I throw the fry at her. She catches it and eats it, looking extremely pleased with herself. Poppy is cackling. There's no other word for it. Ruth refills our coffees without being asked and walks away shaking her head. She's heard everything. Oh, well.
"For the record," I say once I've recovered some of my dignity, "I have had perfectly fine sex. Multiple times. With real human men who had all the correct equipment and used it in a satisfactory manner."
"Satisfactory," Poppy repeats.
"Stop repeating my words back to me in that tone."
"What tone?"
"The tone that says you feel sorry for me."
"I don't feel sorry for you." She gives me a very disappointed look. "I feel sorry for your vagina."
I choke on my coffee. It goes up my nose, down my chin, and I'm coughing and sputtering and trying to prevent it from spilling on my shirt while Erin hands me a napkin with a completely straight face. Poppy sits there looking innocent, her most dangerous look.
"Okay. New topic. Immediately."
"Fine." Poppy grins, shimmying her butt on the seat like she's settling in for the good part. "Tell us the latest about Cal."
Erin snorts. "That is not a new topic, Pop. That is the same topic with a different name."
Kind of funny, but I try to play it off. "There's nothing to tell."
"Oh, please." Poppy rolls her eyes. "That man cannotfunction when you're in the room and you can’t take your eyes off of him. He forgets words. He stares at walls. Last week, he walked into the doorframe right there because you bent down to pick up your bag."
"He did not walk into a doorframe." I say, though I love the idea that he would. I also love the idea that they think Callahan might like me. At least a little.
"He absolutely did. I was there. Ruth saw it too. She didn't even charge him for his coffee because she felt so bad."
Erin is grinning now. "Rome says Cal hasn't been to the pub in weeks. Just goes home, goes for a run, and stays in."
"That has nothing to do with me," I try. "His dad has a broken leg."
"His dad has been walking on crutches for two weeks, Lil."
I pick up another fry and eat it very slowly, refusing to engage. They watch me chew, every single second of it.
"You're blushing," Poppy observes.
"I am not."
"You're the color of a tomato."
"It's hot in here."
"It's March."
"Fine." I shrug, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. "He's nice to look at. That's it. That's the whole update."
"Nice to look at," Erin repeats. "Hear that, Pop? Everything is just so nice."
"Pleasant, even," Poppy adds, and they both lose it, finding each other so funny they don't need anything or anyone else.
I throw another fry at them, but they're still laughing when the bell above the door chimes.
Poppy's face shifts, just a fraction. Erin goes still beside me, coffee halfway to her mouth. She sits up straighter without a word, and I know immediately who just walked in.
Cherry is standing at the counter in a fitted jacket and jeans that are a shade too tight, ordering something from Ruth with a smile that expects to be smiled back at. Hair perfect. Makeup perfect. Everything about her polished and deliberate, like she'd assembled herself that morning with a checklist and a plan to torment this town.
