Falling into Forever. Phyllis Bourne

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      He swallowed hard, pushing a lump of emotion down his throat, and along with it the urge to turn his truck around and take his dad home.

      “Give me ten minutes. After that if you still want to go home, I’ll be more than happy to drive you.”

      Isaiah slowed the truck to the lower posted speed limit as they approached the downtown area near the waterfront. Main Street, usually bustling with tourists and traffic during summer and early autumn, unfurled before him, with only a few residents walking along it.

      As his father appeared to be mulling over his offer, Isaiah continued, “Life is short for all of us. Don’t let something as trite as pride keep you from enjoying every moment.”

      He caught his dad’s nod in his peripheral vision as he pulled the pickup into an open parking space in front of the bakery. The place had changed ownership in the years he’d been away. A purple awning hung over the storefront window, which boasted a red, white and blue placard asking citizens to vote Oliver Windom to the state house of representatives in the upcoming election.

      Both of his parents had raved about the new baker in their emails. His mother was partial to the cinnamon rolls, while his father was wild for the cupcakes. Their enthusiastic reviews had Isaiah raring to try one.

      He climbed out of the truck. His first instinct was to go around to the passenger side and help his father, but he decided not to push his luck. Instead, he leaned into the cab.

      “Coming?” he asked.

      “But what about your mother and that miserable diet?”

      “You telling her about this?”

      A blast of cold wind and the aroma of cinnamon-laced baked goods wafted through the truck’s open door. His father’s nose twitched.

      “No. I don’t think I’ll mention it to her, son.”

      “Good,” Isaiah said. “Neither will I.”

      Ben bounded from the truck with more energy than Isaiah had seen in the few days he’d been back. His father stopped short at the bakery door. He frowned, and then grunted at the sign in the window. “I wouldn’t vote to elect Windom dogcatcher,” he grumbled.

      A rush of heat and more heavenly smells greeted them inside the bakery. Isaiah’s stomach rumbled, reminding him he’d only picked at his breakfast and skipped lunch altogether.

      “Ben!” A woman clad in a purple apron with the bakery’s logo etched on the front greeted his father with a warm smile. “Long time no see. Where have you been keeping yourself?”

      His father mumbled something about being busy, not quite meeting the woman’s eyes.

      “Well, it’s good to see you. I thought I’d lost one of my best customers to some cockamamy low-carb diet.” She turned to Isaiah. “And this must be the son you’ve told me about, because he looks just like you.”

      His father perked up, any self-consciousness pushed aside by his deprived sweet tooth and the array of cupcakes on display behind the glass case. He briefly introduced Isaiah to the middle-aged woman called Carrie, before the two launched into a discussion about her latest culinary creations.

      “I know you’re partial to the red velvet.” Carrie held up a cupcake heaped with white frosting and red sprinkles. “But you’ve got to try my new salted caramel and corn candy cupcakes.”

      Ben pressed a finger against his lips as he glanced from the cupcake in her hand to the ones in the display.

      “I’m only baking the corn candy ones until Halloween, on Friday. After that they won’t return until next year,” she coaxed.

      “I’ll take two of the corn candy,” Isaiah said, not sharing his father’s indecisiveness.

      Carrie put two cupcakes smothered in orange icing and topped with corn candy on a purple plate. Isaiah’s stomach rumbled again as she placed them on the counter.

      “Okay, give me one of the salted caramel,” his father finally said.

      “One?” Carrie raised a brow. Ignoring his request, she placed two of the oversize cakes on a purple plate and handed it to Ben.

      Isaiah retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a twenty to pay.

      Carrie shook her head, refusing it. “It’s on the house. Thank you for your service, son.” She glanced briefly at his father and back at him, understanding brimming in her warm brown eyes. “And for bringing one of my favorite customers back.”

      Isaiah nodded and returned his wallet to his pocket.

      “Have a seat,” she continued. “I’m brewing a fresh pot of coffee. I’ll bring some over when it’s done.”

      He retrieved his cupcakes and followed his father. After his old man’s initial reluctance to even step inside the bakery, Isaiah was surprised to see him select a table by the window, overlooking the town’s main thoroughfare.

      Not bothering with preliminaries, they immediately took huge bites out of the tower of creamy icing covering their confections.

      One mouthful and Isaiah knew why his father was hooked. The rich, sugary rush of flavor was addictive.

      “Mmm.” Ben closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “Is this not the best thing you ever tasted?”

      His own mouth stuffed with another huge bite, Isaiah could only nod.

      Neither man looked up from his plate until Carrie returned with coffee and a purple box with the bakery’s logo.

      “I wrapped up a cinnamon roll for Cecily.” She glanced down at their nearly empty plates and winked. “You two make sure she gets it.”

      After Carrie left, Isaiah sipped his coffee and looked at his father, who was staring out the window. His face still bore the fine lines of weariness, but he sat a little straighter and the pastry appeared to have elevated his mood.

      Ben took a sip of coffee. “Thanks for bringing me here,” he said, continuing to gaze out at the passing cars and occasional pedestrian. “Sorry I gave you a hard time.”

      “No big deal.”

      The sun made a sudden appearance, poking through the blanket of gray clouds dominating the skies. His father squinted against the beams streaming through the storefront window.

      “We can move to another table,” Isaiah offered.

      “No, it’s cool.” Ben faced the sun. “Other than driving back and forth to Boston for my treatments, I’ve been holed up at the house.”

      Isaiah figured as much. It was why he’d insisted on bringing him here.

      His father turned away from the window. Wrapping his hands around his coffee mug, he looked down at the still-steaming brew before focusing his attention on Isaiah. “You haven’t said what your plans are now that you’re out of the military,” he said. “I don’t suppose they include staying in Wintersage permanently.”

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