Page 95 of How To Plot a Payback

“Oh. So you just want to wait for another reservation in three months then. You just like waiting.”

I get it now.

Lavender drops her head. “You know I think having to be patient is the worst form of torture.”

Incredible.

She is going to give in.

I can see it written across her face plain as day. She’s even taking tiny steps toward Sonya, drawn in against her will.

Good grief. Sonya really was cast into the wrong genre.

I put my foot out.

Lavender halts when she touches it.

“You’re forgetting the thing we have tonight, Lavender,” I say meaningfully. I turn to Sonya. “I’m sorry, your dinner sounds lovely, but Lavender’s made a commitment.”

Lavender blinks in surprise.

Sonya’s head jerks my way. “What thing?”

My brain scrambles for something. “Dinner.” The last thing I want is to make this sound like a date, so I add, “With my neighbor. It’s her eighty-first birthday and she’s having me over tonight, and”—I incline my head to Lavender—“when Lavender heard she’s such a fan of the show, she agreed to come as well. To surprise her. You know how Lavender is such a good sport.”

“So . . . a date. With you and your neighbor. Who’s eighty.”

“Eighty-one. And no,” I reply, almost too quickly.

I hear a terrier’s claws across the park scratching into the dirt.

My eyes flick briefly over to Lavender, but she’s such a good actress she’s not even remotely giving anything away. Unsurprising, but it leaves me with the task of assuming this is what she wants. And hoping that I’m not making a deeper mess for her.

I charge on, remembering her plea moments ago. Frankly, the crick in my neck from hunching down on the bench is reminder enough.

“It’s really just a work thing,” I say, which I immediately realize is the wrong thing to say.

Sonya’s antenna shoots in the air.

“You’re discussing contracts?” she accuses.

Lavender jumps in with a shake of her head. “No, Sonya. Nothing that serious. It’s just a date.”

Sonya’s eyes dart from her to me. Her mouth—open, ready, and pressurized like a water hose about to be directed onto a burning building—takes several seconds to close again.

“So . . . a date,” Sonya says slowly, suspiciously. “A secret date. And you didn’t tell me.”

She pivots on her heel, facing Lavender head-on. Arms crossed. The two boys flanking her at a distance apparently think it is a good idea to imitate her.

“But that makes sense. Why tell me when you should only be sharing this kind of news with your best friend.” She taps a toe on the ground. “Oh, wait.”

Lavender opens her mouth. And frankly, I have no more clues than Sonya does as to what Lavender will say. “Well.” She throws her hands up in the air with a smile. “If you gave me more than five minutes between us making these plans and your arrival, you would’ve heard the news. But as we have made these plans just now, it was a little challenging. Here”—she slips her phone out of her pocket, taps madly for about fifteen seconds, and then slips it back into her pants.

Sonya’s phone dings.

Sonya pulls it out. Reads with a monotone: “I’m going on a secret date tonight with Finn. As best friend with first and only rights, you are the first and only to know.”

She looks up from her phone.