We started with the thing Riverfield cared most about after the Biscuit Fire: fairness and the fire code, in that exact order.
“Count the tokens,” I said with a cheeky grin.
“Counted,” he added, not missing a beat.
He was being a good sport about his aunt meddling with the tokens. I could respect that.
His thumbs moved, clean and quick.
“What about ‘All tokens were inventoried by the bank?’” I said. “We support count-the-tokens. Finalists are aligning lanes,quiet hours, and power so that the week stays beautiful and quiet by ten.”
“Swap ‘quiet’ for ‘boring’?” he asked.
“I like quiet.”
“Good,” he said with a smile. “People don’t love being called dull.”
He tapped his pen on the table, and the tendon along his wrist lifted like a drawn line.
I told my eyes to knock it off, but they refused to obey.
“Last call by 9:59,” I said, hearing my own voice, louder now for some reason.
He watched my mouth when I said 9:59. I didn’t allow myself to think about that either.
We started working because that was the safest thing I knew how to do.
Ellis typed. “Stroller parking inside on your side?”
“Inside,” I said. “Bike rack outside the brick shop. Dogs welcome, paws off benches. The signage will read: ‘Batteries included’.”
“Battery romance,” he said, not looking up. “Outlets?”
“Don’t snake across the walkways,” I answered.
“Keg delivery?”
“Before eight AM. Trash pull after close. It’ll be quiet. If the pickup needs the lane, I text you and Wyatt first.”
“Who should be in the text chain?” Ellis asked.
“Three numbers.”
I recited mine. He recited his. We added Wyatt. Ellis fired off a text.
My phone pinged with its usual tone.
Wyatt:Received. Don’t be dumb. –W
We were not smiling. But we were also… smiling.
“Lantern,” Ellis said under his breath, soft enough that only I could hear.
Someone must’ve been approaching behind me.
A couple in matching #TeamBrew pins suddenly arrived at the booth and the woman beamed, “We love you, Cade! Photo?”
I flipped into public rival mode.