“Some cop you are,” I mumble, barely able to contain my laughter. As her sister, it’s my job to annoy her, and I can’t let such a good opportunity go.
“I was tired, and she was stupid,” my sister snorts in good-natured humor, not appearing offended.
A towel flies from the kitchen window, making me lose it, and I start laughing. All the stress from the previous hours begins dissolving.
We chat for a few minutes while Cheryl eats her dinner, and once she’s done, she turns toward Jericho.
“Well,” she starts with a smug smile, and I know it can’t be good.
He raises a brow in a silent question while she places one elbow on the counter and leans her chin on her fist. Her face becomes smugger with every passing second while Jericho’s brow climbs higher.
“Well?” he asks when he can’t wait anymore.
“I’ve heard we are almost relatives now.” Her smile reminds me of a Cheshire cat, showing all her teeth. I know that smile—she uses it when she wants to grill someone. Poor Jericho. I probably need to stick around to save him if I don’t want him running away scared out of his mind. Moons have always been an odd bunch, and no matter how much Cheryl pretends to be ‘normal,’ she’s not.
“Have you?” he asks, side-eyeing me.
“Yep. Heard you proposed in the middle of the diner?”
I nearly choke on air while Jericho’s face remains stoic. Cheryl isn’t pulling any punches and has decided to add her own version to the local snowball of rumors. I knew the situation in the diner would change by the end of tonight but didn’t expect my sister to participate.
Or did I?
“And how did you hear that?” Jericho’s lips twitch.
She shrugs, eyeing me. “Comes with the job description of a good cop.”
“Small town?” One corner of his lips stretches with a half smile.
“Small town,” she sighs, relaxing her shoulders. If it’s notthe sign of defeat, I don’t know what is. I thought she’d dig her claws into him but looks like she’s really tired.
“Want more coffee?” I ask, feeling compassionate toward her. On a second look, she has dark circles under her eyes. No make up. Her eyes are shiny.
With a grateful nod, she silently pushes her empty cup toward me and waits for the refill.
As I pour, something about her stillness unsettles me. Cheryl doesn’t do quiet. She chirps, commands, snorts. But what she doesn’t do is sit like this—folded in on herself, elbows propped on the counter like the weight of the world might finally be settling on her shoulders.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah.”
She lies like I do—quick and automatic.
I slide the cup back to her. “You wanna pretend I believe that?”
She snorts softly into her cup. “You’re annoying when you try to be nice.”
“And you’re bad at hiding shit when you’re tired.” I pause. “Want to talk about it?”
Cheryl lifts her eyes to mine. “Not today.”
That tells me enough. That maybe there’s something under all her usual steel—something heavy she can’t unload right now. So I nod, drop the subject, and walk back to the counter to grab more orders. We move like that—quiet agreement, quiet support. It’s not the first time we’ve done this. Won’t be the last.
But even as I help customers and refill syrup bottles, I feel her detaching even more. The idea that it might not be just tiredness begins settling in. Have I been too buried in myself that I haven’t noticed that my sister is struggling with something she doesn’t want to share with me?
And when she finally gets up with a soft “Later,” turns to Jericho, and says something for only him to hear. I want toask her more. I want to ask what’s happening, but I don’t want to press her because I’m barely holding myself together as it is after all the events of the day.
And since I don’t know which one I want to focus on the most, I let my mind wander into the meaningless tasks of the present like refilling the never-ending coffee, washing cups, and avoiding Jericho’s eyes.
