Page 62 of Cinder
“The strong are meant to protect the weak. Like these boys do.” Her emotions get the better of her, and she stops to bite back a cry. “Poor Edith Clooney got her bag snatched by some little punk while checking her mailbox on her way out to the store yesterday.”
“Who is Edith Clooney?”
“My neighbor. She’s elderly. And this little prick saw she was frail and knocked her down to steal her bag.”
“That’s awful, I’m so sorry. Is she okay?”
“She’s shaken. Afraid to go out now. Boy, if I had been there, I would’ve punched the coward in the face.”
That surprises me.
But I can see it.
Mrs. V. punching her fist into the little asshole’s face.
“I mean, he could see how old and timid she was. But he still did it.” She shakes her head. “Makes me worried about the world we’re leaving behind for our kids.”
I pour her a cup of coffee, add a teaspoon of creamer, and slide it in front of her.
“No more than a teaspoon. Just how you like it.”
“And how do you know that?”
“I have eyes,” I say, giving her a cheeky wink.
She finally gives me a chuckle as she sniffs back her tears. “Thank you.”
Keenly, I watch as she takes a sip, waiting for her reaction.
I don’t know why I want her approval so badly. But I do.
And when she sighs with appreciation and takes a bigger mouthful, it feels like I just won the lottery.
“Good?” I ask.
She nods. “Very good.”
I only hold back from clapping because I know she’d roll her eyes at me.
The sound of Mr. Peters’s truck on the gravel outside draws our attention to the window.
“Oh, goodness,” Mrs. V. says, hastily putting down her coffee and patting at her panda eyes. “He’ll think I’m a wreck.”
“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” I say, shooing her toward the walk-in pantry so she can collect herself while I distract the friendly milkman.
“Good morning, Ella,” Mr. Peters says cheerfully, when he walks in carrying a tray of milk cartons.
“Good morning, Mr. Peters. You look very handsome today. You’ve had a haircut.”
He smiles cheerfully, chuffed by the compliment. “Well, thank you. Yes, I did. Nice of you to notice.”
But I quickly lose his attention when Mrs. V. emerges from the pantry looking cheery, her makeup fixed, and her smile bright.
One glimpse of her and the expression on Mr. Peters face tells me everything.
He’s got a crush.
A big crush.
