“I know.” Megan leaned her right hip against the counter. “But I’m hoping my taking her son off her hands makes up for the shortfall.”
Benita paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “Is there another wedding on the horizon?”
Megan shook her head. “We’re taking things slowly.”
They chatted for a while about mutual acquaintances, changes in the town, and books they’d loved and would recommend. Benita had forgotten how much she enjoyed talking with neighbors about the everyday things: friends, family, and well-loved books. It was so much easier than posturing with friendly rivals, trying to one-up each other with who you knew, where you’ve been seen, and how much you’ve earned. The late-night socializing and catty backstabbing took their toll physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
“Another lunchtime stampede in the books.” Doreen circled the counter to take the bar stool beside Benita. The café crowd settled down as diners dug into their fresh and healthy meals.
“Waiting in line, I felt like I was watching a standing ovation for your food.” Benita spooned up more chili.
Doreen’s eyes widened with surprise. “Well, thank you for the compliment.”
“How are you handling being mayor and managing the café?” Benita kept her tone light to mask her concern for her friend.
Doreen looked at least ten years younger than the age Benita believed her to be. Her friend’s warm chocolate features were smooth and flawless with the barest hint of makeup. But she seemed so tired. There were clouds in her brown eyes, and tension bracketed her bowed lips.
Doreen rubbed her forehead. “It’s not easy, but Megan’s taken on some of my bakery responsibilities. She’s also hired a couple of people to help.”
Benita sipped her lemonade. “The man and woman I saw earlier?”
“They’re husband and wife.” Megan glanced toward the kitchen door. “They’re retired restaurant workers who were looking for part-time work. They were an answer to a prayer.”
“They’re wonderful.” Doreen lifted her hand to cover a yawn. “Michelle still works with us. But during the school year, we only schedule her for Saturdays and school breaks.”
Benita vaguely recalled the high school junior whose hair dyes kept track of holidays: blue for Independence Day, red for Valentine’s Day, green for Christmas, and so on.
“You have a lot on your plate, between this successful café and being mayor.” Benita finished her chili and lemonade. She bit into her apple.
“I’m also planning my wedding.” Doreen should have sounded happy, but all Benita heard was fatigue.
“Aunt Helen told me.” Benita smiled despite her concern. “I’m sure you and Alonzo will be very happy. How are your plans coming?”
“Slowly.” Doreen’s sigh hinted at frustration. “I have a to-do list, but I’m not completing the tasks as quickly as I’d like. Alonzo doesn’t want to postpone the wedding. But today’s April eighth. We have less than three months.”
“Let me see your list.” Benita took another bite of her apple.
Doreen slipped off the stool and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a three-ring binder that she handed to Benita.
Benita opened the binder and found the to-do list on the first page. “This is very detailed.”
Doreen returned to her bar stool. “I’m sure we’ll get through everything. But right now, it seems so daunting.”
“I’m sure it does.” Benita finished off her apple, then dropped the binder into her tote bag.
Doreen looked from the tote bag to Benita. “What are you doing?”
“Just consider me your wedding planner.” Benita shifted on the stool to face Doreen. “I’ll coordinate these items and any I think you might have missed. I’ll see you and Alonzo at your place this evening around six so you can give me additional instructions.”
Doreen looked from Benita to Megan and back. “But—”
“There are no buts.” Benita held up one hand, palm out. “Do you want to get things done or do you just want to gripe about them?”
Doreen fluttered her free hand. “I want to get things done but—”
“Then leave it to me. I’ll see you and Alonzo at six.” Benita slipped off the bar stool. She sensed her friend’s struggle as she tried to come up with a viable argument against Benita’s help.
Finally, the bakery manager gave in. “All right.”