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“I never made it past ninth grade,” Cookie says conversationally. “Although I did get my GED later on.”

“I’m not sure what ninth grade is,” I admit.

“I dropped out when I was fifteen.”

“That’s really young.” I frown. “Did you not like school?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t hate it, just… things changed.”

We reach the bottom of the hill and cross the road to Colin’s bakery. White wooden tables and chairs are already set up and the striped awning is extended for shade, which will be a blessing by mid-morning, when the summer temperatures begin to climb.

Cookie opens up the door, and a little bell rings in the shop as we step through.

“Cookie, is that you?” Colin calls out from the back.

“Yeah, Red. I brought a stray back with me, I hope you don’t mind. He looked like a sad little puppy.”

I glance over to see him grin and wink at me.

“Who has a puppy?” Colin appears in the doorway that presumably leads to the kitchen. With a neatly tied apron over his shirt and signature bow tie and his naturally curly, bright red hair parted neatly to the side in uniform waves, he looks like one of those old-fashioned sweet shop owners from the fifties.

He’s holding a large glass bowl that is filled with some kind of whipped cream or frosting, I can’t tell which.

“Oh, Quinn, it’s you. You’re up early. Then again, I suppose you’re used to it now, all those early morning lectures at uni.”

“Hmm,” I mutter.

I don’t bother to correct him. Even when I had been at uni that first year, no one got up early for lectures. Most of the freshers were too hungover to even think about getting out of bed before lunchtime. It’s a wonder anyone manages to actually finish a degree with the amount of drinking that goes on.

“I was just going to make him a coffee and get him something to eat before he freezes to death.”

Colin blinks. “It’s really not that cold.”

“Spoken like someone who didn’t grow up in California.” Cookie snorts.

Waving that comment aside, he lifts the bowl cradled in the crook of his arm. “I’ve just tried a sample of your frosting.” Colin’s eyes are wide. “It tastes incredible.”

Cookie smirks. “It has been said.”

“We should create a signature cupcake for you with a special name, and you get to pick.” His eyes narrow a fraction. “As long as it’s family friendly.”

“You wound me,mijo.” Cookie laughs wickedly, and my stomach does a funny roll.

Huh, maybe I’m hungry after all. I didn’t have breakfast this morning, just crept out before first light so I wouldn’t have to make conversation with my mum and sisters once they were up.

An oven timer starts ringing somewhere in the back, and Colin gives a squeak before disappearing through the doorway into the back.

“Take a seat while I get the coffee machine switched on.” Cookie leads me to a nearby table. “What do you want to drink, latte? Cappuccino?”

I slide into the seat and smile at him. “Am I going to be wearing it or drinking it?”

His mouth curves. “Depends on how well you tip.”

“I hate to break it to you, but we don’t tip much.”

“I know, that was one of the things I found really weird when I got over here. Y’all actually get paid a proper base wage. I waited tables for a few years and trust me, if customers didn’t tip, we didn’t make rent.”

“That’s something I find weird,” I reply. “I don’t get how low the wages are. How do they expect people to survive?”