There’s no second story. Instead, the ceiling is arched and high, held up with thick timbers.
If Theo and Grey are also here, they have to be hiding in an office or one of the bathrooms.
“Do you have dishwashers on your staff?” Emma asks her friends.
The two of them share a look, barely keeping straight faces. “You think we’re washing dishes in our conditions?” Sabrina finally says.
“They’re coming…later,” Laney adds.
That’s ominous, but after taking another look at each of them in turn, Emma laughs. “If you say so.”
“We do,” Laney says quickly.
“Wine?” Sabrina interjects. “We have a lovely prosecco from the Questionable Intentions river valley. It hits your nose with a fizzle and finishes with an inclination for bad decisions.”
She delivers the description so dryly, I can’t help but laugh along with Emma. Someone has apparently been on a wine tour she didn’t fully appreciate before.
“I would love some nose-fizzle wine,” Emma tells her friend.
“And remember the bread.” Laney sets the plate of deviled eggs on the table, then whips a blue checkered napkin off of a bread bowl.
Emma gasps softly, then laughs again. “Jonas. Have you had Sir Pretzelot pretzels yet? You have to try this.”
She pulls me closer to the table, dropping my hand as she reaches for one of the giant pretzels on top of the pottery plate. She tears off a bite and holds it to my mouth. “Here. It’s okay if you don’t like it. I can eat enough for both of us. But don’t feel obligated tonotlike it just because I’d eat all of this without regret. I know where to get more. And I do. All the time.”
I don’t taste the pretzel.
It’s not the pretzel either.
It’s the fact that Emma’s feeding it to me, standing so close I can smell the baby shampoo and mint on her. So close that I can count the freckles on her nose. So close that I could pull her body against mine and kiss her until neither of us can breathe.
Why did I think a date before spending the night in her bed was a good idea?
Why didn’t we stay home?
I could’ve ordered in pretzels.
Her eyes are sparkling as she watches me chew. “Isn’t it—”
A giant sneeze from some other part of the building cuts her off.
She closes her eyes, sighs, and then looks back at her friends.
Laney’s struggling to hide a wince.
Sabrina’s completely straight-faced as she pours two glasses of prosecco. “Behave yourselves tonight, you two. The train station ghost is acting up.”
“Bitsy’s making fish and chips, isn’t she?” she says to Sabrina.
“Not for you. We know you prefer the lamb.”
“But for…the ghost?”
“You knowthe ghostcan never turn down a free meal,” Laney murmurs.
Emma laughs, and I barely realize I’m staring until Laney clears her throat. “Would you like to sit?”
Sit.
