Page 47

The change in her face is immediate enough that the woman beside her stops looking at the tea menu.

“Hi,” Merry says, and my stomach does that stupid swoopy thing, and my first instinct is to turn and hide in our walk-in refrigerator. “You’re here.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Still where I work.”

“I know.” Her cheeks turn slightly pink. “I meant⁠—”

“This is Flora?” Rose asks.

Merry turns toward her so quickly that I almost laugh. There’s a small pause while she looks at Rose, then at me, as though she’s trying to work out which part of the last thirty seconds gave her away.

“I don’t think I said her nam⁠—”

Rose gestures to me, and I follow the movement automatically before remembering the rectangular name tag pinned to the front of my apron.

Merry notices it at the same time.

“Oh.”

Her eyes close for a second, and when they open again, she looks genuinely annoyed with herself. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is, but apparently I’ve developed a weakness for watching this woman arrive approximately two seconds behind whatever is happening around her.

Merry’s companion smiles. “I’m Rose, by the way. Her sister.”

“Flora.”

“I gathered.”

Merry makes a quiet sound beside her, and Rose’s smile widens.

“Can we please just order?”

“I already did.”

“Then can you stop enjoying this so much?”

Rose turns to her sister with an expression of exaggerated confusion, although the resemblance between them makes the innocence considerably less convincing. They have different coloring, but there’s something familiar in the shape of their smiles, and now that I know they’re sisters, I can see it in the way Rose watches Merry, too, with the ease of someone who has spent a lifetime knowing exactly which buttons to press.

“I’m not doing anything,” she says, hand on her heart.

“You’re judging me.”

Luis laughs under his breath as he reaches for a tea bag, and Merry turns toward him as if she expected at least one ally behind the counter.

“You too?”

“I’m just making tea, miss.”

“Unbelievable.”

I’m still smiling when I reach for a cup, and Merry catches me.

Her expression softens almost immediately, some of the embarrassment leaving her face now that her attention has returned to me, and I have the strange thought that I preferred having it there. For the last several minutes, she has barely gone five seconds without checking her phone, but now she seems to have forgotten she’s holding it.

“Same thing?” I ask.

Merry blinks. “Come again?”

“Your drink. Iced caramel oat latte?”