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Nicole winks at him. “Sure, you have no comment. But she’s been making plenty. She says you have the aura of a corrupt politician.”
“She probably meant that as an insult, but I take it as compliment,” he says, prompting me to roll my eyes.
“Well, we’re going to be in the peanut gallery,” Nicole says with a laugh. “Along with half the town, probably.” The cackle gets louder. “I have it on good authority that there’s going to be an article about the case in the local paper today.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Shane says. I’m surprised, because he’s obviously lying.
“You told her to talk to the press?” I ask.
“No comment.” But he smiles at me as he delivers the rote words.
He’s changing before my eyes—becoming less rigid and more human. I’d like to think I’m part of it.
Still, in the back of my head, I can see Tank’s messages.
You’re making a mistake.
It’s Sunday, and Loving is full for the first time in years. It puts tears in my eyes to see so many people here, snacking on the appetizers and drinks Charlie keeps bringing out from the kitchen. There’s no ordering today, just special plates inspired by their decades in business.
I’m touched for Eden, but I hurt for her too, because if all of these people cared so much, they could have kept the diner open. Then again, she and Charlie seem excited about their plans for the future.
Shane brought Izzy and me here early, and Charlie made her a milkshake. While she sucked it down, Shane helped me set up my mobile bookcases and book bundles in the back of the diner, along with the puffs, floor pillows, and oversized stuffed animals for sitting. There’s a book-making station, too, plus an informational pamphlet about my partnership with Dog is Love, featuring Izzy reading to Flower, and Charlie put together a hot cocoa bar.
This is it. This is the dry run for the new and improved version of my bookmobile.
Vanny is parked out front so everyone can see her restored glory. The front and center parking job has a second advantage: if anyone tries to mess with her, there will be dozens of witnesses.
Several of those witnesses will be the very people who helped me, because they all showed up—my brother; Shane’s friends and their partners; Tank, even though I felt sure he’d skip the party after his texts yesterday; and Shane’s assistant, Michael. Ralph came, and it must be a Goldilocks day, because he pronounces his coffee just right. Mr. and Mrs. Freeman are also here, along with a couple of other staffers from Freeman & Daniels.
When Josie shows up with her boyfriend, Shane and I are talking to the Freeman & Daniels crew while Izzy plays in the book area at the back of the restaurant. No one invited them, but that doesn’t ever seem to be an impediment for Josie. Eden zeroes in on her. “Want some chocolate cake?” she asks, lifting her brows.
“You’re being sarcastic,” Josie says with an upturn of her nose. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of—”
“I’d like some, actually.” Poe wraps an arm around the maybe-psychic. “I love chocolate cake.”
Josie the Great gapes at him, and I can feel Shane laughing beside me. I lean into him, letting myself absorb the feeling of his laughter, and he looks down and murmurs, “Do you want some chocolate cake, Ruthie, or are you worried about your chakras? I’ll feed it to you if you ask nicely.”
I step on his foot. Mrs. Freeman, who clearly missed that, heaves a happy sigh and says something about young lovers to Mr. Freeman. They head off. Someone taps me on the shoulder, making me jump. I turn and see Mrs. Longhorn. She looks smaller here, as if she shrunk when she left the apartment complex.
“I see you put those books to use,” she says, and I’m so bad at reading her, I honestly can’t tell whether or not it’s a complaint.
“Well…” I hedge. “Yes.”
“Good.” She gives a wave of her hand, then pulls out a pack of cigarettes she obviously cannot smoke in here.
“You can’t smoke those in here,” I tell her.
She gives me a look that would wither a lesser person. “I’m eighty-seven years old, Ruthie, I know where I can and can’t smoke. If I decide not to care, that’s my business.”
The laundry room at the apartment complex would beg to differ, but she did give me those books.
“Thank you,” I say, meaning every bit. “You made this happen for me.”
“Don’t be foolish,” she says dismissively, waving her pack of cigarettes. “When you’ve done something, good or bad, don’t be so quick to give away the credit.”
“A woman after my own heart,” Shane says, smirking at me, but I know he’s trying to lighten my mood. To reassure me that everything will continue to go well today, even though we’re both expecting a less-than-welcome guest.
“It’s her heart you’re after,” Mrs. Longhorn tells him with a sniff. “I hope you have more patience than most young men.”
