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Finally, she laid her hands on her client’s shoulders, gave her a little squeeze and headed towards me, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached. “Aiden.”
“Lucy,” I said, standing.
“Are those for me?” she asked, glancing at the flowers.
“They were either for you or to put on Chuck’s grave, but he seems to be behaving himself today.”
“Thanks,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
She pushed the chunk of hair out of her eyes. “I’m working.”
“I can wait.”
“I won’t be done for another hour.”
I leaned in to whisper in her ear. “You really think if I could wait fifteen years I can’t manage another hour?”
She smiled.
“Plus, we need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Not now. Over ice cream.”
“I haven’t had dinner.”
“So get pistachio.”
“Please don’t sit here and watch me for the next hour.”
“I swear I’ll only look at your ass and nowhere else.”
She shook her head and looked down.
“You won’t even know I’m here.”
“Of course I will.”
“No you won’t. I’ll be as silent as you were when you snuck out of my apartment yesterday morning.”
She rubbed her arm with her hand. “I’m sorry. I just-”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“Yes, I do an-”
“Buying my ice cream will be sufficient.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. As long as that isn’t a euphemism.”
“It’s not. Besides, money can’t buy the kind of sweet cream we can make ourselves.”
“Damn it, Aiden. This is my place of work.”
“You call this work? This is nothing compared to how you-”
