Ginger Cookie Crush

I walk into Bridgehead looking forward to reading The Bluest Eye, and enjoying a medium dark roast coffee.

I line up behind an elegant Black woman and a skinny White fellow standing together in front of the cake and cookie display case. They are discussing the various colourful desserts. She is pointing at a red berry cobbler, and he is shaking his gray haired head to indicate his disagreement with her choice.

"Would you like a suggestion?" I inquire as I smile sweetly at her.

Before she can respond, I ask another question. "Do you like ginger? The ginger cookies are excellent!"

"I love ginger," She responds in a voice that makes the tips of my ears feel red warm and tingly. She has the same effect on me that ginger does.

Her frosted pink lips look spicy and her voice has a sexy hint of an accent. I don't focus on where it might originate from - I am too entranced by her friendliness.

I describe to her a recipe for gingersnaps that I read in The Cure for Death by Lightning. She shares with me a description of the ginger cookies her mother used to bake.

Her pale companion grumbles, "You women, always exchanging recipes."

We both look at him, and I defend us, "Well, it's so we can feed you..."

He cuts me off, still grumpy sounding, but I notice the crinkle of a smile on the corners of his green eyes.

"She would never feed me!" he quietly growls at me.

She laughs, orders the ginger cookie, thanks me, and off they go.