Page 100 of Worth the Trip

She laughed and reached for the drink carrier. Our fingers met around the cardboard and stayed there longer than logistics required.

Her eyes came to mine.

Mine were already there.

Sharp tapping hit the storefront glass.

Nyla stood on the other side with both hands framing her face, grinning like admission had been paid.

Nolani closed her eyes.

“My sister is spiritually unemployed.”

“She owns half the business.”

“Still spiritually unemployed.”

I grabbed the pastry box. “Come on before she reports us missing from twenty feet away.”

Nolani turned toward the entrance, took two steps, then reached back without looking.

Her hand found mine.

I laced our fingers.

That worked for me.

The bell above the door announced us, and Crème & Chill hit me with brown butter before I got three steps inside. Honey-colored floors. Caramel booths. Jazz underneath the conversations. Black musicians, authors, and poets covering the walls. Kids carrying books in one hand and ice cream in the other.

I looked around once.

Then at Nolani.

Of course she had built this.

“Look at Noli initiating parking-lot hugs!” Nyla called from behind the register.

Nolani pointed toward the hallway. “Go manage something.”

“I am. Your development has required years of unpaid labor.”

I put the pastry box on the counter. “From where I’m standing, the program appears effective.”

“Do not encourage her.”

“I respect evidence-based practice.”

Nyla pressed one hand to her chest. “Finally. Somebody honors my contribution.”

“You’ve contributed stress since we shared a womb.”

“And now you hugging fine men in broad daylight. My methods have been vindicated.”

Nolani tightened her hand around mine.

I enjoyed that information.

Nyla took her coffee and checked the label. “Correct milk. Extra caramel. Right size.” Her attention traveled over me. “Okay, Big Lando.”