Page 145 of The Birthday List (Maysen Jar 1)

I smiled and pressed a kiss to her hair. Behind me, a set of brakes squeaked to a slow stop on the street. Finn was parking a U-Haul behind Poppy’s car with Nazboo at his side.

“New beginnings?”

She nodded. “I think we deserve a new beginning, don’t you? Only this time, let’s start from a different porch.”

Five years later . . .

“What the hell is this?” Randall glared at the plate in front of him.

“That would be a birthday cake. You know, for birthday parties. You’re at a birthday party. We just sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to my son.”

“Smart-ass.” He sneered. “Why’s it on a plate?”

“Because eating off the floor is unsanitary.”

At his side, Jimmy laughed as Randall’s face turned a darker shade of red. “But we’re at the restaurant.”

“Yes, I’m aware. I’ve been here all afternoon to decorate the room and make the birthday cake.”

Molly and I had closed The Maysen Jar tonight for a private family function. All of my family and friends were here, enjoying pizza and beer and cake as we celebrated my son’s first birthday.

Everyone I loved was here for the party. Adults were smiling. Kids were laughing. Everyone was having fun.

Everyone, except Randall.

“I come here,” Randall stabbed his finger on the counter, “to sit on this stool and eat food from your jars. It’s been that way for almost six years. I could stay at The Rainbow if I wanted to eat from a plate.”

I blinked at him, dumbfounded. “So you’re mad because I didn’t make Brady’s birthday cake in jars? You know that’s ridiculous, right?”

He grumbled something and stabbed his fork into the cake. “For every one of MacKenna’s birthdays, you made desserts in jars. How was I supposed to know you’d change for Brady? I don’t like surprises.”

Jimmy had been trying to hold back his laughter, but as Randall shoved a huge bite of cake in his mouth, he burst out howling at his best friend. “You old grump. You don’t like anything. Shut up and eat your damn cake.” He winked at me before diving into his own cake and ice cream.

“Are you going to join the party?” I tilted my head toward the tables I’d pushed together for the party. “Or are you going to stay at the counter and be antisocial?”

“Antisocial,” Randall muttered before taking another enormous bite.

Jimmy just shrugged. “This is my seat.”

“Fine.” I got them each a glass of water before leaving them alone to join the party.

It didn’t surprise me that they were in their stools. Jimmy and Randall, sitting in the same spots as they had nearly every day since I’d opened The Maysen Jar, had become fixtures in the restaurant. They were as much a part of this place as the brick walls or wood floors.

Last year, when I’d won an award for Bozeman’s best restaurant, the newspaper reporter had spent more time interviewing those two than he had me or Molly. They’d practically become famous after that. There wasn’t a day that went by anymore where the counter wasn’t full of their friends from The Rainbow.

But no one ever dared sit in their stools.

There had only been one incident when a poor, unsuspecting fool had tried to take Randall’s seat. He’d chased away the “stool thief” with a tongue-lashing and some wild swinging of his cane. Thankfully, no one had gotten hurt, but ever since, Molly and I had marked those stools as reserved to avoid the risk of assault.

And if they wanted to sit in their seats, far be it from me to insist they move.

I crossed the restaurant with my eyes locked on a little girl bouncing off her seat to race my way.

“Mommy!” MacKenna’s chin and cheeks were covered in blue frosting. Her green eyes, the ones she’d inherited from Cole, were darting back and forth between me and the present table. “Time for pwesents?”

I smiled and stroked her brown curls. “Not quite yet. Let’s give everyone a chance to finish eating their cake.”

Her three-year-old face formed a scowl. “But I eat mine alweady.”