“Where you from?”
“Austin. San Antonio, now.”
“You’re not tourists, y’all neighbors.”
Really, I’m just ‘plus one,’ but call it what it is, neighbors, not tourists. I was inspecting the owner’s art on her arm, inquiring about the names and meanings, what the art represented.
“That’s my son, the other one is my daughter, and that,” she indicated a fetching and colorful arm piece, “is a wild girls’ night out in Kansas City. Girls’ weekend, really.” She smiled.
The miniature eclairs were fresh, the chocolate still warm, all made from scratch.
The name of the bakery and cafe, coffee shop, mostly, is Two Tarts, because, in her words, one of the owners, “Two are tarts, but just one is kind of slutty.”
She smiled an easy, affable manner.
Aries. The other sister is Leo.
The foods, baked goods, are outstanding, made from scratch.
In New Braunfels, just off the town’s square. Center of the town. Not even a square, really, just a four-way intersection. Summertime on the river and life is easy.