—
At noon, TheDisco Diner is empty. A stark reminder of the offer in my inbox.
This morning, I replied to Sloane’s email as vaguely as I could without committing one way or another. I promised I’d be in touch soon, trying to buy myself some time to figure out my next moves.
Meanwhile, Penn’s right: We shouldn’t be open at lunchtime on weekdays. He reiterated as much over dinner last night, and I wondered aloud why I ever thought it was a good idea.
“You were being ambitious,” he said. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“But it was stupid,” I told him. “And obvious.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes you don’t know until you try.”
Penn doesn’t understand. In real life, I don’t try until I know. Idon’t just look before I leap; I measure angles and run experiments and ensure that I’ve got a parachute and a backup parachute.ThenI leap.
But as we sit opposite each other in the back office, me going over the org chart while Penn rifles through boxes, hoping to find a uniform in his size, I’m not ready to leap so much as lunge at him when his phone rings for the zillionth time.
Penn’s alarmingly loud, standard ringtone is the hallmark of someone with bad taste and even worse instincts—and this marks the fifth in a string of suspicious phone calls he’s fielded over the last hour. Each time, his eyes have snapped to mine before he either ignored the call or backed away, speaking in hushed tones.
When he sends the call to voicemail, I crack and whisper, “Are you dealing drugs?”
Penn sputters a laugh. “What?”
“Nobody gets that many calls. Areyouthe one with a secret relationship?”
“Right. Like I have that kind of time.”
Penn does have a lot on his plate. He’s sneaking in hours here and there at The Disco Diner before and after his shifts at Curly’s.
“Heya, boss.”
Penn and I startle as Theo pops up in the doorframe, his teenage face once again poking out from beneath an unbuttoned Disco Diner uniform. He must’ve scoured eBay to find multipleNoah and the WeekendersT-shirts. A true feat. The show lasted only two seasons.
Theo lifts a pair of holographic skates by their teal laces. “Look what finally arrived. Ready to take these beauties for a spin?”
I wince. My deep dive into recent financial statements included a harrowing look at the receipt for these skates. A massive,nonrefundable order. I can’t believe any version of myself thought shiny skates would be enough to attract new customers.
Admittedly, though, they’re pretty great.
“Uh, not right now,” I tell him. I used to be quite good on skates, but it’s been years since I laced them up in the real world. I don’t want to raise any eyebrows if I stumble.
“Are you sure?” Theo asks, looking like the saddest of puppies. “You’ve been counting down to this moment for weeks.”
“I have work to do.” I hold up the file in front of me as evidence.
“Oh, c’mon,” Penn chides. “You can spare five minutes, right? Have a little fun.”
The last word drops between us like a grenade. Irritation crackles inside my chest.
Theo chimes in. “I’ll skate with you, if you’d like.”
“So nice of you. But I know you’re busy.” I turn and arch an eyebrow at Penn. “Why don’t you join me instead? I know how much you like to havefun.”
He rolls back in his chair to lift a foot. He’s wearing sneakers today, because we agreed that him on skates is a workers’ compensation case waiting to happen. “I’m a liability. Remember?”
I huff out a laugh. “Oh, you certainly are. But c’mon,” I say, mimicking his patronizing tone. “You can spare five minutes. Can’t you, Penn?”
He holds my gaze, working his jaw. I can’t tell if he’s holding back a smirk or a scream. “Fine. Let’s see your moves, Wynne.”
