Free The Green Man by Michael Bedard

looked forwards and backwards at once. Hesaw things coming, saw things going. He looked into the future, peered into the past – and swung back and forth like a doorway between them. She wished she could climb up closer to him. If she could just see him face-to-face, she felt some of the mystery surrounding him might fall away.
    She dragged the bargain bins out and parked them in the shade under the window. As she tidied up the books a bit, her eyes kept drifting to the shop next door – Gigi’s Patisserie. She had to force herself not to wander over and look in the window. Look in the window, and it was game over.
    All it took was a little self-control. She headed straight back inside, fetched the duster from behind the desk, and walked briskly up and down the aisles, running it smartly along the edges of the lower shelves until they shone. The shop smelled of some sweet, gooey, chocolaty thing Gigi had been baking that morning.
    She suddenly remembered that the bargain books had looked pretty dusty. It had been hot and dry for the past few days, and the dust from the street settled on them like crazy. She was certain no one wanted to look through bins of dusty books. She’d better give them a dusting, too, while she was at it. She headed back outside.
    O was just going over them a second time when the door to the bakery opened and Gigi came out, carrying her signboard. Gigi was a perky young thing, with flamingred hair, piercings running up both ears, and a ruby stud in her nose. She had a sweet French accent that turned even a simple good morning into an event.
    “Hey, O,” she said.
    They had met. Several times. A considerable portion of the Green Man’s profits flew directly from the battered cashbox in the desk drawer into Gigi’s till.
    “Hi. What smells so good? I’ve been drooling all over the floor inside the shop.”
    Gigi laughed. “Chocolate éclairs,” she said, pointing to the signboard where she’d written the daily specials in her curlicue writing. “Would you like to try one?”
    “I shouldn’t.” Recently, she’d been trying to wean Emily off Gigi’s decadent desserts in favor of carrot and celery sticks. She could use a little weaning herself.
    “Don’t be silly. It’s on the house. It’s the least I can do for smelling up your shop. Fred’s just putting them out now.”
    Fred was a pastry chef who had been around the business for years. Gigi had hired him after a series of friends who’d come to work with her had all drifted off to less demanding work. Running a bakery was a killing business. Gigi and Fred were in the shop at five every morning, baking for the day ahead. Then, at the end of each day, they prepared the dough for the next day and let it rest overnight.
    O followed Gigi into the bakery. Fred was arranging that day’s baking in the window and gave her a friendly nod. Gigi had the most delicious window in Caledon. You could put on five pounds just looking in it.
    Buttery madeleines, coconut-filled macaroons, crispy palmiers, gooey apple tarts, and tiny petits fours with pale pastel icing were ranged on the gleaming glass shelves. Inside were still more treasures: lemon tarts topped with chocolate strawberries and drizzled with apricot glaze; napoleons layered with rich pastry cream sandwiched between delicate sheets of golden puff pastry and sprinkled with icing sugar; melt-in-your-mouth butter cookies with bits of candied cherry on top; plump blueberry turnovers sprinkled with sugar; and decadent chocolate pies.
    And, today, there was a tray of mouthwatering chocolate éclairs piped full of pastry cream and dipped in chocolate fondant. Gigi took one from the tray and put it on a napkin.
    “Here you go. Let me know what you think.”
    “I think I’ve just died and gone to heaven.”
    Back inside the shop, O crawled into the bunker that was Emily’s desk and switched on the radio. As she waited for the first customer to come through the door, she tallied the sales