She raised her brows at us. "You two planning on waiting tables today?"
Cookie drew in a deep breath, preparing to face the music. Probably disco. Disco seemed more penitential than other forms of music. Except maybe thrash metal.
I decided to practice for my new calling in life as we turned to walk in. Whispering under my breath, I said, "Where's my money, bitch?"
"I'm not going to be a streetwalker."
I rounded my eyes in innocence. "I'm just practicing. You know, in case you change your mind."
"I won't."
"Damn it." I wilted beside her, all my hopes and dreams of being a pimp dashed against the cruel rocks of reality. And an unwilling ho.
Then the pain hit me again. A wave of it. It stemmed from somewhere close, but I couldn't pinpoint the location. I turned in a circle, but saw no one.
"You okay, hon?" Cookie asked me, taking my arm again. And again the concern she felt welled up inside her. I didn't quite understand her. Why she felt so strongly about me. Why she was so caring.
"You're always so nice to me," I said. Out loud. A little surprised by that fact.
She squeezed my hand. "We're besties, remember? Of course I'm nice to you. Otherwise, I'd be the suckiest BFF ever."
I chuckled softly for show, but she meant it when she said we were besties. With every fiber of her being. And that niggling suspicion was back stronger than ever. We'd only known each other a month. Damn it. She was clearly one of those needy psycho chicks who boiled rabbits on the stoves of her enemies.
Oh, well. I'd enjoy her friendship while it lasted. But I mentally crossed bunnies off my shopping list.
When we walked back into the café, we had several new customers. We'd only been out for, like, thirty seconds. Weird how quickly they accumulated.
I had just hung up my coat when Dixie called out to me. "We have a couple of deliveries. Just waiting on fries for one."
She wore a grin that stretched from multi-pierced earlobe to multi-pierced earlobe.
"You seem chipper."
"I had a very productive morning." Her face flushed and an excitement rushed through her as she packed up one of the orders.
"Clearly. I was wondering where you were." She'd been gone all morning. Now I wanted to know why.
"I hired a new cook," she said, her eyes a-twinkle. "He starts tomorrow. First shift."
"What?" Sumi's tiny head popped up, the pass-out window framing it almost perfectly, except she was too short so we couldn't quite see the bottom half of her face.. "I'm first-shift cook. You can't do this to me." She waved a spatula. "I'll sue!" Pretty brows slid fiercely over almond-shaped eyes, her wrath thoroughly incurred.
I never let my guard down around Sumi. The fact that she was vertically challenged meant nothing. She could kick my ass in a heartbeat. That woman had a temper. And she was quick. Limber. Horrifyingly good with knives.
"Oh, hush," Dixie said, clearly not as fond of her faculties as I was of mine. "He's going to be more of a" – she folded the top of the bag and stapled a ticket to it – "I don't know, a specialty cook."
"Cool," I said, more interested in our customer base. One of our three-meal-a-dayers had shown up right on schedule, but with the eleven o'clock hour came our second-shift tag team, and my section was now officially split in half.
Francie and Erin were already busy taking orders.
I only had one customer in my section so far. I glanced at him. He was one of them. One of the three. They came every day like clockwork. Morning, noon, and night. Cookie and I had started referring to them as the Three Musketeers, for lack of a better descriptor. Though that would imply a friendship among them, and as far as I knew, they'd never even spoken.
The first one, a handsome ex-military type with fantastic biceps, always sat in my section. In the same booth when possible, but always in my section. He wore a khaki jacket that complemented his burnished mahogany skin and close-cut black hair. His eyes were silvery gray. Sharp. Capable of amazing things.
Garrett settled into his usual booth, then glanced up at me, offered me a whisper of a smile, opened a copy of the latest Steve Berry, and began to read.
"Looks like you're up, sweetie."
I leaned toward Cookie, and we both took a moment to admire the view.
"He looks like he'd have great abs," I said, deep in thought. "Doesn't he look like he'd have great abs?"
She let a slow breath slide in through her teeth, and we watched for the sheer pleasure of watching, the way you would a sunrise or the first pot of coffee brewing for the day.