“That I do,” she said. “Tea as usual for you both?”
“Yes, please,” Amy said, a grin on her face as well.
Lara leaned closer before stepping away. “Does your father know?”
I cringed. “Not yet.”
She gave a small nod and walked off toward the kitchen.
Within seconds the diner noise swelled to whispers layered over clinking silverware.
Amy leaned across the table. “You didn’t tell your dad what happened yet?”
“I didn’t expect to be out to breakfast,” I said. “I was going to call him later and explain everything before he saw me.”
“Not good, Pepper,” Amy said, shaking her head. “I bet photos are hitting his cell rapidly.”
She was right, I was already too late.
The swinging kitchen doors pushed open.
Zelda stepped out, wiping her hands on a towel. She spotted us immediately.
Or rather, she spotted my face.
Her eyes widened as she slid into the seat beside me without invitation.
“What happened?”
“Good morning to you too,” I said.
“Pepper,” she snapped, sounding like my mom when she lost her patience, which wasn’t often.
“It was an accident,” I said, wondering how many times today I would repeat it.
“With?” Zelda asked impatiently.
“A rug that defeated me,” I admitted dramatically.
She waited for more.
“And Ian’s elbow in a heroic gesture to save me.”
Zelda nodded. “Sounds about right for you. Does your father know?”
“Not yet,” I said, and could kick myself for not calling him before I left the house.
She glanced toward the window, then toward the door, as if calculating arrival times.
“With the number of phones currently aimed in this direction,” Zelda said dryly, “he will soon enough.”
I leaned back in the booth. I was doomed and I didn’t want to think about how doomed Ian was.”
Zelda reached out and gently turned my chin to inspect the bruise, mothering instincts kicking in despite her practical exterior.
“That’s coloring nicely,” she said and patted my hand, then stood. “I’ll have Lara bring extra ice.”
“No need?—”
