“Finley,” Lana told him, inclining her head at me. “Last night. Drowned her sorrows after she got dumped.”
What was next, making an announcement to the customers?
“See, that’s exactly why I have my no-relationships rule.” Clark rearranged the tickets with both hands. “Too much trouble.”
“And it must besohard to follow,” Lana said, clicking her tongue sympathetically. “Considering all the girls constantly swarming you, begging for a commitment.” Ben snorted.
Kasey put another ticket down. “Six-top in! All sandwiches. And no one’s waiting. I think the worst is over.”
“Neversay that,” Clark warned her. “You open umbrellas inside and walk under ladders, too?”
Kasey ignored this, instead looking at me. “Finley? I know that was a lot. You okay?”
I nodded, half expecting Lana to again put what had happened the night before on blast. When she didn’t, I said, “Yeah. I’m fine.”
And I was, weirdly. Even with the puking. And the dumping. Maybe for everyone else the morning had been a nightmare. But I’d take a distraction.
Kasey picked up a pitcher, refilling the counter’s waters just as the phone began ringing again. I picked it up.
“Egg. Can I help you?”
“This is Catherine Hope. I’m trying to find my daughter. Is Kasey there?”
Just like that, it all came back: the papers on the floor, lab results, treatments listed. “It’s me, Mom,” I said.
“Finley?” She sounded confused. “Why are you answering the phone?”
“I was helping out,” I explained. “I’m coming home now, though.”
“Oh.” A beat. “Well, good. Will you bring me something?”
“Sure.” I swallowed. “What do you want?”
“Whatever you think I’d like.”
We hung up as I scribbled,AM SAND B SWon a ticket, then put it on the spindle. So weird how, a few hours earlier, I hadn’t even known what that meant.
“That’s on the house. And double it,” Kasey told Clark.When I took a breath to object, she held up a hand. “You want anything else? Least I can do, considering you saved us today.”
“I’m good,” I told her. To be honest, my stomach hurt a little from eating so fast earlier. Was Lana ever wrong? “Thanks, though.”
I went back behind the counter, where two people had just left. It only took a second to bus their plates and grab a spray bottle to wipe it down. By the time I finished, it had slowed enough to hear the music—Dolly Parton, again, I noticed—for the first time.
“Order up,” Clark called out. “Finley. It’s yours.”
In the window, a bag sat, top folded neatly. As I grabbed it, he looked up at me. “Hey. Sorry about, um, yelling at you earlier. It wasn’t personal.”
“Look at you, getting an apology,” Lana said, sticking another ticket. “He never tells us he’s sorry.”
“True,” he agreed. “But she doesn’t actually work here.”
“It’s fine,” I assured him. “It was actually kind of… I liked it.”
“Well, feel free to come back tomorrow. Or any morning. Like the rest of the county, we’re chronically understaffed,” Kasey said. “And if you do, grab an apron. Bin under the register.”
I looked down at my shirt. It was sticky with jam, a coffee stain exploding over the shoulder. Badges of courage. Or something.
“Maybe I will,” I told her. Then I took my sandwiches, left a twenty on the ticket, and started the long walk home.
