“It’s a barrel,” I said flatly.
“It’s a drink table,” Lexi argued.
“This is a better drink table.” I pointed to a large metal-cylinder-looking thing.
“That,” Lexi said, “is a firepit, and we’ll take two.”
“Those are custom items from Italy and made to order. But,” the saleswoman said conspiratorially, “so that you don’t have to go beg for firewood, we have extra from a display, so I’m just going to give it to you.”
“New favorite store,” Lexi said happily.
“I can’t believeyou were nice to her after she clearly thought you were a nobody,” I said, turning to Lexi when we and the mound of packages were in my car. The special furniture Lexi had ordered was scheduled to be delivered in a few weeks.
“Maybe she was having a bad day,” Lexi said as she unwrapped the chocolate bar the saleswoman had given her. “And yeah, I could have been mean, but now maybe she’ll remember that the person she judged was actually fun and really nice, and she will be more open-minded in the future. Kindness pays dividends.”
“I don’t believe it,” I said, backing out of the parking spot. “As soon as she saw me, she was going to do everything she could to make the sale. She was sucking up to you.”
“You have to see the good in people,” Lexi said. “And now we don’t have to go buy firewood. Isn’t that nice? Though what a rip-off, right? In Florida I can just go outside and find stuff to burn. Shoot, people will give it away, and here you have to buy it.”
When we arrived back at my penthouse, I carried the firewood and the dopey barrel table inside while Lexi toted one of the bags with the large blankets in it.
“I should have bought some marshmallows,” she said as we rode the elevator up.
“The firepit hasn’t been delivered yet,” I reminded her.
“Anything can be a firepit if you just pit it.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“That’s because you’re not from Florida.” She dumped the bags on the couch in the living room then headed into the kitchen and started rummaging in the cabinets.
“I thought you had a … yep!” Lexi surfaced with a giant can of tomatoes.
“I didn’t buy that.” I scowled. “Why is that here?”
“You didn’t buy any of the food here,” she said mildly. “But thankfully someone had the foresight to buy tomato soup ingredients.”
She whipped out a can opener—somehow she knew my kitchen better than me—and opened up the can then dumped the tomatoes into a large stockpot, along with a container of chicken stock she’d pulled from the pantry, and turned on the heat.
“We’ll let that sit,” she said and rinsed out the can. “Now let’s light something on fire.”
“You’re going to burn this tower down,” I complained, following her outside.
“Please.” She snorted. “I’ve been bonfiring since I was four.” Lexi set the empty can on top of another full can, filled it with shredded paper, and lit a match. When the paper was burning, she stuck one of the pieces of wood in the can. Then she busied herself arranging the anemic amount of furniture on the terrace, piling the large fluffy blankets she’d insisted I buy onto the lounge chair and placing the barrel just so beside it.
“Too bad the other lounge chair isn’t here,” Lexi said with a sigh as she snuggled in the nest of woolly blankets.
I warily watched the can. The stick of wood had caught fire. Flames licked out. It was colder up here on the terrace above the city.
I didn’t spend much time out on the terrace, really only to swim, then I went back inside. It was, I hated to admit, a large terrace. Suddenly the amount of furniture Lexi had insisted I purchase didn’t seem so outrageous.
“Stop scowling. A fire makes everything better,” Lexi murmured from under the blankets.
I watched it another minute with suspicion. It didn’t seem like it was going to blow up.
Lexi patted the lounge chair.
“Come here, kindness buddy. Sharing is caring.”
