Dang, he’s still as tough as he was the last time I came here. I’d popped up to buy Uncle Kenny six dozen tea cakes for a repast happening that same day. Mr. Copeland had stared at me from behind the counter in my Rhodes uniform and smiled politely while asking if I thought he was a “goddamned magician.” I haven’t been back since.
I clear my throat, pattering up to the counter and stooping down to look at the only German chocolate cake.
I point to it. “This still available?”
He taps his fingers against the case. “Unfortunately, that German chocolate cake belongs to somebody else. Everything else is available, though.”
White hairs sprout from his bulbous nose as he leans over the glass display where all their desserts are lined up.
There’s tea cakes, banana pudding, and pecan pie. None of it sounds like anything Rich would enjoy (as if I knew) and none of it is birthday appropriate, anyway.
I push my face closer to the glass while he stares at me.
“You don’t like tea cakes?” he asks.
“It’s for somebody else. It’s for his birthday. All he wants is a German chocolate cake.”
“Well,hesounds easy.”
“Mhmm. He is. He never asks for much.”
A weird pang dances around in my stomach while I pretend to know much more about Rich than I do.
“How ‘bout you try H-E-B? They got birthday cakes there?—”
“Yeah, but they’re not Copeland’s German chocolate cakes. I can’t show up with a store-bought cake on such a special day.”
This time I remember all the innocuous things about womanhood that I forgot—like to tilt my head a little and to raise my voice an octave.
Mr. Copeland’s light face reddens.
He smiles, sitting both arms on the counter and lacing his fingers together. “You tryna butter this old man up, young lady?”
“Maybe.” I smirk.
I haven’t done an audacious thing like this in so long that it makes everything feels liberating—flirting with Mr. Copeland, pretending I actually know Rich, and going wherever I want without having to report my every move.
“What’s the lucky guy’s name?”
“Rich.”
His eyebrows wrinkle. “Rich?”
“Yeah, Rich Lovelace.”
“Rich Lovelace Jr.?” His smile falters, and that bubble of liberation around me pops.
I guess this is what I get for trying to do the things the old Lovie did. There’s a reason AJ hated that version of me.
I take a step back until Mr. Copeland unlaces his fingers and holds a hand out to stop me. “Wait. You being serious?”
“Uh… yea?—”
“You here forPup?”
I swallow. “Uh…ye…yeah—Pup.”
He swipes his hand down the length of his apron and shuffles to the display case.
