She looked down like she had forgotten she was standing on it. Then she lifted her chin. “I was fine.”
“You were wobbling.”
“I was reaching.”
“You were wobbling while reaching.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. Good. She knew I was right.
I pushed the door open wider with my boot and stepped inside. The place smelled like sugar, waffle cones, and cleaning spray. It was bright as hell compared to the street, and the floor was too clean except for a streak of chocolate near the counter.
Josie climbed down the last two steps, but she did it like she was proving a point. Slow. Careful. Annoyed.
I set the bag on the nearest table and moved to the ladder.
“What were you trying to get?”
“I can get it.”
“I didn’t ask if you could get it. I asked what.”
She folded her arms over her chest.
There was still chocolate syrup on her apron, and her hair was coming loose from the messy knot piled on top of her head. She looked tired. More tired than she had earlier.
“The blue box on the top shelf,” she said.
I looked up. There were three blue boxes. “Which one?”
“The one labeled lids.”
I climbed two steps, grabbed the box, and handed it down to her.
She took it with both hands. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I still could’ve gotten it.”
“I know.”
She looked surprised by that.
I stepped down and folded the ladder before leaning it against the wall.
“Then why did you make a thing out of it?”
“Because being able to do something doesn’t mean you should do it when you’re alone and half dead on your feet.”
“I’m not half dead.”
“You eaten?”
She looked away. That was answer enough.
I jerked my chin toward the table. “Then sit down.”
Her eyes came back to mine. “Excuse me?”
