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“I am. I was getting worried.” That was true, though I kept my tone light. Somehow, I didn’t think Mr. Hardaway would appreciate anyone fussing over him.
“Bet you’re out of everything.”
“I’ve told you. You have to get here early if you want to have your pick of things.” I slid a box out from underneath the counter. It was pretty much all I had left.
His nostrils flared, but he greedily opened the box. “Strawberry.” He slammed the lid shut. “It’ll do.”
“Who’s the cake for?” I asked as he shoved a wad of bills into the tip jar.
“Me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Makes me no difference.”
“See you tomorrow.”
He was almost out of sight when I noticed his wallet sitting on the counter.
“Mr. Hardaway,” I called. “Wait up.”
I burst from the truck and sprinted toward him. He’d ignored me in typical fashion.
“Mr. Hardaway.”
He still didn’t turn around. I dodged a few pedestrians, nearly losing sight of him when a group of tourists appeared like a cloud from nowhere. A few looked on as if they’d never seen anyone running.
I grabbed Mr. Hardaway’s shoulder just before he crossed the street.
“You forgot this,” I said, out of breath.
“Thanks.”
He slipped it in his pocket and took off, clutching his cake box. I watched him go, mystified that he’d said no more than that.What did you expect?
The tourists had dispersed, and I meandered back to the food truck, still out of breath. What was Mr. Hardaway’s deal? There was more to him than being a grumpy old man, but I had serious doubts I’d ever truly know. He was probably embarrassed about leaving his wallet. I didn’t know him well, but that seemed like the kind of thing that would irk him.
A customer approached my unattended window. I picked up the pace. Opened my mouth to tell them I’d be right there.
But a hand covered it, and my world view became a brick alcove.
“Hello, sweetheart. Daddy’s home.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Andrew
Marlow’s nameappeared on my phone screen for the third time in as many seconds.
I quickly ended the call on my office line, but I was too late by the time I swiped to answer.
“Have you heard from Trish?” she asked as soon as I dialed her back.
“No. Why the hell would you ask me that?” I didn’t get my sister sometimes. She knew the situation, yet she’d disrupted me by calling not once but three times to ask that ridiculous question.
“We can’t find her.”
“What does that have to do with me?” I didn’t want to discuss Trish, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
