are we getting paid?” called out the nerd-punk waitress. Her old-lady customers cackled gleefully.
“I’d better go get your Coke,” Asia said. She placed the flute gently atop its cloth bag and stood up. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Will just nodded, still partially dazed. Her beautyand her mellifluous voice had left him so dazzled that he’d completely forgotten to ask Asia where her flute had come from. He hadn’t managed to ask her why—or even if—she’d walked into the sea.
I’ll ask her when she comes back
, Will thought. But when his Coke arrived, it was the nerd-punk waitress who delivered it.
“Is Asia on break?” Will asked.
The waitress just gave him a look, as if she was used to guys asking about Asia. “Yeah,” she said, half wary, half bored.
Will drank his Coke, then looked at his watch. He had to get to the farm stand; it was time for his shift. He couldn’t wait for Asia forever.
Now that he’d found her, he’d just have to find her again later.
At least she’s real
.
That thought should have been more comforting than it was.
“Hey, toots, that old lady in the corner is snapping in your general direction.” Lisette’s arms were piled with lunch platters for table four, so she pursed her goth-painted lips in the direction of one of Gretchen’s booths. Lisette was in her mid-twenties, but she talked like someone from the 1960s. She wore horn-rimmed glasses over brown eyes rimmed in dark blue eye shadow. Her hair was an extremely unlikely shade of red reminiscent of Raggedy Ann, and today she had it spouting like a small fountain from the top of her head. She’d worked at Bella’s for three years and had her pet regulars, like the guys from the securitycompany at table four. “I’ve seen that old witch in here before. You’d better get over there before she turns you into a frog, sweets.”
“Lisette, am I paying you to chat with Gretchen?” Angel O’Rourke—Bella’s short-order cook and manager—scowled, twitching his orange moustache into a frown. Gretchen liked to think of him as the Irish-Dominican version of Oscar the Grouch.
“Oh, go flip something, Angel,” Lisette shot back before taking off toward her table.
Gretchen slapped her sketch pad closed and looked over at the woman in the corner. She was heavyset, with hair that was a wild mess of gray frosted with three different shades of blond. Her face was like a wrinkled sheet spread over a fluffy featherbed, and her frowning lips were outlined in bright pink.
Snap, snap, snap
. Once she realized that she had Gretchen’s attention, the woman held up her coffee mug and tapped it with a hot-pink nail.
Gretchen hurried over.
“This coffee is cold.” The woman set it down primly on the paper placemat that sat on the gold-flecked Formica table.
Gretchen took the mug—surprisingly warm—from the woman’s hands.
“And it tastes old. You might want to brew up a fresh batch.” The woman looked down at the newspaper that was spread open across her table.
“This batch was brewed five minutes before I served it to you,” Gretchen protested.
Frosty the Hairstyle shot her a withering look.“Then you’d better get a new brand, because that stuff tastes like battery acid.”
Gretchen felt a flame of anger rise in her chest. She was just about to snap at the customer when she felt a cool hand, like a gentle splash of water, at her elbow.
“Everything okay here?” asked a silken voice. Asia’s steady gaze landed on the woman, who seemed to retreat a little, like a turtle into its shell. “Hello, Mrs. Cuthbert,” Asia purred. “How are you feeling today?”
There was something about Asia’s stillness that gave Gretchen a sense of vertigo, as if she were staring up at Asia from a great distance. And yet the other waitress wasn’t particularly tall. She was just very still. With her long dark hair pinned back in a bun and her fine features, she looked like a Greek statue.
“My knee is still
“I’d better go get your Coke,” Asia said. She placed the flute gently atop its cloth bag and stood up. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Will just nodded, still partially dazed. Her beautyand her mellifluous voice had left him so dazzled that he’d completely forgotten to ask Asia where her flute had come from. He hadn’t managed to ask her why—or even if—she’d walked into the sea.
I’ll ask her when she comes back
, Will thought. But when his Coke arrived, it was the nerd-punk waitress who delivered it.
“Is Asia on break?” Will asked.
The waitress just gave him a look, as if she was used to guys asking about Asia. “Yeah,” she said, half wary, half bored.
Will drank his Coke, then looked at his watch. He had to get to the farm stand; it was time for his shift. He couldn’t wait for Asia forever.
Now that he’d found her, he’d just have to find her again later.
At least she’s real
.
That thought should have been more comforting than it was.
“Hey, toots, that old lady in the corner is snapping in your general direction.” Lisette’s arms were piled with lunch platters for table four, so she pursed her goth-painted lips in the direction of one of Gretchen’s booths. Lisette was in her mid-twenties, but she talked like someone from the 1960s. She wore horn-rimmed glasses over brown eyes rimmed in dark blue eye shadow. Her hair was an extremely unlikely shade of red reminiscent of Raggedy Ann, and today she had it spouting like a small fountain from the top of her head. She’d worked at Bella’s for three years and had her pet regulars, like the guys from the securitycompany at table four. “I’ve seen that old witch in here before. You’d better get over there before she turns you into a frog, sweets.”
“Lisette, am I paying you to chat with Gretchen?” Angel O’Rourke—Bella’s short-order cook and manager—scowled, twitching his orange moustache into a frown. Gretchen liked to think of him as the Irish-Dominican version of Oscar the Grouch.
“Oh, go flip something, Angel,” Lisette shot back before taking off toward her table.
Gretchen slapped her sketch pad closed and looked over at the woman in the corner. She was heavyset, with hair that was a wild mess of gray frosted with three different shades of blond. Her face was like a wrinkled sheet spread over a fluffy featherbed, and her frowning lips were outlined in bright pink.
Snap, snap, snap
. Once she realized that she had Gretchen’s attention, the woman held up her coffee mug and tapped it with a hot-pink nail.
Gretchen hurried over.
“This coffee is cold.” The woman set it down primly on the paper placemat that sat on the gold-flecked Formica table.
Gretchen took the mug—surprisingly warm—from the woman’s hands.
“And it tastes old. You might want to brew up a fresh batch.” The woman looked down at the newspaper that was spread open across her table.
“This batch was brewed five minutes before I served it to you,” Gretchen protested.
Frosty the Hairstyle shot her a withering look.“Then you’d better get a new brand, because that stuff tastes like battery acid.”
Gretchen felt a flame of anger rise in her chest. She was just about to snap at the customer when she felt a cool hand, like a gentle splash of water, at her elbow.
“Everything okay here?” asked a silken voice. Asia’s steady gaze landed on the woman, who seemed to retreat a little, like a turtle into its shell. “Hello, Mrs. Cuthbert,” Asia purred. “How are you feeling today?”
There was something about Asia’s stillness that gave Gretchen a sense of vertigo, as if she were staring up at Asia from a great distance. And yet the other waitress wasn’t particularly tall. She was just very still. With her long dark hair pinned back in a bun and her fine features, she looked like a Greek statue.
“My knee is still
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