Semi-Sweet by Roisin Meaney

took it and scanned it quickly.
    “Carpenter available,” she read. “Custom-built kitchen and bedroom furniture. All jobs considered. Free estimates, recession-beating prices. Quality guaranteed.” And beneath, in smaller lettering, “John Wyatt” and a mobile-phone number.
    “I’m trying to spread the word,” he said. “Would you mind?”
    “Of course not.” She took the bundle from him and placed it on the counter. “Are you just starting out?”
    He didn’t seem young enough to be starting out. He was her age, easily, or a few years older. His hair was cut tight into
     his head, so short it was hard to determine its color. His chin was dotted with dark stubble. He reminded her of a PE teacher
     she’d had in school—Mr. Flaherty, was it, or Flannery? Maybe that was why she thought he looked familiar.
    “I’ve not been long in this area, just a couple of months,” he told her, “but I’ve been a woodworker for quite a while, about
     fifteen years.” He switched his attention to the cupcake display. “Now, these are interesting—who’s the baker?”
    “My daughter here,” Geraldine said immediately, smiling brightly at him. “Hannah. She makes the most wonderful gourmet cupcakes.”
    “Well,” he said, studying the display, “in that case I shall take two of the…” He scanned the colored labels. “Vanilla-chocolate,
     please.”
    “That’s a Scottish accent, is it?” Geraldine asked as Hannah pulled on a pair of plastic gloves and put his order into a box.
    He nodded. “But my mother comes from Tipperary, so we spent a lot of time here as kids.”
    “And what’s brought you to Clongarvin?” Geraldine didn’t see, or chose to ignore, Hannah’s frown.
    He didn’t seem to mind the interrogation. “Change of scene.”
    “You like it here?”
    “I certainly do. Nice, friendly place.”
    Hannah was terrified that her mother was going ask if his wife liked it too. “Three-fifty, please,” she told him quickly.
     “I hope you enjoy them—the vanilla-chocolate is one of my bestsellers.”
    “Thank you.” He took the box and pocketed his change. “And I notice,” he said, nodding at the empty shoe box, still sitting
     on the counter, “that you also sell footwear.”
    Geraldine laughed. “Actually, they’re a birthday present. It’s Hannah’s big day today.”
    “Happy birthday”—he smiled—“and many more of them.”
    “Thanks,” she replied, willing him to leave. She wouldn’t put it past her mother to tell him precisely how old she was, and
     how she was available if he fancied taking her out.
    “Good luck with the work,” Geraldine said. “We’ll do our best for you here.”
    “I do appreciate it.” As he turned away, the rocking chair on the wall caught his eye. “Well, now, that’s what I call an original
     design feature.”
    “It belonged to Hannah’s grandfather,” Geraldine told him. “He made it possible for her to set up this shop, so she thought
     it would be nice to remember him in some way.”
    “Good—I like a bit of family history.” He studied the chair, nodding. “Lovely workmanship. And the color is very…eye-catching.”
    “Hannah has extremely good taste,” Geraldine said. “She has a way with color—you should see her house.”
    “Mam,” Hannah murmured, throwing him an apologetic look.
    He was amused; he could see exactly what was going on. “Well, I’d best be off,” he said, heading finally for the door. “Bye
     for now.”
    They watched him walk out. “What a nice man,” Geraldine said. “And works with his hands—I like that.”
    Hannah folded the plastic gloves and laid them aside.
    “I love the Scottish accent, don’t you?” Geraldine said. “It’s so soft.”
    Hannah replenished the supply of vanilla-chocolate cupcakes.
    “I think he liked you. I mean, there was no need for him to hang around admiring that rocking chair.”
    Hannah slid the full tray back into place.
    “I wonder if he’s