“Hey,” she says.
“Hey. How’re you feeling?”
There’s a twitch near her eye. “I’m okay. Would you like some cocoa too?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
She leads Maisie toward the back to make drinks. I stay by the counter, taking in the displays she’s fixed. The shelves Rufus knocked over yesterday look brand new now—neat, polished, full of blooms.
She returns with three mugs. Mine says “NOT A MORNING PERSON” in bold letters. I huff a laugh.
“Where’s the dog?” she asks as she hands me mine.
“At home. Probably drooling on my couch.”
She nods, sipping her cocoa. Maisie copies her sip for sip like she’s learning a technique from a master. Then she asks, “Do you know Harry Potter?”
Norah snorts softly. “Of course I do.”
Maisie pouts. “Everyone knows except me.”
“You’re young,” Norah says, brushing a curl from Maisie’s forehead. “There’s so much to discover.”
Maisie perks right up. “You should come for movie night!”
Norah freezes. I jump in before she panics. “She might be busy.”
“Oh.” Maisie droops, but only for a second, because the cocoa distracts her again.
After we finish, I buy her a bouquet—pink and white flowers tied with twine—for being brave. I walk to the counter to pay, but Norah waves me off.
“It’s fine. Really.”
“I don’t want you thinking I’m taking advantage of your kindness.”
“It’s okay. Consider it a thanks for everything your friend did for me last night.”
“My friend?” I echo before I can stop myself. “Ryker?”
Her shoulders drop a little, like she’s relieved. “He didn’t tell you?”
“No. What would he tell me?”
She wipes her palms on her jeans. “Nothing big. I just… I got kind of drunk last night. And Ryker saw all of it. And I was mortified because I thought you knew.”
I push my glasses up my nose. “He didn’t tell me. And you don’t have to be embarrassed.”
She huffs a small sound. “Well. Just tell Ryker thanks. That’s all.”
“Alright.”
Maisie, who’s been sniffing her bouquet like she’s studying it, suddenly pipes up, “Do you know how to braid?”
It takes me a second to realize she’s talking to Norah.
Norah drops her gaze to Maisie’s curls and smiles. “You have hair like mine. Twists work better than braids. You’ll need the right comb and some products.”
“Okay. Can you teach Uncle Jude? He’s pretty bad at it.”
