“Maybe,” I begin.
“Has he shown you the—”
“The girl just got here, Tina. Don’t scare her off with your stories,” Colonel chides, a little sharp.
Tina pulls me into a big, warm hug, like she really means it, and rubs my back. “You’re gonna do fine,” she says softly. “You just remember you’re a Kirkwood and don’t take shoo-shoo off nobody, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say reflexively, because what else is there to say?
She releases me and bustles out the door, and now it’s my turn to order, even though I haven’t really had time to peruse the menu. I almost get a salad, but then I remember what Colonelsaid about the salads and think about what the plumbing must be like in the back of this ancient building. I order a grilled cheese and a side of fruit because it’s almost impossible to make a bad grilled cheese, and Colonel insists on paying for us both. He guides me to a table for two up front by the window that looks out on the square.
My chair is spindly wood with a rounded back, and there’s no room for Doris’s backpack. As I turn in place in the cramped space, trying to find somewhere to put her, a toddler charges past, screaming about cookies. I back up, and my butt hits a chair, which knocks into the next table. I whirl around to apologize, forgetting I’m holding a neon-pink bag full of cockatoo. Doris is already screaming as her backpack knocks over someone’s sweet tea—
Spilling it all over the table and a tablet, and into the lap of the best-looking man I’ve ever seen.
3.
“I’m so sorry!”I blurt.
The poor man is using his napkin to try to contain the spill, but his tablet has gone dark and his chips are now soaked. He’s around my age, with tanned skin, longish palomino hair pulled back at his nape, and tattoos peeking out of his rolled-up flannel.
He looks up, annoyed. His eyes are an arresting hazel gray, his eyebrows dark. “Do you have any napkins?”
“All I have is an angry cockatoo and abject mortification.”
He does a double take as if actually seeing me—and Doris—for the first time.
“You know that chicken salad’s a little underdone?”
“She’s not lunch—she’s my emotional support cockatoo.”
“She’s doing a real bad job of it. Are you okay?”
I must look like a complete idiot, standing in the middle of this crowded restaurant holding a pink bag and having a panic attack.
“Oh, Captain!” Doris shrieks. “Shipoopi!”
Colonel, who’s been watching all this play out, collects napkins from the surrounding tables, and all three of us mop up the spilled tea. It’s as awkward as it sounds, and Doris isn’t helping. Any moment, I’m afraid I’m going to get kicked out of the sandwich shop, which is the only way I could be more embarrassed.
“I’m okay. But I really am sorry. Looks like I killed your tablet.”
He picks it up and messes with the buttons. Brown liquid drips out of every tablet orifice. “My sister gave it to me for Christmas, and she’s going to be furious with me until she finds out a bird did it.” And then—a devastating smile. “A bird, and a pretty girl. That should mollify her.”
I’m not sure which is more swoony, his smile or the fact that he can correctly use the wordmollifyin a sentence.
“I’ll pay for it,” I say, knowing full well I can’t afford to. “Or—is there a bookstore downtown? I’ll buy you a copy of whatever you were reading.”
A wry shake of the head. “I wish we had a bookstore, but no. Closest we’ve got is a spinner rack of cookbooks at the—”
“Abraham?” Colonel barks, drawing my attention.
The second-oldest man in town sits down at the table beside ours. The last customer’s trash is still there, and the man picks through the abandoned basket, crunching on someone else’s pickle. With his long gray beard, shiny pink head, and sleepy brown eyes, I wouldn’t be surprised if this guy was Abraham from the actual Bible.
“Yessir?” Abraham says, blinking in surprise as if he has no idea where he is.
“Who’s watching the store?”
Abraham looks around in alarm. “Which store?”
