“Olivia,” said Doug, eyeing his sandwich. “She’s off today, though. The rest of us carnivores will drift over for one of these sandwiches this afternoon as we get breaks.”
Brad bagged a sandwich as Monique rang up Doug’s order.
“I’m thinking about doing a roasted vegetable thing,” said Brad. “Not on a croissant, though. Roasted vegetables have a lot of moisture. These poor croissants would be mush.”
“Sounds healthy,” said Doug, sounding suspicious.
“Roasted eggplant, roasted red peppers, balsamic vinegar, fresh mozzarella optional. On sourdough, maybe. I’ve got my own starter.”
“You could go full vegan and make vegan bread.”
“Great idea!” said Brad, liking it even though he suspected Doug was joking. “I’ve been doing some experimenting at home. As long as the yeast does its job, you can make a good, chewy bread without milk or eggs.”
“I believe you,” said Doug, handing Monique a few bills. “But does it have any flavor?”
“I know vegan food is lost onyou,” said Monique, “but we do have vegan customers. It’s good to have options.”
“My wife eats mostly vegan. I get it. My son thinks he wants to be a vegetarian now. I think he’ll miss bacon within a few days, but as long as he’s eating nutritious meals, I don’t care.”
That sounded like a classic dad.
Or not. Brad’s own father would likely never get anywhere near something vegan. Dad was a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy who seemed to think steak was gendered somehow. As Brad had told Lindsay, he still thought pastry making was a girlie profession. He likely expected Brad to bring a man home one of these days—even though Brad was pretty firmly heterosexual—because that was just how Dad thought. Brad had long kept that from Lindsay; he figured if he mentioned it, she’d probably give him some lecture out of one of her undergrad women’s studies classes about gender being a construct. It wasn’t that Brad disagreed—he loved his job—but his father still took up a lot of mental real estate that Brad tried and failed to deny him. Things had come to a head one weekend in culinary school when Brad’s parents visited and Brad had to warn Lindsay.
Brad handed Doug his sandwich.
“I don’t want to tell you what to do,” said Doug, “but the grocery store on Whitman and Court Streets has the best cheese counter in Brooklyn.”
“Good to know,” said Brad.
“I like cheese.”
“So if I made, say, a cheddar and onion scone or some kind of cheese-encrusted bread, you’d be over here buying it?”
“Count on it,” Doug said, giving Brad a thumbs-up. “All right, I’ve got a dog to neuter in about ten minutes. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck?” said Brad.
Doug laughed and left.
“He has a weird sense of humor,” Brad said to Monique.
“All of the vets are weirdly casual with how they talk about surgery on cats and dogs. I guess if you see sick pets all day, you develop some defense mechanisms.”
Brad nodded.
Lindsay walked in then, which surprised the hell out of Brad. What surprised him even more was when she said, “Oh, good, you’re still here.”
“You’re here to see me?” Brad asked.
“Yeah, I need to ask you something.”
“I’ve got this,” said Monique, gesturing toward the register.
“All right. Let’s go sit in the cat room,” Brad said.
Lindsay had never given him an answer to his question about going out on a date. He hoped she was here to ask him out but doubted that was the case. Her expression was serious. Possibly hesitant. He watched her as they sat and got the sense that she was very reluctant to ask him whatever she was about to ask him.
Several cats were milling about. None of them followed Brad around the way Hamilton had, so they mostly looked on with disinterest as Brad gestured for Lindsay to sit with him at a table.
