The Blue Door Read Online Free PDF Page A

many years, and then only in dreams,” his mentor replied. “I wonder at the purposes of bringing this girl into our midst.”
    “She did not seem very pleased,” Koji unhappily pointed out.
    “She might be a little scared,” Milo suggested.
    “Of
us
?” the boy asked.
    “Perhaps a little, yes,” Harken agreed. “But I daresay she’s struggling with disappointment as well.”
    Milo drooped visibly. “Some of this is my fault. Could I have handled it better?”
    Harken clapped his shoulder. “No, my boy. We’ll give her time to get over the surprise; in the meantime, I will ask for direction.”
    “Yes, that’s good,” Milo said resignedly, then looked to his comrade. “I’ve always treated her the same as everyone else.”
    “I know,” soothed Harken. “But now you don’t have to.”
    “I don’t believe it. I
won’t
believe it,” Prissie muttered over and over as she hurried past the local paper, the post office, and the town hall, which housed a tiny branch library. Story time was underway in the big gazebo that stood out front, so she checked for cars and dashed across Main Street, heading for the comforting familiarity of Loafing Around, her father’s bakery.
    Though Prissie didn’t know all the details, she’d overheard enough snippets of adult conversation to know that Grandpa had a hard time accepting his son’s career choice. Pete Pomeroy had wanted his only boy to take over the farmand orchard, carrying on the family business, but Dad had gone to cooking school instead. The tension between them had eased considerably with the birth of Pete’s first grandson. Grandpa poured all his love for the orchard into Tad, and by the time the little guy was four, he’d tell anyone who asked that he was going to be a farmer. Momma said it was hard to tell if Tad loved the farm because he loved
it
… or because he loved Grandpa. In the end, it hardly mattered; Pomeroy Orchard’s future was secure.
    The bakery offered a bit of everything, but Jayce Pomeroy’s specialty was bread, and they were famous for their dinner rolls. Soft, light, golden-brown potato rolls had been the Saturday Special since day one, and people actually lined up for them. It was the closest thing Main Street ever had to a traffic jam. Two years ago in shop class, Prissie’s next older brother Neil had made Dad a sign with routered lettering; it was proudly displayed on the bakery’s front door and invited patrons to
Get Your Buns in Here.
    Prissie frowned at the sidewalk until she neared her destination, then glanced up to see a guy standing in front of the bakery, his nose practically pressed to the window. “What are
you
doing here, Ransom?”
    Ransom Pavlos was a classmate, and for the last couple years, he’d been the bane of her existence. The gangly teen casually sat back on the seat of his bike and shifted the wide strap that crossed his chest. “None of your business, Miss Priss,” he smirked.
    “This is
too
my business!” she declared. “It’s my dad’s bakery.”
    He glanced through the display window and muttered, “Your dad’s, huh? Well, that changes things.”
    “What’s
that
supposed to mean?” Prissie demanded.
    Reaching into the pouch angled across his back, he fished out a newspaper and tossed it at her feet. “It means I’m not interested,” he replied before pedaling away.
    “Hey! she called after him. “You’re not supposed to ride on the sidewalks!”
    Ransom lifted a hand in farewell, but otherwise ignored her words.
    Prissie scowled after him, then bent to pick up the tightly rolled copy of
The Herald
, letting her old, familiar disgust with Ransom push Milo far from her mind. “Whatever,” she grumbled as she shoved through the bakery’s front door, setting its bell to jangling. Inside, she sniffed and smiled. It was impossible not to, because the bakery smelled just as it should — spicy, yeasty, sweet, and safe. Her father might wear the apron in the family, but he was her