"He also looks happy."
"He looks tired, like he hasn't slept in a year."
"Please. I look tired, like I haven't slept in a year, and I don't have a baby."
"Fair point."
The door opens again, and speak of the devil. Jason comes through first with a massive diaper bag, looking exactly as tiredas Tom described, followed by Sarah carrying four-month-old Emma in a wrap against her chest. Sarah heads straight for me while Jason makes a beeline for Tom.
"You're here early," Sarah says, adjusting Emma's tiny hat.
"Which I'm glad I was. Espresso machine was leaking."
"So Tom rushed over to fix it?"
"He's very dedicated to coffee machine maintenance. Also, I never say no to free labor."
Sarah grins. "I'm sure that's what it is."
Jason's voice carries from where he's leaning against the bookshelf talking to Tom. "Told you months ago, man. Didn't I tell you?"
"You tell me a lot of things," Tom says.
"Yeah, but I was right about this one. Sarah, wasn't I right?"
"You're always right, honey." Sarah doesn't look at him when she says it, too busy making faces at Emma. "Especially when you're wrong."
"She smiled at me this morning," Jason says, pride radiating from every word.
Tom shrugs. "Probably gas."
"Fuck off, that was a real smile."
Sarah rolls her eyes. "Language!"
Emma chooses that moment to let out a wail that echoes through The Nook. William Shakespurr lifts his head from the window seat, gives the baby a withering look, and goes back tosleep. He is still unimpressed 90% of the time, even though he's the reason our Instagram has twenty thousand followers.
"Here." Sarah shifts Emma toward Tom before he can protest. "Hold her while I steal Tate's coffee."
Tom takes the baby with the same expression he wore when I told him to trim William's nails for the first time—pure panic. But his hands are steady, supporting Emma's head, and after a second, he relaxes. Just slightly.
"She's staring at me," Tom says.
"She does that." Jason nods. "It's creepy, especially in the middle of the night."
I hand Sarah my untouched latte. "It's sweet."
Tom looks down at Emma. Emma looks up at Tom. And they just stare at each other. Tom's gaze softens when Emma reaches a finger to bop his cheek. Something about the image makes my chest expand.
The door opens again. Beth walks in carrying two cloth-wrapped loaves, one in each arm. She nods at me and sets both loaves on the counter.
"Cranberry walnut is his," she whispers, jerking her head toward Tom.
Tom ordered a special bread? He's usually a sourdough or plain white bread kind of guy.
"When did that happen?"
"Last week. Came in himself." Beth's mouth twitches. "Asked very politely. Even brought me a matcha latte. Not bad, that guy." From Beth, that is basically a declaration of love.