Read The Bookshop on the Corner (A Gingerbread Cafe story) for Free Online Page B

zany, and would look silly on anyone else, but it suited her. “Oh, my Lord, what did you do to your hair?” she said, tutting.
    “Nothing. Like literally nothing. I was running a tad late today.” I stroked it back in place, having completely forgotten about it and looked down quickly to make sure I had in fact dressed myself this morning, in my haste. Skirt. Check. Sweater. Check. Phew.
    “Never mind, I can fix it later when you come for your appointment.”
    “I don’t have an appointment, do I?” I said, knowing if Missy said I did, then I had no choice in the matter. She decided when my locks needed attention, not I.
    “Honey,” she said, “you have a hot non-date Friday — what do you think? Of course I need to fix up your hair!”
    Shaking my head, I replied, “The non-date, right. I’d forgotten all about it. Surely, though, since it’s not a date, it doesn’t matter what my hair looks like?” I couldn’t help but tease.
    She gripped the edge of the counter, and started counting.
    “What are you doing?”
    “I’m just counting to ten and hoping by then I’ve calmed down somewhat and can pretend you did not just say that which is unspeakable!”
    This was the Missy I knew, all over-the-top dramatics, and hilarious to boot.
    “Which part? The bit about who cares what my hair looks like?”
    She let out an indignant wail. “Don’t make me wash your mouth out with soap, young lady!”
    “OK.” I laughed, picturing Missy chasing me around the bookshop with a bar of some fancy-smelling soap that probably cost a fortune.
    Tugging at her skirt, she cast her gaze around the bookshop as if she were searching for something.
    “Are you going to spill?” She seemed fidgety all of a sudden, as if she wanted to say something but didn’t know how, which was out of character for Missy.
    She pasted on a wide smile, and tried her level best to look innocent, but when you’d been friends as long as we had it was easy to see through the charade. We were opposites, and that worked in our favor for our decade-long friendship. I guessed I originally intrigued Missy, being this quiet girl who would rather read than socialize. And Missy would rather spend time chatting away until the early hours of a morning.
    “What?” A smile played at the corners of her mouth.
    “You closed up early yesterday and rushed off. I was all set on grilling you about that glow on your face, and the slightly high-pitched way you seem to be talking.”
    Her face broke into a huge grin. “That’s just the cocktail of vitamins talking. I need a book.”
    “I know you have a secret. The book is the clue, right?”
    She shrugged. “I thought I’d take up reading — what’s so strange about that?”
    “Absolutely nothing. Go on, what kind of book are you after?”
    “Oh, you know, something on pregnancy, but nothing too horrific. I want one that glosses over the whole labor part…”
    I shrieked and skipped from behind the counter. Enveloping her in my arms, I jumped up and down with her. “Wait,” I said. “I don’t think you should be jumping like that!”
    Missy laughed and said, “That’s why I need the book! I have no idea what I’m supposed to do here!”
    I giggled and held her by the hands. “Congratulations, Missy! What does Tommy say? I bet he’s pleased as punch he’s going to be a daddy.”
    Missy’s expression softened. “He sure is. He’s already thinking about names, and color schemes for the nursery. But you know, it’s all a bit scary. You think forty-five is too old to be a mom?”
    My eyebrows shot up. “You’re thirty-five, remember!” I joked. For the last ten years come April we had re-celebrated Missy’s thirty-fifth birthday. She said she was sticking with that number for at least another decade.
    She flounced over to the stool at the counter. “Well, I got to keep up appearances, don’t I?”
    “You don’t look a day over thirty!” I said mock-seriously.
    She clapped her hands.