* * *
The afternoon unfolds the way afternoons have been unfolding all week. Nicholas in his booth, me at the bar, the parallel hum of two people working in the same room. Vaughn comes through twice — water, then coffee, both times glancing at the booth without comment. Knox stays in his office. Jason reorganizes the garnish station, which doesn't need reorganizing but keeps his hands busy.
Robin shows up around two with a box of pastries and a laptop bag slung over his shoulder. He's coming from the café — flour on his sleeve, still buzzing from a morning rush that went well.
"Lemon bars," he announces, setting the box on the counter. "New recipe. The old one was too sweet."
"The old one was perfect," Jason says.
"The old one was too sweet and I will die on this hill." Robin opens the box. Looks at Nicholas in the booth. Looks at me. Looks back at Nicholas.
"Has he eaten anything besides nachos?" Robin asks me, not quietly enough.
"That's not our business."
"It's a little our business. He's been eating nachos for five days. That's not a meal, that's a sodium delivery system."
"Robin."
"Fine." He takes a lemon bar out of the box, puts it on a napkin, and walks it over to the booth.
I watch this happen in slow motion and can't stop it.
"Lemon bar," Robin says, setting it down next to Nicholas's laptop. "New recipe. Free sample."
Nicholas looks at the lemon bar. Then at Robin. "Thank you."
"The old recipe was too sweet. Tell me if this one's better."
"I didn't have the old one."
"Then tell me if this one's good. I need a fresh palate."
Robin walks away before Nicholas can respond. Back at the counter, he gives me a look that dares me to say something.
Nicholas picks up the lemon bar. Takes a bite. His eyes close for a second — the way everyone reacts the first time they eat something Robin made. Then he opens his laptop bag, pulls out a pen, and writes something on the napkin. Folds it in half. Goes back to work.
When he leaves at four-thirty, the napkin is still on the table. I shouldn't read it.
I read it.
Perfect balance. The tartness cuts the sweet without competing. Don't change anything.
I fold the napkin and put it on the counter in front of Robin without a word.
Robin reads it. Reads it again. Looks at me.
"He's still a developer who wants to buy our home," Robin says.
"Yes."
"But he has a good palate."
"Apparently."
Robin puts the napkin in his pocket. I don't comment on that.
The bar empties slowly after that. Robin heads to Ash's house to cook dinner with Vaughn — they've been doing that most nights now, the whole household eating together at the big table. Knox and Toby disappear upstairs. Jason goes with Robin. Silas reads in his corner until the light is gone, then goes to his room.
