“Station fire is news enough,” Carter said, making the same assessment as he topped off their mugs from the pot of coffee a server had left on their table.
Lincoln doctored his coffee, then handed the sugar to Carter to do the same. Black was their common preference, but neither of them could handle this morning’s more bitter than usual brew. “That’s all anyone could talk about at church.”
“We just need to stay ahead of it all.” Carter twisted in his chair, surveying the café. “Do you see Barry? Or a waiter? Seems to be taking a while to get food.”
“First day back?” Lincoln said, eyeing the roving mass on the sidewalk outside. It was as packed out there as it was in here, the town suddenly alive again with students and faculty and all the local businesses open to welcome them back. Flour Power seemed to be the epicenter of activity. All the booths and tables were claimed, counter diners were seated shoulder to shoulder, and a line stretched from the takeout counter to the sidewalk outside. They’d thought grabbing a table might be quicker, but they might have been wrong.
“We just got delayed further,” Carter mumbled.
Before Lincoln could ask why, Susanne’s good mornings and excuse mes echoed over the din of noise. Lincoln guzzled more of the burnt coffee, grimacing.
Carter chuckled. “It’s terrible this morning, yeah?”
“Terrible but necessary. I’m really regretting not grabbing a second cup at home before we left.”
Carter smiled big, Lincoln helplessly returning it before hiding behind his mug. By the time Susanne and Lydia shuffled through the crowd, he and Carter had killed another cup each, and Lincoln was pouring them refills.
“Well, well, aren’t you two becoming the FP regulars?” Susanne greeted them.
Carter smiled, wide and easy, charm turned up to ten. “Don’t ask how many return trips I had to make for biscuits on Saturday.”
“I can’t help that you gave them away to that gu—” Lincoln caught himself and corrected. “To Jeremiah.”
“Isn’t he the cutest thing?” Lydia said. “I had him in Psych 101 a few years back.”
“Is he?” Carter said. “I hadn’t noticed.”
That sounded better than it should, and Carter’s green gaze made Lincoln blush hotter. Real or the cover? his mind debated again. Carter had turned on the charm so effortlessly. Maybe this was an extension of the same. But that heated gaze, the smile before Susanne and Lydia had joined them, and Carter’s leg sliding next to his certainly felt real.
“Excuse me, ladies.” A busboy shoved an arm between Susanne and Lydia and dropped a bread basket onto the table.
Carter snagged a steaming biscuit off the top and took a bite. “Wow,” he said, face wrinkled in disappointment. “Barry’s really are better.” He held the biscuit out to Lincoln, but Lincoln had turned his attention to Lydia, a misplaced detail registering. “I thought Jeremiah went to UVA for undergrad?”
“He started here,” she answered. “Then transferred to UVA as a junior, before coming back to Apex for grad school.”
Why would Jeremiah say otherwise? Lincoln supposed it wasn’t uncommon for someone to refer to the university they graduated from as their alma mater, but Jeremiah seemed proud of his affiliation with Apex U. Why would he minimize his freshman and sophomore years here?
“You weren’t kidding,” Lydia said, jostling Lincoln out of his thoughts and back to the great biscuit debate. “These aren’t even up to Trudy’s standards.”
The harried waitress who’d earlier taken their order snuck into the gap between Susanne and Lydia and slid two plates onto the table. “Because she ain’t here today either.” The dark-haired waitress righted herself, hands on her narrow hips. “Showed up at five and the place was still dark. On the first day of school, no less. Fine day for them to pull their hippie shit.” Lincoln worried there would be a duel to defend Barry and Trudy’s honor, but Susanne and Lydia just laughed, and the waitress thawed, bussing each of them on the cheek. “The muffins are on fire, though. Cranberry orange.” She turned to Lincoln and Carter. “I taught Trudy how to make ’em.” Then back to Susanne and Lydia. “What’ll it be, ladies?”
“Two bowls of oatmeal, please,” Susanne said. “And another order of muffins.”
“Coming right up.” The waitress scurried back to the kitchen, and Susanne urged them to go on and eat, though she and Lydia didn’t move away from the table.
Lincoln suspected they were claiming it for after he and Carter left. Which was fine with Lincoln; they needed to get a move on. He dug into his French toast, not wasting more time.
Carter, however, was slow to attack his hash. “Hippie shit?” he asked the table hawks.
“Barry and Trudy like to wander,” Susanne explained. “Ginger is Trudy’s sister. She bitches but she knows how to run this place, even if she does burn the coffee and can’t bake a biscuit to save her life. But her muffins are great.”
Accurate on all counts, Lincoln could attest as he bit into one of the delicious muffins.
“She’s used to it,” Lydia added. “Unfortunate on the first day of classes, but it’s also not the first time.”
“You know,” Carter said, pushing up from his chair, “I’m going to go call Larry right quick. Need to find out if he still wants me there today and where there might be, after the station fire. Can you get this boxed up for me?” he said to Lincoln. “And a bag for the muffins?”
“Of course.” Lincoln wasn’t exactly sure what Carter was on about, but he trusted his partner’s case instincts. Something didn’t smell right, and Carter had caught a whiff too.
