She had a banana and a skinny butterscotch,” the girl noted and asked me, “You like?”

“The banana bread was fantastic and you do good coffee,” I told her.

“I make the bread,” the guy said, “secret’s mayo.”

“What?” I asked.

“I put a tablespoon of mayo in it.”

I blinked at him. “You do?”

“He puts a tablespoon of mayo in everything,” the girl said.

“Not pie,” the guy amended.

“Not pie,” the girl repeated.

“Why do you do that?” I asked.

“Moist Factor Five Hundred, babeeeeeee,” the guy said on a big, goofy grin and I laughed.

“Moist Factor Five Hundred?”

“Yeah, a tablespoon of mayo ups the moist factor by five hundred. You doubt me, make your favorite cake, brownies, whatever, just not pie. A recipe you’ve made for ages. Put in a tablespoon of mayo and wham! You won’t know what hit you. Moist Factor Five Hundred,” he shared.

“He makes his own mayo too,” the girl added.

“Make my own everything,” he agreed. “Homemade… only way to go.”

“Well, considering your banana bread is the best I’ve ever tasted, and I like banana bread so I’ve tried a lot, then you aren’t wrong,” I informed him and his goofy grin nearly split his face. “Though, I won’t be able to try the Mayo Moist Factor Five Hundred because I live at the hotel and don’t have a kitchen but when I get set up, I’ll do it and let you know.”

Both of them stared at me and then the girl asked, “Why do you live at the hotel?”

“I just moved here,” I explained. “Just started waitressing at Bubba’s and haven’t really had time to settle in yet.”

“Come over for dinner,” the guy invited instantly.

“Sorry?” I asked.

“Yeah, tonight,” the girl put in. “Shambala makes unbelievable veggie chili and it’s chili night.”

“Shambala?” I asked and the guy stuck his hand over the counter.

“I’m Shambala,” I shook his hand, he let mine go and the girl stuck her hand over the counter so I took it and Shambala went on. “This is Sunray Goddess but I call her Sunny.”

I shook her hand and said, “Well, um… hi Shambala and Sunny. I’m –”

“Flower Petal,” Sunny cut in and touched her finger to her earlobe and then to her wrist. “All flowery. I like!”

“And call me Shambles, everyone does,” Shambala said.

I laughed softly. “All right Shambles.”

“So… dinner?” Shambles prompted.

“Well, I’m working and getting used to being on my feet all day so I won’t be in any shape to socialize tonight,” I declined but I did it gently because as I did, their faces fell and because they did, I went on. “But I’m off tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow it is!” Shambles exclaimed.

“Tomorrow is Middle Eastern night and that’s way better than chili. Shambala makes all his own everything. Even the hummus and pita,” Sunny told me.

“Sounds great,” I smiled.

“I’ll write down our address and directions. You can come any time after five. We close at five and go straight on home. But we’ll eat around six thirty,” Sunny said while writing.

“And now, you give me the go ahead, I’ll rock your world. Don’t order. I’ll give you the best that we got,” Shambala offered.

“Okay,” I was still smiling, “I’m up for that.”

“Groovintude!” Shambala shouted with excitement and then jumped toward the espresso machine.