Grace in Autumn Read Online Free Page B

rye and two dozen molasses cookies.”
    Excusing herself, Birdie stepped to the end of the display case, out of Abner’s way. Her heart did a silly flutter and she flushed. If a crusty old sea goat could do this to her, she needed to get out more.
    â€œA loaf of rye and two dozen molasses cookies coming right up.” Abner reached for a bag.
    With his gaze fixed on Birdie—she could feel it across the room—Gribbon inclined his head in her direction. “She can get it.”
    Birdie’s lips firmed when Bea shot her a narrow warning look. Lifting a brow to confirm she wasn’t about to get Salt Gribbon’s rye, she nodded curtly.
    Never mind that her cheeks were burning.
    â€œNo trouble for me to grab the order.” Smiling, Abner sacked twenty-four saucer-size molasses cookies, adding three extra for good measure.
    The old sea captain’s eyes followed Birdie’s movements as she struggled to separate the paper doilies. Heat suffused her neck, and she toyed with the idea of cracking the window to cool things off a bit.
    â€œI want her to get the bread.”
    Apparently sensing an approaching clash, Vernie crowded closer to the counter. “I’ll take a dozen of those cherry Danish, Abner. And a half-dozen bear claws—they’re fresh, aren’t they?”
    Abner smiled. “All our pastry is fresh, Vernie.”
    Gribbon’s steely voice cut though the conversation. “I want Birdie Wester to get my bread.”
    Every eye swiveled back to the sea captain, who appeared to brace himself for an oncoming gale.
    Gribbon captured Birdie’s irritated gaze.
    â€œOne loaf of rye,” he repeated.
    Silence hung over the room. Though she didn’t dare lower her eyes, Birdie knew Bea and Vernie were exchanging glances and probably wondering if it’d be wise to move toward the nearest exit.
    Gribbon stared at Birdie as if he were determined to win the contest of wills. She could stand here and stare all day, or she could give up and let him move on—
    â€œOh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, dropping the doilies on the tray. “One loaf of rye.” For one stubborn old goat.
    Moving toward the bread case, she removed a brown loaf and wrapped it in plastic, avoiding Bea’s aggravated look. “Anything else, Cap’n?”
    Vernie eyed the old captain with a stringent glance. “There’ve been some complaints about rock throwing from tourists visiting the lighthouse. You know anything about that?”
    Ignoring the question, Gribbon continued to stare at Birdie.
    â€œYou’re going to have to stop throwing rocks, Cap’n.” Vernie picked up her order and dropped her money on the counter. “People will think there’s a bunch of heathens living around here.”
    A muscle moved at Gribbon’s jaw. “People need to stay away from my place.”
    â€œIt’s not your place—it’s a historical monument owned by the city. Your job is to take care of it, not to scare people off.”
    Without so much as a ripple of concern, Gribbon calmly opened his coat buttons and pulled out a book. Melted snow dripped from his white beard as he handed it to Birdie.
    Birdie perused the title. “Curious George?”
    Gribbon nodded. “Bought it at Graham’s yard sale last month. Is it fittin’ reading?”
    â€œAyuh. It’s a classic, excellent for children and adults, too.” Birdie thumbed through the pages, refreshing her memory. Curious George was an adorable little monkey, adopted by a man from the city and treated to all sorts of adventures . . .
    Nodding, Gribbon took the book from her hands and wedged it between his blue flannel shirt and pea coat. “Thought you might know, seeing how you’re a librarian.”
    Birdie felt her cheeks burn in a blush. “That was years ago, Cap’n, before I retired and bought the bakery. I have nothing to do with books