“Bring on guests to show them how to awkwardly compliment each other.”
We were both giggling so hard at this point that we had to put our fruit down. I kimchi squatted because my legs lost their strength and Rose joined me.
“Hey! You’re doing it!” I said, pointing at her flat feet and balanced butt.
She twirled her arms up in the air, like a squatting showgirl.
“I practiced. Did you think I was gonna letyoube able to do something that I couldn’t?”
I pushed her over.
***
We got to the office park, and I honked in greeting to Hamlet, who saluted us, tucking his sign neatly under his arm.
As had become ritual, once we parked, Hamlet jogged over to us carrying a couple of iced drinks—a mocha for me and aniced coffee for Rose. “Thanks!” I said, taking mine with a wink. He blushed slightly. In return for our usual drinks, we gave him a plate of whatever he wanted.
“So, when are you going to throw Hamlet a bone?” Rose asked as we prepped.
My nose scrunched. “How did you know?”
She looked at me with a hand on her hip. “What? That he likes you?”
“What? No,” I sputtered. “You said, throw him abone. I mean, how did you know he’s a Lab… ah, never mind.” I fumbled with the cashbox, trying to remember the padlock code and messing up twice. I cursed and smacked the box with the palm of my hand.
She took it from me slowly, as if taking a bomb away from an unstable person. “Well, whatImean is that it’s obvious he likes you. Are you into him at all?”
I squinted out the window into the sunny courtyard, watching him make a drink with gusto. Tossing cups into the air, whistling, grinning. Eyes sparkling, charming everyone’s pants off.
Except mine. No, my pants were firmly on.
“He’s not my type.” I brushed by Rose and turned on the grill.
She laughed this smug little laugh that ended with a condescending shaking of the head. A specially patented Rose Carver kind of laugh.
“What?”
“So your type is notthat?” She pointed out the window. Where Hamlet’s thick black hair shone in the sun, arms tannedand flexing as he reached for a gallon of milk. And when he glanced up at us, his eyes crinkled into a smile before his toothy, white grin broke out. He waved.
Rose and I looked at each other and started cracking up. He cocked his head to the side, curious but smiling.
Labrador.
“He’s adorable, and you know it,” Rose said as she organized the cash—large bills under the tray, change and small bills sorted on top.
I leaned against the counter and pulled my hair up into a sloppy ponytail, a few strands escaping and falling loose around my face. “Like I said, adorable is not my type.”
“Let me guess—you like ’emnaughty.”
“Ew. Who even says ‘naughty’?”
Rose waved a hand in front of herself, lips pursed. “You know what I mean, bad boys. Like, high school Mr. Rochesters.”
“Who?”
“Don’t act obtuse.”
I pulled the container of vinaigrette out of the refrigerator. “Oh, but actually Iamobtuse.”
