Page 23 of Delayed Penalty

“Some teacher meetings or something. She’s off.” Which means I’d have to take her to the practice facility yet again, and I really don’t want to do that. I need to start focusing on my game, not checking on Flora every few minutes.

“Oh. I mean, tomorrow is so…soon.”

“You have anything else to do?” I challenge, knowing she likely has no plans other than wallowing on her couch if she just lost her job.

“That’s fair.”

“So, does that mean you’re in?”

“I don’t know…”

“Please,” I beg, because that’s how low I’ve stooped.

She sighs. “Fine. A trial run tomorrow, then I’ll let you know for sure. Deal?”

She holds her hand out to me like we’re shaking on a bet or something. If that’s what it takes to get her to say yes, I’ll do it. I slide my palm against hers, trying not to notice how soft her hand feels against my rough one, then shake twice.

“Deal.”

“Good.” She clears her throat. “Well, then…” She rises from her chair, pushing her hair back from her face and smoothing her apron. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll grab your number before we leave so I can send over my address.”

She nods. “Good. Good.”

She hesitates. Flora quietly comes back and slides onto the chair Quinn gave up, digging into her donut and having no clue I solved all our problems.

“Right. Well, bye.”

She spins away, then pauses before turning back to me.

“Yes?” I ask.

“Could you…” She tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Could you maybe not mention the whole ‘possible eviction’ thing to my mom? I haven’t told her yet.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Good.” She smiles and turns away again.

“But, Quinn?”

She stops, looking over her shoulder at me. “Yes?”

“I’ll take that coffee now.”

Her eyes widen and fly down to the lipstick-stained mug in the center of the table. She rushes forward and grabs it, her cheeks now a deep red, then hurries off toward the front counter, muttering to herself the whole time. I watch her, grinning as she fumbles to get the machine going.

“You like her too.”

I snap my eyes to Flora, who is looking at me morelike a seventy-year-old than a seven-year-old, wise far beyond her years. “What?”

“Miss Quinn. You like her too.”

“I…” I shake my head because, no, I don’t like her. I like the fact that she’s going to fix all my problems. That’s all.

“Eat your donut, kid,” I tell my niece.

And she does…smiling the whole damn time.

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