Death and a Dog. Fiona Grace

of word, not hers. During their “defining the relationship” discussion, Lacey had put forth the argument that it was an inadequate and childish term for two full-grown adults embarking on a romantic journey together, but Tom pointed out that since she wasn’t employed by Merriam-Webster, the terminology wasn’t really hers to decide. She’d conceded on that particular point, but drew the line at the terms ‘girlfriend’ and ‘boyfriend’. They were yet to decide on the appropriate terms to refer to one another and usually defaulted to ‘dear’.

      Suddenly, Tom was looking at her and waving. Lacey jerked up, her cheeks warming at the realization he’d just caught her gazing at him like a schoolgirl with a crush.

      Tom’s waving gesture turned into a beckoning, and Lacey suddenly realized what the time was. Ten past eleven. Tea time! And she was ten minutes late for their daily Elevenses!

      “Come on, Chester,” she said quickly, as excitement leapt into her breast. “It’s time to visit Tom.”

      She practically ran out of the store, only just remembering to flip her ‘Open’ sign over so it read ‘back in 10 minutes’ and lock the door. Then she hop-skipped across the cobblestone street toward the patisserie, her heart beat thump-thump-thumping in time with her bouncy steps, as her excitement at seeing Tom ratcheted up.

      Just as Lacey reached the door of the patisserie, the group of Chinese vacationers Tom had been entertaining moments earlier came streaming out. Each was clutching an extremely large brown paper bag stuffed full of delicious-smelling goodies, chattering and giggling to each other. Lacey held the door patiently, waiting for them to file past, and they politely bowed their heads in thanks.

      Once the path was finally clear, Lacey went inside.

      “Hello, my dear,” Tom said, a large grin lighting up his handsome, golden-hued face, making laugh lines appear beside his twinkling green eyes.

      “I see your groupies just left,” Lacey joked, coming toward the counter. “And they bought a ton of merchandise.”

      “You know me,” Tom replied, with an eyebrow wiggle. “I’m the world’s first pastry chef with a fan club.”

      He seemed to be in a particularly jovial mood today, Lacey thought, not that he ever seemed anything but sunny. Tom was one of those people who seemed to breeze through life unperturbed by the usual stresses that got the best of us down. It was one of the things Lacey adored about him. He was so different from David, who would get stressed by the smallest of irritants.

      She reached the counter and Tom stretched up on his arms to kiss her over it. Lacey let herself get lost in the moment, only breaking apart when Chester began to whine his displeasure at being ignored.

      “Sorry, buddy,” Tom said. He came out from behind the counter and offered Chester a chocolate-free carob treat. “There you go. Your favorite.”

      Chester licked the treats right out of Tom’s hand, then let out a long sigh of satisfaction and sank down to the floor for a snooze.

      “So, what tea is on the menu today?” Lacey asked, taking her usual stool at the counter.

      “Chicory,” Tom said.

      He headed into the kitchen at the back.

      “I haven’t had that before,” Lacey called out.

      “It’s caffeine free,” Tom called back, over the whoosh of a faucet and the banging of cupboard doors. “And has a slight laxative effect if you drink too much.”

      Lacey laughed. “Thanks for the heads-up,” she called.

      Her words were met by the clink and clatter of chinaware, and the bubble of the kettle boiling.

      Then Tom reappeared holding a tea tray. Plates, cups, saucers, a sugar bowl, and a china teapot were on it.

      He placed the tray down between them. Like all of Tom’s crockery, the items were completely mismatched, their only linking theme being Britain, as if he’d sourced each one from a different patriotic old lady’s yard sale. Lacey’s cup had a photograph of the late Princess Diana on it. Her plate had a passage from Beatrix Potter written in delicate cursive beside a watercolor image of the iconic Aylesbury duck, Jemima Puddleduck, in her bonnet and shawl. The teapot was in the shape of a gaudily decorated Indian elephant, with the words Piccadilly Circus printed on its bright red and gold saddle. Its trunk, naturally, made the spout.

      As the tea brewed in the pot, Tom used silver tongs to select some croissants from the counter display, which he placed on pretty floral plates. He slid Lacey’s toward her, followed by a pot of her favorite apricot jam. Then he poured them both a mug of the now brewed tea, sat in his stool, held up the mug, and said, “Cheers.”

      With a smile, Lacey clinked hers against his. “Cheers.”

      As they sipped in unison, Lacey had a sudden flash of déjà vu. Not a real one, like when you’re certain you’ve lived this exact moment before, but the déjà vu that comes from repetition, from routine, from doing the same thing day in day out. It felt like they had done this before, because they had; yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. As busy shop owners, Lacey and Tom often put in overtime and worked seven-day weeks. It had come so naturally, the routine, the rhythm. But it was more than that. Tom had automatically given her her favorite toasted almond croissant with apricot jam. He didn’t even need to ask what she wanted.

      It should have pleased Lacey, but instead, it perturbed her. Because that’s exactly how things had been with David to begin with. Learning each other’s orders. Doing little favors for one another. Small moments of routine and rhythm that made her feel like they were puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together. She’d been young and foolish and had made the mistake of thinking it would always feel that way. But it had just been the honeymoon period. It wore off a year or two down the line, and by that point, she was already stuck in marriage.

      Was that all this relationship was with Tom? A honeymoon period that would eventually wear off?

      “What are you thinking?” Tom asked, his voice intruding on her anxious rumination.

      Lacey almost spat out her tea. “Nothing.”

      Tom raised a single eyebrow. “Nothing? The chicory has had such little impact on you all thoughts have vacated your mind?”

      “Oh, about the chicory!” she exclaimed, blushing.

      Tom looked even more amused. “Yes. What else would I be asking?”

      Lacey clumsily placed the Diana cup back on the saucer, making a loud clatter. “It’s nice. Licorice-y. Eight out of ten.”

      Tom whistled. “Wow. High praise. But not quite enough to dethrone the Assam.”

      “It will take an exceptional tea to dethrone the Assam.”

      Her momentary panic that Tom had mind-reading abilities subsided, and Lacey turned her attention to the breakfast, savoring the flavors of homemade apricot jam combined with toasted almonds and yummy buttery pastry. But even the tasty food couldn’t keep her mind from wandering to the conversation with David. It had been the first time she’d heard his voice since he’d stormed out of their old Upper East Side apartment with the parting declaration, “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!” and something about hearing his voice again reminded her that less than a month ago she’d been a relatively happily married woman, with a stable job and an income and family nearby in the city she’d lived her whole life. Without even knowing she was doing it, she’d blocked out her past life in New York City with a solid wall in her mind. It was a coping strategy she’d developed as a child to cope with the grief of her father’s sudden disappearance. Evidently, hearing David’s voice had shaken the foundations of that wall.

      “We should go on a vacation,” Tom suddenly said.

      Once again, Lacey almost spit out her food, but Tom couldn’t have noticed, because he kept speaking.

      “When I’m back from my focaccia course, we should go on a stay-cation. We’ve both been working so hard, we deserve it. We can go to my hometown in Devon, and I’ll show you all the places