The biscuits were in fancy glass jars next to the cash register, and the satin steel of the brand-new espresso machine gleamed behind her. Marianne walked around to the front of the counter and took a couple of steps back to admire her creation. She’d done the exact same thing every morning since opening the Widows’ Café almost three years ago. Sometimes she found everything to her satisfaction. But sometimes she didn’t. Today she wasn’t entirely pleased with the way the glass of the display had been polished. Inside were the newly made open-face sandwiches, piled high with ham, cheese, roast beef, or shrimp. With a few expert swipes of a dishcloth, she polished the glass so it sparkled in the sun coming through the windows at the front of the shop. She could see her own face reflected in the glass. That round face, which had provoked so many sighs of dissatisfaction from her when she was young. These days she found it perfectly suited to her grey hair, still so thick and lovely as it framed her round face.
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