Page 52 of Beyond the Stroke

Summer swallows hard and forces a smirk. “You sound ridiculous, you know that?” But her voice lacks its usual sharpness.

I offer her a grin. “Yeah. I know.”

She turns to set the bag on the counter and pulls out the jar of pickles. A failed attempt to open it with her injured wrist has her holding the jar out to me.

“How’s your wrist?” I ask, opening the jar easily before handing it back to her.

“Still sore, but getting better each day.” She takes a pickle from the jar and bites into it, making a show of narrowing her eyes in scrutiny while she chews. Then, she swallows and a small smile pulls at her lips. “Okay, you can stay.”

She makes two mugs of peach tea, then puts some pickles on a plate and sets them on the small counter by the bench that serves as a desk and dining table.

“They’ll be even better when they’re cold.”

“So why the pickle obsession?” I ask.

“The crunch. The sour tang of the brine.” She eyes me. “What is it you love about Little Sunshine Cakes?”

“Where should I start?” I hold up the pickle she offered me and pretend it’s a choco roll. “Perfect ratio of cake to filling. The chocolate’s not too sweet, but still satisfies my sweet tooth. And it’s a hit of nostalgia. They’re something I enjoyed as a kid, and still holds up as an adult.

“They were a novelty that my parents would only buy if I did well at a swim meet.” I laugh, recalling a memory. “I used to pick the chocolate coating off the sides and eat it first. It helped make them last longer.”

Summer takes a long sip of her tea, while I bite into the spicy dill pickle.

“I preferred the old logo. The one with the smiling girl in pigtails.” Summer’s face is a hard blank. “You know what I’m talking about? Before they changed it to the sun a few years ago?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

She doesn’t respond, so I let it go.

We drink peach tea and eat spicy dill pickles. It’s weird. The two things don’t go together at all but Summer is enjoying herself and I’m just happy to be here.

When we’re done with our snack, Summer clears the dishes and rinses them in the sink.

“You can’t sleep on the floor again,” she announces.

I sigh. “It’s late. I don’t want to fight about it. Just one more night. That will give me time to get the security cameras installed.”

Her head swivels in my direction, her mouth gaping open in outrage. “You can’t do that without telling me first.”

“I am telling you. That’s literally what this is.”

“I’m already rethinking this whole thing,” she says before disappearing into the tiny bathroom.

“It’s too late, Wildflower,” I call, standing to roll my tight shoulders back. “We consummated our friendship over tea and pickles. There’s no turning back now.”

While she’s getting ready, I do some stretching. A few lunges in hopes that my muscles won’t tighten too much while I’m sleeping on the hard floor again. Then, I brush my teeth at the sink with the travel toothbrush I tucked in my pocket earlier, before I start arranging the blankets on the floor.

Edgar is already in his bed, noisily snoring. I move my head close to his in hopes of understanding how such a tiny dog makes so much noise.

“I said you can’t sleep on the floor,” Summer says from behind me, where she just exited the bathroom.

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” I ask, looking around while also contemplating if lounging in the driver’s seat would be more comfortable than the floor.

Summer crosses her arms and presses her lips together, her eyes looking up at the loft bed.

Oh.

“Withyou?” I ask to clarify.

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