“Nice detective skills, Sherlock.”
With a huff Dot unlocks the deadbolt and turns the key, cranking the door just a notch. I don’t hear what he says but assume he’s come to settle up as she’s unhooking the chain now, opening the door to let him in. Murphy scoots backward as he enters, tail wagging, paws dancing.
“I walked out without paying earlier,” he says gruffly, with disarming remorse. “Completely unintentional. Here.” He passes Dot a twenty, rubs a hand through his hair, glances at me. His eyes are wide, dark as damp earth.
“I’ll get your change,” I say.
“No, keep it. Thanks. Sorry about that.”
“Take something with you. Another coffee, some cake? As a thank-you for being so honest.” Aside from anything else, something in his demeanor seems to plead for kindness.
There’s somedrømmekageleft, an airy Danish sponge topped with caramelized coconut that roughly translates asdream cake. I box up a slice and offer it to him.
He pauses for a moment, rubs the crescent of stubble along his jaw uncertainly. Then he takes the box, his fingertips nudging mine. “Thanks.” He dips his head and leaves, a warm breath of velvet air drifting into the shop as he goes.
“Well,” says Dot. “Hewas a man of few words.”
“I think I threw him with the cake.”
“Yeah, what was all that about?Another coffee?” she parrots.“Somedrømmekage?”
I only just resist the urge to blush. “At least he came back to settle up. Which proves you to be an outrageous cynic.”
“Hardly. With that slab ofdrømmekageyou’re still barely in profit.”
“That’s not the point.”
Dot raises a microbladed brow. “Our boss might disagree. Or at least his accountant would.”
“No, Ben would tell you to have more faith in human nature. You know—give people a chance.”
“So what are you doing tonight?” Dot has a smile in her eye as she moves past me into the office for her jacket. “Sleeping rough for charity? Launching a pop-up soup kitchen?”
“Very funny. I might just hang out at Ben’s for a bit, see how he’s doing.”
Dot doesn’t reply. I know she thinks I’m weighed down by worrying about Ben, that I spend too much time mired in my memories.
“How about you?”
She reappears, sunglasses propped on top of her head. “Water-skiing.”
I smile.Of course—what else?
“You should come.”
“No, I’m inherently clumsy.”
“So? Water’s soft.”
“No, I’d better...”
She levels a look at me. “You know what I think, Cal.”
“I do.”
“Joined Tinder yet?”
“No.”Please don’t nag me.
