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“She is indeed. Comes in here all the time. She’s a sweetheart. The peaches are from her family’s orchard.”
“Aww, that’s adorable,” Paxton grins. “If I had a café, I’d name dishes after you.”
“I’m afraid to ask,” I say. We both place orders for a slice of pie and a cold drink. The waitress walks away.
“Go on,” I say to Paxton. “I can see you’re dying to tell me what dishes you’d name after me.”
“Snarky Sandwich,” Paxton proclaims. “It would be spicy, with lots of horseradish and mustard and jalapeno peppers.”
“I’d call yours the Big Pickle.” I waggle my eyebrows, and he laughs.
“Thank you, thank you. I’d also have a dish called the Sweetmeat Surprise, because—oh, hello!” Paxton waves at someone behind me. It’s Rayelle and Summer. Rayelle’s wearing frayed jeans and a faded T-shirt, and Summer’s wearing leggings with a hole in one knee and a T-shirt with a picture of a unicorn.
That fits her, I’d say. Adorable but stabby.
They sit down at the counter. Summer avoids my eyes.
“We were invited here today by Mr. Hudson,” Rayelle says, looking worried. “They’re not going to arrest my daughter, are they?”
“Absolutely not,” Paxton assures her. “I would not let that happen to you.”
“They said we can order anything we want at the café.” Rayelle casts a longing look at the menu, and I hear her stomach growl. “Do you think that will be okay? I can’t pay for anything or leave a tip.”
“They wouldn’t have said that if they didn’t mean it.”
“I just hate not leaving a tip. I mean, I work in the service industry.”
“I am familiar with Mr. Hudson, and I am sure that he’ll add a tip to the order,” Paxton assures her.
So Rayelle orders two sandwiches, a coffee for her, and a glass of milk for Summer. Then she prods Summer on the arm.
“What did you have to say to Mr. Saul and Miss James?”
“I can’t remember,” Summer mutters.
“I’m pretty sure you can remember.”
Summer stares at the floor. “I was really rude yesterday. I’m sorry.”
“I was also very rude, and I must have sounded ungrateful, and I’m sorry too,” Rayelle says. “I don’t accept charity, but I could have been much nicer about it. You were only trying to help.”
“You were under a lot of stress at the time, and I just kind of jumped in and dumped that on your lap. It’s completely understandable. And admirable,” Paxton nods, and she flashes him a grateful smile.
“Summer,” I say, “I know you were stressed out when you said that, and when we’re under stress sometimes we say things we don’t mean. I’m not mad at you at all. I still love you. You’re still my buddy match.”
Summer bursts into tears and hugs me. “I thought you’d hate me forever,” she sniffles.
“I could never hate you.”
“Good.” She hands me my wallet. “Also, what did I tell you about zipping your purse shut?”
“Summer,” her mother cries out indignantly.
“What?” Summer gives her an innocent look. “She thinks it’s funny. And I gave it back.”
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “I keep telling her that with her manual dexterity, she could be a stage magician.”
“Or a card shark,” Summer suggests. “Or a pool hustler. Those guys make a lot of money.”
