“Dammit,” she moans. “I hate it when he’s right.”
“Who’s he?”
“The boss. He told me I’d put an eye out one day.”
“Put an eye out? Those were his words?”
“His exact words.”
“He sounds like an eighty-year-old man.” I attempt to get her up to standing.
“So, when you say kissed—” About halfway up, she screeches. Immediately, I help her down again. “My ankle. Oh, shit.” After recovering, she leans forward to undo the laces, but I’m already there.
“Ice?” I ask, as soon as I’ve eased the boots off. This is a dance I’ve done more times than I can count. Sometimes Mom’s barely down before I’ve got her on a flat surface, ice pack out. “Bags? Or a towel?”
“Behind the counter. Bags are on that shelf.” Lamé points with one of her sharp, rainbow-painted talons.
“Come on. Let’s get you up on a chair. If you think you can.”
Once she’s all settled, I head over to where I spotted one of those big, professional-looking emergency first-aid kits, drag it over and take out a painkiller and the compression bandage. Lamé watches me. “You’ve done this before.”
I grimace at her ankle, which is quickly swelling. “A time or two.”
“Me, too. In another lifetime.” She nods and starts to get up. “All right. Now help me to the counter.”
“Whoa whoa whoa. Sit down.”
“You know how to make coffee? ’Cause I’m not sitting unless you do.”
A couple people walk in and wander over, followed by more.
“Anyone know how to use one of those?” Lamé points at the machine.
With a muttered, “Dammit,” I eye a fresh batch of arrivals. “Making coffee paid for books my first couple years of college.” I don’t bother mentioning that I never graduated. “I just don’t usually deal with money.” I glance nervously at a loud group that’s just entered. “Or people.”
Lamé apparently finds this hilarious. She claps her hands. “Listen up, guys!”
Her voice is remarkably effective at getting attention. “The lovely Grace here’s gonna make your coffee, but she hates people.”
“I wouldn’t say Ihatepe—”
“So, just accept her abuse like good little subs and give her a massive tip, because she’s saving my ass today.”
Someone says something about it being a fine ass and the crowd breaks out into laughter. A couple big bear-looking guys offer to help Lamé to the medical cabin. She’s positively simpering when they pick her up. They’re almost to the door when she has them turn her around, in the manner of an empress atop her litter. “Oh, Grace, honey.”
I pause my frantic efforts to understand the coffee shop’s system, and look up.
“You’ve got something on your neck.”
My hand flies up to my shoulder. Sure enough, there’s a faint swelling. Oh my God. My fingers tingle. It’s where he bit me last night.
With a smirk, Lamé grand exits. If that’s even a thing.
Shit.
“Nice bite.”
Oh, God, I can’t talk about this.
