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seeing a small bakery nearby.
    Sure enough, I found it was the next storefront down from Finley's. The Crusty Biscuit. I smiled at the name and the eccentric looking shop front. A wooden board hung over the doorway. On it an old, weathered biscuit wearing a sailor's hat stared into the horizon as he stood at the helm of a ship, his hands gripping wooden wheel. The smell of freshly baked, and undoubtedly non-crusty, bread baking lured me inside as I pushed the door open. An older man with graying red hair stood behind the counter watching me, wearing the same expression as the biscuit on the sign out front. I offered a friendly smile as I walked towards the counter and his face instantly lit up into a welcoming, albeit creepy, grin.
    “Mornin’, lass. What can ah dae fir ye this lovely mornin’?” A thick Scottish accent asked as his smile grew and deepened the laugh lines around his mouth. My eyes found the menu hanging on the wall behind him and looked over the listed items with varying off-color names such as “Bearded” clams (not a typo) and “S.O.S.- Shit on a Shingle.”
    “I'd recommend a Salty Dog Breakfast Biscuit.” A familiar voice whispered in my ear. My shoulders stiffened and I cocked my head to the side to find Nolan leaning toward me. Those striking blue eyes watched me as I slowly relaxed. Before I could ask what he was doing here, the man behind the counter asked for me.
    “Aye, whit're ye doin’ here, Irish boy?” The old man hollered at Nolan, his eyes narrowing as his grin turned impish. Nolan only smiled and shook his head at him.
    “Two Salty Dog Biscuits, Angus.” Nolan turned to me again.”My treat?”
    I only nodded, a bit taken back by his sudden friendliness.     
    “Pffft. Ah see yir sissy little Irish tummy is still too tender tae order some of ma’ famous haggis!” The old man, Angus, nearly spit as he laughed.
    “I was five when you made me try it.” Nolan sighed, a smile still lingering on his lips.     
    “Aye, and ye spewed it all o'er my floor! Didnya?” Angus snorted as he wagged a large finger at Nolan.    
    “What's haggis?” I interjected; unsure I even wanted to know.
    “Ah've got some cookin’ in the back if ye want a taste, lass.” Angus' smile stretched as he leaned forward, wiggling a bushy eyebrow at me.
    “Don't do it, Harley.” Nolan shot me a sideways glance and shook his head with a solemn expression, “it's stuffed sheep organs.”
    “Yeck!” My face twisted in disgust and Angus roared with laughter before he disappeared into the kitchen.
    I turned back toward Nolan as we waited for our food. He scrubbed a hand over his face in a poor attempt to hide his amusement at my horrified expression.
    “Angus is a bit crazy, but his food – aside from the haggis – is pretty good.” Nolan assured me, leaning back against the counter.
    “I take it you eat here a lot?” I watched him as he pushed a few light brown curls away from his face.     
    “At least once a week, I enjoy insults with my breakfast.” Nolan shrugged. I gave him a slow nod, still unsure of his sudden friendly nature. It was a complete contrast to the introvert that seemed to have been avoiding me for the past week. A few minutes later, Angus returned to the counter with two sandwiches wrapped in paper. Nolan thanked him and handed him cash before returning his attention to me.
    “I was going to go for a walk,” he motioned towards the door, watching me with curiosity, “would you like to join me?”
    “Really? I mean, sure.” Nolan’s eyebrows pinched together thoughtfully for a second then relaxed as he grabbed the sandwiches and waited for me to follow him to the door. The cold air greeted us as we exited and once again, I let out a shiver.
    “You should have worn something warmer.” He said as he handed me a sandwich. It was warm and toasty in my hands and smelled delicious.
    “I don’t have anything warmer. It’s on my list of things I need to