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Applesauce bleats, reminding me that she hasn’t been fed, and I snap out of my lusty haze and get moving.

There’s a spring in my step as I mix a second batch of dough for shortbread, a smile stretching wide on my face. I have the radio on, a sports presenter giving a rundown on the highlights of a football game I have no interest in.

I’m pressing the mix into a baking tray when the back door opens and Kiernan walks in, a blue baseball cap flipped on backwards.

“Morning, boss. Fuck yeah, it smells like shortbread in here today.”

I grin. “You have a talented nose.” The minute the words are past my lips, I know I’ve left myself open to one of Kee’s playful remarks.

“And a far more talented tongue.”

Called it.

He winks, then drops his bag in the back office and washes his hands. He starts his usual routine, which includes making us both a cup of tea.

Cleaning my hands, I dry them on a cloth, then remove the first batch of biscuits from the oven before accepting my mug from him.

“I’m listening to this awesome podcast. Callers ring in and tell their stories. Some of them are seriously fucking creepy.”

“Yeah?” I take a sip of tea – it’s a herbal mix with a strong fennel flavour. Not my favourite, but still good.

“In this episode I listened to on my walk in, this guy reckons his house is haunted by his great-aunt who is going out of her way to scare off his friends. Moving shit, slamming doors, writing words on mirrors. You know, the usual haunting stuff.”

I nod. I don’t know much about ghosts or hauntings, but the enthusiasm with which Kiernan tells the story has me captivated.

“So what did he do?”

“He tried everything. A sage cleanse, pouring salt around the doors. Eventually, he simply told her to leave.”

I walk over to the oven, open the door and slide in the next tray of shortbread.

“And did she?”

He shakes his head. “He ended up selling his family home. I guess she’s someone else’s problem now.”

“Jesus,” I mutter. “I would hate to have bought that place.”

He shrugs. “Maybe she likes the new owners better. You should give it a listen. I’ll send you the link.”

I haven’t listened to podcasts in a long time, and I don’t know how I feel about listening to ones intended to scare me, but I nod anyway.

“Your boyfriend coming in today?” Kiernan asks. He’s pulled out an industrial sized package of napkins and is refilling the dispenser we keep on the counter.

“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends.”

The ghost of Sterling’s teeth on my ear say otherwise, but I don’t need to share that with Kiernan.

“Oh, I need you to try something,” I announce, swiftly changing the subject.

Putting down my mug, I head off to the cooling racks and pick up a muffin, placing it on a small plate before handing it to Kee.

“Something new I made with herbs from my little garden.” Kiernan takes a bite and I rattle off the ingredients. “Parmesan, parsley, chives, and a hint of chilli.”

“Fuck, that’s good,” he says, mouth still full, crumbs sticking to his lips. “You need to put these on the menu.”

“You think?” I don’t sell much savoury foods here, but I want to. I love sweet bakes, and preparing them, but I mostly use my gran’s recipes because those were her specialties. And they were the ones I learned to bake with. But these herby treats, the ones I make with ingredients I’ve nurtured and grown, that’s all me.

“Fuck, yes. Hop to it.” He waves his hand at the oven and I chuckle. “I’ll write them on the specials board.”