Page 69 of Arranged Silverfox

“That’d be great. Where is it again?” I asked as we walked out the front door.

“It’s down the block,” Olivia said. We dodged the tourists clutching tulip-shaped balloons and wearing violet novelty T-shirts. I spotted a hot pink awning up ahead, with “The Cookie Cove” written in rope-like red script.

A bell rang above our heads as we walked through the door. The interior was cozy, with light pink walls covered in kitschy vintage frames. Someone worked the register wearing a hot pink bandana. She turned when she heard the bell, and my jaw dropped.

“Hi, welcome to the Cookie Co-Oh, my God.” Becca stood before me, her round apple cheeks matching the shade of the bandana. She was frozen in place, statue still holding half a cup full of ice. I was too shocked to move. My feet were planted firmly in the doorway. I only took a step when a small child slammed into my knees. What the hell was she doing here? I knew Becca’s family was in a tight spot financially, but I had no idea it was bad enough for her to have to get a job. Everything snapped into place at once. Becca wasn’t avoiding me when she told me she couldn’t hang out; she was probably scheduled for a shift! I wondered if her parents even knew she was working. I’d heard her mom say pretty heinous things about food service workers when we went to lunch with her once. I’m sure if she knew Becca was working behind a counter, she’d drop dead.

Olivia glanced back and forth between me and Becca, trying to make sense of the situation.

“So, this is The Cookie Cove,” she began, placing her hand on my elbow to move me out of the doorway.

“And this is my friend Becca. I told you about her, remember?” Olivia prompted. She spoke slowly, like she was trying to prevent me from going into shock.

“I know Becca,” I grumbled, almost too quiet for her to hear. Becca was still frozen, holding a half-melting cup of ice.

“Ma’am, my iced coffee?” A young woman prompted. Becca snapped out of her daze and bent down, hefting a large container of iced coffee onto the counter and pouring it into the cup.

“Do you want room for cream?” Becca asked numbly.

“Yes, please,” the woman said. Becca left a bit of room near the top of the cup and snapped a plastic lid before sliding it across the counter.

Now she was free to turn to us. “What are you doing here?” she asked slowly. Then, she saw Olivia.

“How do you two know each other?”

“This is my brother! The one who lives in Boston. He’s—”

“My fiancé,” Becca finished for her. Olivia’s jaw dropped to the floor.

“Wait,you’reRebecca Cavanaugh?!” Olivia exclaimed.

Becca nodded.

Olivia turned to me, “Why didn’t you tell me you had an in with The Cookie Cove?! I would have stopped bringing you cookies months ago if I knew you had an unlimited supply!” Olivia snapped.

“I didn’t know!” I said.

“What do you mean you didn’t know? That’s a pretty huge thing not to know!”

“I didn’t tell him,” Rebecca grumbled. “No one knows except for my father and Jasmine. My family doesn’t know about this place.” Becca wiped her hands on her apron and walked out from behind the counter.

She looked adorable. She wore her long, blonde hair in two loose braids with a bandana pinned on top. Her fuschia apron was embroidered with her name. Underneath, she wore a light pink T-shirt and jeans, along with flour-covered Converse sneakers.

“Please don’t be mad. Please don’t tell my parents. Please,” she whispered. I stepped forward and noticed her eyes were brimming with tears. Her brow crumpled. A stray tear slid down her cheek. Immediately, my impulse was to comfort her. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her. She smelled like brown sugar.

“Let’s go talk,” I suggested.

Becca nodded mutely and walked over to another employee, who took over at the front counter for her.

“Follow me,” Becca instructed. Olivia hung back and sat at a small table near the door.

“You two go and talk this out. I’m going to grab a coffee and finish some work emails,” she said.

I followed Becca into the back kitchen, full of state-of-the-art stainless-steel appliances. Becca gestured toward a stool that was next to a long, steel table. I took a seat.

“Do you want a coffee or anything? I think this cold brew is ready.” She walked over to a large refrigerator and retrieved a jug of cold brew, pouring herself a cup.

“Sure, thank you,” I said. I was still in shock.