Page 72 of Sparrow

So to speak.

“Right,” she says. “Let’s order, then, because I have things I want to get your thoughts on.”

We order three cheeseburgers and three vanilla milk shakes, plus boat loads of fries, and the owner of the cafe–Parker Jones, a woman who looks like she might have actually been alive in the 50s–takes it all down with quick pencil scratches.

Then she looks over the rims of her glasses at us.

“That it? You don’t want ice cream and apple pie? Mine’s better than that slop you can get at Penny’s, I’ll tell you that.”

This makes me laugh, and I quickly alter my opinion of the wiry old woman. She may have been alive in the 50s, and if she was, she was probably the first woman of her age to start telling the men what to do and where to do it.

And then recommending a good apple pie afterwards.

“Watch it, Parker, I’ve heard Arden here is good friends with Penny,” Sammy notes with a giggle and a set of enormous eyes turned in my direction.

Like she’s throwing me under the bus or something.

Parker sniffs. “Penny Sands,” she says sharply. “Yes, she’s got some good stuff in that bakery of hers. The cinnamon rolls are divine. But she needs to leave pie alone. I’ll bring you three slices. You can be the judge.”

I’ve had Penny’s pie and I don’t think Parker’s can possibly be any better.

But I’m willing to find out.

And I have to admit that I love the idea of the baker and the owner of the diner competing to prove to me who makes better pie. It’s just so... small town.

It’s just so Wood.

Taryn launches into a bunch of questions about what exactly I’ve been doing with Penny and whether I’ve been to the bookstore yet, and what I thought of their selection, and when I tell her Penny has actually given me her cinnamon roll recipe she nearly faints.

“You’re coming to my house tomorrow, to teach me how to bake them,” she says.

No nonsense. No arguments. So Taryn.

“Can’t,” I tell her simply. “Tomorrow is the festival.”

She smacks her hand to her forehead. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I should know; Gunner and Gabe are doing some crazy exhibit with their new furniture collection.”

“And they’re supposed to be helping me and Cameron with the art,” Sammy says quickly. “Don’t let them forget. I convinced Cam to do this and he’ll never forgive me if it doesn’t go right.”

They fall to planning, and I watch the two of them, feeling an alarming sense of deja vu. Taryn and me in a diner with another tiny and mischievous friend, scheming about things that may or may not be possible. Granted, this isn’t a jewelry heist, it’s the more wholesome installation of art at a small town’s summer festival that’s happening in April, but still.

The echoes are still here.

And it sends a sudden chill rushing across my skin.

When our food arrives I immediately grab a fry and dip it in my milkshake, savoring the combination of sweet and salty, hot and cold, and then reach for one of the cheeseburgers. I haven’t had anything to eat all day because I knew we were coming here, and I’m starving. Taryn flashes me a quick grin and takes her own burger, and then Sammy grabs one, nearly upsetting her milkshake in the process.

“Sammy, careful,” I gasp.

I reach out to grab her milkshake and set it right before she can tip it over, and the moment my fingers touch the glass, I freeze.

I’ve done this exact same thing before, in a cafe in New York, in the middle of the night. Right before things went sideways on us.

My eyes rise up and meet Taryn’s, and I can see she’s thinking the exact same thing.

We’ve been here before. Only we’re in a different town, and everything should be safe. We’re far from the mafia ties of New York, far from the men who shot their way through that cafe and stole us out of the kitchen.

No one here knows that we’re daughters of the Italian mafia. They don’t know how much we’re worth or that we’re worth anything more than anyone else. We’re fine. We’re safe.