“Sorry about that, Darlene.”
She’s sporting a lopsided grin, shaking her head at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Oh, boy. You have itbadfor her.”
I pull my brows together and decide to ignore her preposterous comment. “I’ll take a coffee and a Couldn’t If I Fried.”
She sniggers. “Of course that’s what you want.”
“What?”
“It just makes sense considering River ordered the—”
“Don’t Go Bacon My Heart,” I finish. “Okay, I got it, but you’re reading too much into it. I always order the Couldn’t If I Fried.”
“And she always orders the bacon.”
She does?
Whatever. So what if we always order meals with ludicrously cutesy names that sound like they go together? Doesn’t mean a damn thing.
“Listen, if I slip you an extra ten, can you tell that guy who ordered the cherry pie it fell on the floor and sneak it over to my table?”
That goofy grin that hasn’t left her face grows. “For River? Or for you?”
“Darlene…”
She laughs. “Make it twenty and you got yourself a deal, sugar.”
I pay for our meals—plus the extra bribe—and make my way over to the table River grabbed us.
She’s sitting there fuming, shooting daggers across the diner at the old man, practically staring a hole in his back.
“Leave him be, River.”
“He stole my pie, Dean, and youalwayssteal my pie. People are always stealing my damn pie and it’s totally not cool.”
“You could try getting here earlier, you know. Then maybe you’d have a chance at getting your precious pie.”
“You say that like I’m the only one of us who likes pie.” She gasps, eyes wide. “Holy shit. I swear if you’re just buying up all the pie because you know I like it and you don’t even truly love it and adore it like it’s meant to be loved and adored, I’m going to murder you. No, first I’ll kick you out of my apartment, and then I’ll murder you.”
“Well, that’s doubly awful of you.”
“And true.”
She picks her fork up off the table, holding it toward me in what she thinks is a threatening manner, but I’m certain this is what being threatened by a grumpy, hungry toddler is like.
“Relax, turbo,” I say, snatching the fork away from her. “I truly love and adore the pie in just the way it’s meant to be loved and adored.”
She lets out a relieved breath, sitting back into the booth. “Good. Because I’d hate to have to murder you.”
“Developing a soft spot for me, huh?”
“No. I just don’t want to get blood all over my shoes. They’re my favorite.”
I laugh. “Fair enough.”