“We’re not spending any more money on flowers downtown. We have two entire city blocks full of trees and flowers. Plant your own in front of the cafe if you want more.”
Lexi growls at her. “I already did, but it needs more! Nora’s been asking for them, too, you’re gonna make me do hers myself? You’re such a flower grinch!”
My stomach doesn’t nosedive nearly as much as usual at the mention of anything Christmas-related, I’m so invested in their argument. The best entertainment I’ve had since finishing catching up on past episodes ofVengeful Vixens.
The younger of the two sisters isn’t buckling under the pressure. “Doyouwant to review the budgets? Be responsible for the purse strings? Why don’t you look at exactly how much we’ve spent so far on landscaping? I’m not giving it another dime!”
Lexi continues arguing. “It’s about to be summer! Most of the flowers along Main will be done for the year, and then in fall those maple trees are going dominate downtown, and?—”
Rory cuts her off, “We have plants for all seasons, it looks beautiful, NEXT!”
Even Wyatt can’t keep from chuckling, leaning over to kiss his wife on the temple, their daughter in his arms, as the whole table laughs at the antics that never seem to cease in this family.
And I know I can’t stay forever, the past will catch up with me eventually, but damn this is a good place to rest and recharge the part of my soul I’ve been missing before I have to run again.
TWENTY-ONE
WESTON
Wyatt
Why is there a tiny ass print on the wall in between the bay doors?
Did you fuck in my shop?
Answer me
I can see you read these
Me
Hey Wyatt, is my Charger buffed out yet?
What, so this is payback?
At least it wasn’t on your fucking priceless classic car.
This time.
But combat boots can do some damage.
Buff my fucking car out.
Heights Bites is in its first week of being open, and the place isbuzzing. I take the last open table, in the front corner against the expansive plate glass window overlooking the center of downtown, as I finish texting my brother and wait for my date to join me.
The last couple weeks have been some of the best I can remember. Making bank painting by day, fitting in some motorbike repairs at night (I restored Ronnie’s and then a few more requests came in that have kept me busy when I can get over there), and then spending the rest of the night buried in Amelia.
She still spends some time with Van Gogh, but she sleeps with me at my place more often than she doesn’t. We haven’t labeled things between us, and a part of me can’t shake the fear that if I sneeze at the wrong time, she’ll run, but hell, things aregoodright now. Actually good. Even Sunday night dinners at my brother’s have been fun. Amelia’s gone on another girls’ night with Rory and Lexi too.
The only low point has been the slew of denial emails I got all at once on the lottery for the fireflies. This is the week they’re supposed to start, and not one of the dozen applications I filled out got chosen for the parking pass that would let us into the national park to see them.
Lexi flits around the cafe, tennis shoes squeaking, frizzy hair pulled back in a ponytail, eyes frenzied as she runs table to table, taking orders, refilling glasses, and taking people’s payments when they’re ready.
Only one other server is here helping her, a middle-aged Black woman who was my teacher in elementary school, Ms. Snow. She keeps pointing at her name tag, telling me to call her Wanda now, but I dunno, still feels disrespectful. Ms. Snow taught every damn kid in my generation, Rory, Wyatt, Lexi, and me included.
Wanda (I’m trying out the name) doesn’t use a pad and pen to take orders, she just remembers everyone’s special requests and dietary restrictions, which I’m more and more fascinated by the longer I watch the women work.
It takes about ten minutes before Lexi makes it over to me, a large vinyl-laminated menu in hand. “Sorry, West. Didn’t realize you were in my section. What can I get you?”
