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“Do men shop here?” I ask, looking around.
Petal puts her hands on her hips. “Yes, men come in here. Now, Rake, tell me why you’re really here. You could have found your neighbor any number of things in the city. What’s going on?”
I put the book back and stuff my hands in my pockets like a bad kid being scolded. How does this woman do this to me?
“All right. Jesus. It was a nice day for a drive… and I wanted to see you.”
She narrows her eyes at me.
“You know, I figured, what the hell,” I say.
She knows I’m full of shit. “You are a busy guy. You get in your car to drive to Sonoma one-point-five hours each way, just for fun? And don’t try telling me you wanted to see me because then I’ll really know you’re full of it, Rake Hanson.”
She says my name loudly with enough emphasis that head turns, not because everyone in the shop knows who I am, but rather because they want to see who’s being scolded by a pissed-off woman.
I should have stayed in bed today.
“Does your babysitter Vince know you’re here? He has a GPS tracking device on you, doesn’t he?”
Snarky. I like that.
“Actually, he does know I’m here. I have something to talk to you about. Something important. Can we sneak out to a coffee shop or something?”
She harrumphs. “Wait right here.”
I watch her head to the back of the store where she disappears into an office, returning with her jacket and another woman on her heels.
“I won’t be long,” Petal says, and the woman waves her off.
“Can you bring me a coffee?” she asks. “Two sugars?”
“Yup,” Petal calls over her shoulder.
I pick up another book, one with a hockey stick on the front. “Hey, is this a story about a hockey player?”
“Yes. It’s about a hockey player and the woman he falls for. It’s called hockey romance.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Hockey romance? Is that a thing?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, it’s a thing. You can find romance novels about almost anything.”
“Really?” I ask, following her out the store and down the sidewalk.
I take a chance by throwing an arm around her shoulders. It might be ill-advised since I need both my arms to play hockey, and with the mood Petal’s in, I might leave with one less if I’m not careful.
“Are there romances about… I don’t know, doctors? Lawyers? Gas station attendants?” I ask.
“Yes, yes, and yes,” she says, bored.
We get in line at a rustic little coffee shop, exactly the kind of place I dig. Petal orders some weird coffee concoction and whatever her boss ordered.
“What are you getting?” she asks, pulling out her wallet.
“Oh no,” I say, tapping my card on the payment device. “I’ve got these. I’m just having a water. I don’t drink coffee.”
She frowns. “You don’t drink coffee? Everyone drinks coffee.”
I roll my eyes. “I can assure younoteveryone drinks coffee, but, people love to insist thateveryonedrinks coffee.”
