brown leather wallet, then held out a ten toward her. "What say you run down to the Café Du Monde and get us some beignets for breakfast."
She worked not to let her relief show. "It's too late for breakfast."
"Call it lunch then, whatever you want."
She glanced at the money, thinking some beignets sounded damn good. Wouldn't even cut into her six-dollar stash, either. Another hunger pang prodded her to take the cash, but she glanced to the machines. "What about the washers? I promised. For the dollar."
He tilted his head. "I'll watch 'em for ya."
She widened her gaze accusingly. "You won't steal 'em? Won't put your clothes in as soon as hers are done?"
He gave his head a solemn shake, which made her believe him. And she couldn't deny he'd kept his promises so far. "In fact, while you're there, get me three bucks' worth of quarters for the Laundromat. And get somethin' to drink with your beignets, too."
Shondra thought about saying thanks, but decided not to. Wouldn't pay to let her soft side show, even if the dude seemed straight up. "How many you want?"
"An order for me, and an orange juice. Get however many you want for yourself."
"For real?" She hadn't eaten since day before yesterday.
He gave a short nod before glancing to his feet, where a cute, furry little dog stood. It made her think of Rex, the boxer she'd gotten as a puppy for her tenth birthday— leaving Rex had been one of the hardest things about running away.
Just when she was gonna ask to pet his dog, he yelled at it. "Vat'on, scruffy old mutt! Get outta here!" He waved a hand to shoo the poor dog away.
"Don't holler at him," she said as the pooch ducked his head and tail, moping back out into the courtyard.
"Why not? Mangy thing just comes around to beg food and bother people."
Something inside her drew up tight at his words. Like the dog, she looked down at the cracked flooring. The air felt thicker than usual.
"Sorry," he said, his voice softer than she'd heard it before.
She risked a short glance up. "It's a'ight. You're cooler to me than you are to the dog, so what do I care?"
His eyes went a little softer, too, as he quirked half a smile in her direction. "I like you better than the dog."
"What's to like?" She hadn't felt very likable in a long time.
"Like I said last night, you're pretty funny." He glanced to the washers. "And looks like you're pretty dependable, too."
She rolled her eyes toward a saggy, water-stained ceiling. "Laundry guard. My claim to fame. You want my autograph?"
"See, you're a laugh a minute," he chuckled, then pointed toward the street. "But my stomach's growlin', so get goin' with you."
She nodded, moving past him out to the courtyard before stopping to look back. "What's your name?"
"Jake."
"I'm Shondra." She turned to go, but as she passed by the dog, now lying in a spot of shade just big enough to hold him, she couldn't resist stopping to pet his head. "He ain't so bad as he seems," she whispered to the dog, glancing back to see Jake disappear into the laundry room.
When she took off toward the gate again, the pooch trailed her. "Stay," she said, trying to sound firm but not harsh. She didn't want him getting into traffic. "Stay here and I'll be back soon," she said as if he could understand her.
Then she smiled to herself as she headed off toward the Café Du Monde. Jake would never know if she got an order of beignets for the dog, too.
Jake perused the bottles perched on the glass shelves behind the bar, taking inventory of the booze. It was a task he'd been putting off, but he'd come into work early, more energetic than usual.
The sun shining through the old scratched-up windows of his apartment didn't generally keep him from sleeping, but he'd found himself getting up early today, too. Late for most people, but early for him. He'd lifted weights— the equipment being among the few things he'd taken when he'd moved out of the little house near City Park. Then he'd even gone around the
She worked not to let her relief show. "It's too late for breakfast."
"Call it lunch then, whatever you want."
She glanced at the money, thinking some beignets sounded damn good. Wouldn't even cut into her six-dollar stash, either. Another hunger pang prodded her to take the cash, but she glanced to the machines. "What about the washers? I promised. For the dollar."
He tilted his head. "I'll watch 'em for ya."
She widened her gaze accusingly. "You won't steal 'em? Won't put your clothes in as soon as hers are done?"
He gave his head a solemn shake, which made her believe him. And she couldn't deny he'd kept his promises so far. "In fact, while you're there, get me three bucks' worth of quarters for the Laundromat. And get somethin' to drink with your beignets, too."
Shondra thought about saying thanks, but decided not to. Wouldn't pay to let her soft side show, even if the dude seemed straight up. "How many you want?"
"An order for me, and an orange juice. Get however many you want for yourself."
"For real?" She hadn't eaten since day before yesterday.
He gave a short nod before glancing to his feet, where a cute, furry little dog stood. It made her think of Rex, the boxer she'd gotten as a puppy for her tenth birthday— leaving Rex had been one of the hardest things about running away.
Just when she was gonna ask to pet his dog, he yelled at it. "Vat'on, scruffy old mutt! Get outta here!" He waved a hand to shoo the poor dog away.
"Don't holler at him," she said as the pooch ducked his head and tail, moping back out into the courtyard.
"Why not? Mangy thing just comes around to beg food and bother people."
Something inside her drew up tight at his words. Like the dog, she looked down at the cracked flooring. The air felt thicker than usual.
"Sorry," he said, his voice softer than she'd heard it before.
She risked a short glance up. "It's a'ight. You're cooler to me than you are to the dog, so what do I care?"
His eyes went a little softer, too, as he quirked half a smile in her direction. "I like you better than the dog."
"What's to like?" She hadn't felt very likable in a long time.
"Like I said last night, you're pretty funny." He glanced to the washers. "And looks like you're pretty dependable, too."
She rolled her eyes toward a saggy, water-stained ceiling. "Laundry guard. My claim to fame. You want my autograph?"
"See, you're a laugh a minute," he chuckled, then pointed toward the street. "But my stomach's growlin', so get goin' with you."
She nodded, moving past him out to the courtyard before stopping to look back. "What's your name?"
"Jake."
"I'm Shondra." She turned to go, but as she passed by the dog, now lying in a spot of shade just big enough to hold him, she couldn't resist stopping to pet his head. "He ain't so bad as he seems," she whispered to the dog, glancing back to see Jake disappear into the laundry room.
When she took off toward the gate again, the pooch trailed her. "Stay," she said, trying to sound firm but not harsh. She didn't want him getting into traffic. "Stay here and I'll be back soon," she said as if he could understand her.
Then she smiled to herself as she headed off toward the Café Du Monde. Jake would never know if she got an order of beignets for the dog, too.
Jake perused the bottles perched on the glass shelves behind the bar, taking inventory of the booze. It was a task he'd been putting off, but he'd come into work early, more energetic than usual.
The sun shining through the old scratched-up windows of his apartment didn't generally keep him from sleeping, but he'd found himself getting up early today, too. Late for most people, but early for him. He'd lifted weights— the equipment being among the few things he'd taken when he'd moved out of the little house near City Park. Then he'd even gone around the
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