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“Good night for it,” Grant said.

She wheeled past him, concentrating on the narrow space between the tables.

“You did good with that stroller,” I said to Grant.

A lazy smile spread across this face. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

At the Colemans’ table, the twins had eaten the cheese out of their quesadillas and abandoned most of the tortillas. Their father was cutting something into smaller pieces while his own supper sat untouched.

“Anything else I can bring you?” I asked.

“Napkins?” Mr. Coleman asked, sounding beyond weary.

Ella, his thirteen-year-old daughter, handed him the one from her lap.

One twin announced that the other had more cheese. “That’s not fair.”

Rhett appeared beside me.

“What’s the trouble?”

“He has more,” Twin One said. I couldn’t remember their names and they looked exactly alike.

Rhett bent to study the plates. “This is serious.”

Their father rubbed his forehead and let out a long sigh. “They have exactly the same thing.”

“I’m going to need both of you to come with me,” Rhett told them.

The twins stared at him.

“We need to count the desserts,” Rhett said. “And you two have been chosen for this important mission.”

Both boys slid off their chairs.

“No touching anything,” their father called out to them.

“Hands in pockets,” Rhett instructed.

One boy obeyed. The other examined his pants.

“I don’t have pockets.”

Rhett offered his hand. “Hang on to me. It’s pretty busy at the dessert table.”

They’d barely reached the next table when Sammie and Thad Moon’s child, Chloe, leapt to her feet. “I’m going too. It’s my family’s restaurant.”

“That’s good,” Rhett said. “We need somebody qualified.”

Chloe looked toward Sammie, who nodded permission while wiping Benji’s hands. Her one-year-old son promptly put them into his hair.

“How was your Christmas?” I asked Ella Coleman, once her brothers were out of earshot.

“Really good. I got headphones.”

“Have they been useful?” I asked.

She glanced toward the dessert table where her brothers were counting desserts with Rhett.