I make it through three more orders without incident. On the fourth, I drop the shaker. It hits the rubber mat with a metallic thud and rolls toward the taps, and there’s a brief pause in the noise around me.
I pick it up and raise it slightly. “Performance art.”
A guy at the end of the bar lifts his beer. “Ten outta ten for commitment.”
Chip looks like he might pass out as he appears next to me, stabbing at the register’s screen to type in an order.
“Relax,” I tell him quietly. “I’ve dropped worse things.”
“Like what?”
“Expectations.”
He stares at me for a beat, then snorts despite himself. Gwen appears with a tray of fries and two drinks, holding them out to me.
“Deliver these to booth three, please.”
“Got it. Three.” I gingerly take the tray and turn toward the booth area, my eyes flicking from table to table until I find the right number.
“Ahh, the cinnamon bun thief returns!”
I glance up to see Mason sprawled across the back of the booth, his arm draped around the woman beside him.
“That’s not my name.”
“It kinda is.”
The woman beside him studies me with open curiosity. She has shoulder-length red hair with straight bangs grazing her brows. Freckles across her nose and cheeks as though someone flicked paint there. She leans against Mason, watching us with mild amusement.
Ah, yes.Ginger Spice.
She glances between us. “I’m sensing history.”
“She stole baked goods,” Mason tells her.
“I paid,” I reply, setting their drinks down carefully. “He just thought staring at them long enough would transfer ownership.”
Ginger Spice snorts softly. “This is what you’re arguing about?”
“Heis arguing,” I say. “I’ve moved on.”
Mason leans back dramatically. “It was the principle, Penny. Both those cinnamon buns were practically mine.”
“They were fair game,” I counter lightly. “You didn’t have custody.”
“How did you lose custody of a pastry?” She raises an eyebrow at him, which only makes him grin wider, nudging her knee with his own.
“A series of unfortunate events, Red.”
She rolls her eyes and turns back to me. “You’re new,” she says, offering her hand. “I’m Frankie.”
“Penny.”
“Trial shift?” she asks, glancing toward the bar where Chip is visibly unraveling.
“Yup, though I’m kinda drowning.”
Frankie nods. “Gwen won’t let you drown. She just won’t swim for you either.”
