ChapterTwo
CLAUSE
“Hey, Clause, what brings you into town?” North says as he holds out his hand.
I shake it and nod toward the bakery. “Just stocking up.”
“Frostie’s treats really are mandatory.” He holds up a bag that’s got her stamp on it. “Just grabbing Joy and me some breakfast.”
“Congrats, by the way,” I say and nod toward his ring.
“Thanks.” Someone from across the stress calls his name, and I can see he’s a busy man as usual.
“See you,” I say and begin walking toward the bakery again.
“Don’t be a stranger,” North calls out, and I nod.
Mayor North might be the only person in town that speaks to me on the rare occasion I come to Troping. Most people keep their distance, and I’m sure that has to do with my muscles, tattoos, and overall back-the-fuck-up energy. I let my beard grow long, and I keep a stocking cap pulled low so I know my presence is less of an invitation. Yet somehow, Mayor North looks past all of it and always offers a friendly hello. I guess that’s why he’s the mayor, because that shit would annoy me.
The little bell on the door chimes as I enter the busy bakery, and when Frostie looks up, her smile falters slightly when she sees it’s me.
“How can I help you?” She says it to me like I’m just another customer, only with other customers she’ll meet their eyes. With me, she looks at my chest or in another direction entirely. It’s like she can’t stand the sight of me.
“Coffee,” I say, and the word comes out sharp even though I don’t mean it to. I’m just not used to being nice. Or talking to people, especially a woman like her.
“Anything from the counter?” she asks, nodding toward the glass cases of treats that separate us.
She doesn’t hand me the coffee like she would another customer. Instead she sets it down and places the single pack of sugar beside it. At least she remembers my order. I don’t even like sugar in my coffee, but one day I asked for it so that I didn’t have to walk away so soon.
“Are the cupcakes homemade?” I ask, and that gets her attention.
“Of course they are. Everything in my bakery is.” Her cheeks heat as she moves to the register and begins to ring me up.
“I’ll take a cinnamon roll,” I mumble, and she quickly grabs one and practically throws it at me like she needs to put distance between us.
After she tells me the price, I slide a bill across the counter and take my order. “Keep the change.”
She says a soft thank you as the register does its thing, and then I hear her sigh when I turn around. I’m not good with people, but I’m even less good with her. How can I be so annoyed at how perfect she is?
When I take a seat at the table that’s much too small for my huge frame, I can finally take my time and get a good look at her. Today she’s got two little buns in her hair and a bandana tied around them. With her Christmas overalls, she looks like she belongs on the top of a cupcake and not selling them.
Now is the worst part of coming to Frostie’s. It’s sitting here and watching her smile at literally every single person that comes in and knowing she doesn’t have one of them for me. Why do I do this to myself? It’s pure hell seeing how happy she is and knowing that no matter what, I won’t ever get that reaction from her. Because I’m just a grumpy asshole that lives alone in the woods on the edge of town.
I’m not a people person, and that’s her whole personality. She remembers names and birthdays of her customers and has little inside jokes. She even sets special treats aside for certain people, and I have to sit here and endure hours of it because today I’ve got a purpose.
Sometimes I’ll come in and watch for a little while before I sulk home and kick rocks. Not today, though. After what I saw, I’ve got a reason to stay behind and talk to Frostie, and she’s going to want to hear me out.
It’s a while later when the rest of the staff have gone and Frostie is clearing up. She’s glanced over at me a few times and been around my table like she’s silently telling me it’s time to go, but I wait her out.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to close up.”
“Good, I’d like a word,” I say, and for the first time, Frostie’s eyes meet mine.
“Um, okay?” She says it like a question and flips the sign on the door from open to closed. “What can I do for you?”
“Clause,” I say and lean back in my chair. “My name is Clause.”
“I know.” She’s quiet when she says it, but now I’m wondering, if she knew it, why didn’t she say it like every other person in this town she talks to?