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Right. Henry Dean does what he says he’s going to do. “I’m sure he’ll love them.” And that’s true. Elliot will definitely love the pancakes Henry made. He thinks Henry is very cool. And…they’re pancakes.
“They’re shaped like airplanes.” Henry more or less mutters that.
I can’t help my smile. Or the way that makes me melt a little. “Oh,” I say softly. “That’s adorable.”
He frowns. “It would have been nice to have them in the kitchen at your house. I put the syrup in a separate container so it didn’t make them mushy, but we’ll have to reheat them and they’re not going to be as good. And he was supposed to make themwithme.”
I know he’s irritated but that’s all adorable too. I want to hug him. And kiss him. And spread pancake syrup all over him. But I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I sigh. Because I kind of wish I was eating pancakes, of any shape, in my kitchen instead too. I mean, I could be watching this hot, grumpy guy cook. I could be drinking coffee instead of serving it to people.
I amnota morning person. I’m here because, well, I’m a fucking angel, I guess. I could not let April come down here by herself. Just in case Christopher got some stupid idea about showing up. And no, neither April nor I could ignore the people in the next room.
“Look, Henry, I don’t know what to tell you. The guys came to the bar like they always do. Dan let them in, of course. But hedoesn’t know how to use the espresso machine, so he called April when it was a quarter after and she still wasn’t here. And as I told you, I figured you wouldn’t want her coming down here alone…without you or me anyway…so here I am.”
“Wait…Danlet them in?”
“Of course. No one else has a key. Other than me and April.”
“But…” Henry seems very confused. “I paid Dan a million dollars last night. He’s literally amillionairenow. Why would he come down and open up the bar he just sold?”
I shrug. “His friends and his favorite cappuccinos are down here.”
“These retired guys come down here every morning to drinkcappuccinos?" he asks, distracted for a moment.
“A couple of them. Dan especially. Will likes lattes. With hazelnut syrup, and no, don’t try to sneak in the sugar-free kind, hewillknow and he won’t drink it. Charles drinks straight-up espresso.”
Henry runs a hand over his face. “What the hell is going on around here?” he mutters. He drops his hand. “I’m glad you at least didn’t take Elliot to daycare.”
I unwrap the casserole dish. Those are definitely airplane-shaped pancakes. A lot of them. God, that’sadorable. I put a few on a plate and put them in the microwave to heat up. “Oh, we did take him to daycare.” I wait for Henry’s reaction. I know I shouldn’t mess with him, but it’s so fun.
He’s so buttoned up and so used to being in charge and there’s just something about seeing him out of his element that I enjoysomuch.
I’ve been picturing the scene with him on my porch with Mandy, Ada, and Cecelia for the past thirty minutes. And grinning.
“What?” he exclaims. “Dammit, Ruby. I didn’t want you all down here where Christopher could easily get to you. Butdropping Elliot off at daycare without proper security in place was…”
I think it’s good he trails off before he finishes that sentence.
“We have security in place,” I tell him. “There’s even a trained bodyguard.”
“There’s a bodyguard at Elliot’s daycare?”
I turn to face him. “One of the best. Or so he tells me.”
“Iwill be vetting any security around you, April, or Elliot.”
I cross my arms. “Of course, the three people he’s supposedly looking after right now, left the house this morning and were gone for forty-five minutes before he even realized. Actually, he never did realize. I’m not sure how long it would’ve taken if I hadn’t called him.”
His brows slam together as realization dawns. “Where is Elliot?”
I take the warm pancakes from the microwave and hand them to him, along with the covered container of syrup.
I point toward the door that leads to the main room of the bar. “In the daycare.”
Henry looks like he has a lot more to say—and I’m sure he does—but instead of saying any of it, he turns on his heel and stomps out into the bar.
I’m smiling imagining Elliot’s reaction to Henry and the pancakes as I unwrap the cinnamon rolls, warm them up slightly in the microwave as well—not enough to melt the frosting, but enough for them to be nice and gooey—and carry them out into the main room. I hum as I move amongst the tables, distributing them to our not-so-patient patrons.