My lips twitched. “Yes.”
“The answer is…I don’t know,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Is that mean?”
“No. You can be honest.”
“Then I think you should get a dog like Tate. They’re better.”
I smiled and decided it was best to exit the conversation before she got suspicious.
Gretchen had a way of offering a fresh perspective without trying. She was aware of the inherent instability of her world. She noticed everything—all the inconsistencies and disparities—and was somehow stronger for it.
Note to self: Kids were smarter than you’d think.
CHAPTER 8
VIGGO
Dexter’s special of the day was a blueberry donut. It was frosted with purple blueberry icing and was decorated with a flower. Sort of fancy looking, but I liked blueberries, so…
“Two of the special, please.”
“You got it.” The short-haired tattooed brunet flashed a bright grin. “I’m Janey, by the way.”
“Viggo.”
Her smile somehow widened. “Nice to meet you, Viggo. You’re later than usual. Saturday morning lie-ins are the best.”
I furrowed my brow. “Uh…yes.”
“I’m off tomorrow. I plan to hibernate till noon under covers with a steamy romance.” She waggled her pierced brows, adding, “Can I get you a fritter too?”
“Yes, please.”
“That’s the spirit.”
I stepped aside to wait for my order and glanced up as Dexter waltzed in from the kitchen. I did a double take at his sporty ensemble—black joggers, a snug Wood Hollow Hornets T-shirt, and a matching ball cap. Damn, he was stupidly attractive. I didn’t like it.
“Hi, there. Did you order coffee too?” he asked.
“No, I’ve had enough this morning. Just the?—”
“Blueberry donuts and a fritter,” Janey chimed in, pushing two separate bags across the counter.
“Great. Those are on the house. Later, Janey.” Dexter swiped the donuts and charged toward the exit.
“He stole my donuts,” I said flatly.
Janey snickered. “He didn’t get far. Catch him before he heads to practice. Next!”
Dexter met me on the sidewalk and pressed the pastry bags into my hands. “I have to get to the field. Do you mind walking with me?”
I inclined my head and followed him to the shiny white Tahoe parked in front of Dean’s Shoe Repair. “What is it?”
“Nothing serious. I’m running behind schedule. I forgot to tell you that I coach this morning, but then I spotted you in line and—” He slipped designer sunglasses on his perfect nose and continued. “Does lunch sound good today? We could get out of town or hard-launch our new friendship at Log Cabin Diner. Personally, I vote for a local friendship launch. Eventually, baby news will come out, and all this will seem silly. Also, I never asked if you were a football fan. I still think flag football is our best bet.”
I frowned, struggling to keep up with his pinball style of speech, ricocheting from topic to topic. “Are you asking me a question about lunch or football?”
He chuckled. “Both. Do you play football or follow it?”
