The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(69)

“What are you doing here?”

Ah, my nemesis. “Hi, Doral-Anne,” I say pleasantly. “Mr. Dombrowski and I were in the mood for a little treat, right, Mr. D.?”

She glances at the ancient man on my arm. “Your new boyfriend, Lucy?” she sneers.

As ever, I’m stunned by her meanness. “I should be so lucky,” I say clearly.

Mr. D. smiles and squints at the menu. “What’s in an Americano?” he asks.

“Espresso and water,” Doral-Anne grunts.

“I think I’ll have the salted caramel hot chocolate, Mr. D. What do you think?”

“Sounds mysterious and delicious,” Mr. Dombrowski agrees. “I’ll have the same.”

“Tall, grande, venti or short?” Doral-Anne asks.

“Small, please,” I answer for the sheer pleasure of rebelling against the ridiculous lingo.

“Small for me as well,” my little old buddy seconds.

“Nonfat, two percent, whole or soy?”

“What did she say?” Mr. D. asks.

“She asked what kind of milk we’d like,” I inform him, smiling. “How about two percent?”

“I guess I don’t really care,” he murmurs. “I’m ninety-seven years old, after all.”

“Make that whole then, Doral-Anne,” I tell her, relishing the fact that she absolutely hates waiting on me. “You only live once, right?”

“Whipped cream?” she bites out.

“Absolutely,” I answer. Mr. D. nods.

“This is gonna take a few minutes,” she mutters as we stand expectantly. “You can wait over there.”

“Let’s sit down instead, Mr. D.,” I suggest and am instantly rewarded with another scowl from Doral-Anne.

When we’ve taken a seat far away from the teenagers, Mr. D. looks around happily. “This is a lovely place,” he pronounces. “Very pleasant. Thank you, Lucy.”

“My pleasure,” I say sincerely.

“How are you these days?” he asks. “Your aunts told me you’re dating again.”

“Well, I guess I am,” I admit. From behind the counter comes the phlegmy sound of the cappuccino machine.

“Have you found someone nice?” Mr. D. asks.

“Um, yes. I have.” I hesitate. “I’m just not sure it’s going to work.” I bite my lip. What the heck? Mr. D. would understand. The cappuccino machine gurgles its last few breaths. “I’m afraid I’ll always compare him to my first husband and—”

“And God knows he was such a prince,” Doral-Anne says loudly.

Once again, I’m stunned by her rudeness, but my companion doesn’t seem to have heard her. “And what, dear?”

I lower my voice but try to enunciate so he can hear me. “I’ll never love him the way I loved Jimmy.”

Mr. Dombrowski nods sadly. “I suppose that’s a natural fear,” he says.

“Did you ever think about dating again, Mr. D.?” I ask.

He smiles. “I don’t think there are a lot of women out there who’d like to date me, Lucy.”

“My aunt Rose would,” I say, grinning.

He gives a startled laugh. “Is that right? How flattering. She’s a lovely woman, that Rose.”

“She really is,” I agree.

“Your order is ready, Lang!” Doral-Anne barks.

“That girl is rather rude, isn’t she?” Mr. D. comments, frowning over at our barista.

“She really is,” I say again.

I SEE MR. D. TO HIS DOOR, MY HEART LIGHT. The knowledge that forty-five minutes of my time could make someone happy is heady stuff, and I’m humming as I go back to the bakery, rather buzzed with lack of sleep and a surplus of sugar. My God, that hot chocolate was unbelievable. No wonder people flock to the dang place.

A not-unpleasant nervousness shoots through my legs as I open the back door. Ethan’s here, measuring out vodka. “Hi,” I say.

“Hey, Luce,” Ethan says. “Dirty martinis today. Want one?”

My face feels hot, and Ethan’s mouth pulls up on one side in a knowing grin.

“Sure,” I say. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he says, and my stomach squeezes in that uncomfortable, wonderful way.

“Ethan,” Iris says, swirling her drink appreciatively before taking a sip, “Lucy must’ve told you that she wants another husband. Do you know anyone?”

He looks up at me for a moment—You haven’t told them yet?—then pours some olive brine into the martini shaker. “Can’t say that I do,” he murmurs.

“Iris,” I say. “Can you please—”

“Ethan, dear,” Rose begins, her nose glowing with alcohol consumption. I’ll have to make sure she’s not driving. “Does it bother you, Lucy leaving Jimmy’s memory behind?”

“No,” Ethan says, shaking the metal cylinder, then pouring the martini into a waiting glass. “I think Lucy should be happy. Jimmy would want her to move on.” He looks at me steadily. This would be an opportune time to tell my aunts and mother that Ethan and I are together…

“I don’t know,” Iris says. “I wonder what Pete would say if I decided to date again. He always was jealous. Rose, remember the Knights of Columbus dance, when Tom O’Reilly cut in, and Pete punched him in the nose? Oh, I have to admit, that made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world!”