Cynnie shakes her head. “Miss Ginger gave me the non-dairy cheese.”
“Oh, good. That’s a—” I stop myself before I say the magic words. I’ve heard Logan say them to Emily so many times. They’re trapped just behind my teeth, but I don’t think I have any right to say them to this woman. As much as I want to.
“Good girl.” They escape anyway.
Cynnie beams.
Fuck.
Rubbing my chest, I escape quickly before I can fall over her any worse.
Ginger’s happy to help me arrange three banana milkshakes and tells me to speak to Mario in the kitchen about Cynnie’s oat milk. I pick up a pair of pizzas and follow her down to the kitchen but am careful to stay on the other side of the divider from where the cooks are working.
A sweaty, skinny guy emerges from near the giant oven when Ginger calls his name.
“Hi, we’ve got a lady up there with a milk allergy. Any chance of oat milk for her?”
Mario wipes his brow with his sleeve. “I’m sorry about this. We know about her and we usually have oat or coconut milk and I forgot to order it this week. Totally my fault.”
I rub my chin. “Is there anywhere nearby that sells oat milk?”
“Yeah, Rite Aid on First, but I’m down two staff today. I can’t spare anyone right now to run over there?—”
I hold up a hand. “No problem. I’ll go. I’ll be right back with it.”
Mario looks sweatily relieved. “I’ll hold the rest of this drink order so you can take it up all together. Tell her you went and got oat milk for her and saved the day.” He grins. “Be her hero.”
I’m not a hero. I wave that off and head out in search of oat milk.
Fortunately, Mario’s right. I grab a bottle of oat milk and double-time it back to the restaurant. Mario’s waiting for me at the front of the kitchen. He tosses the oat milk in a waiting blender, pours a thin stream of amber liquid over top, and mixes it up. He decants it into a sippy cup and pops the lid on, before handing me a tray of four sippy cups with a wink. “I put the oat milk in the pink one so you can tell it apart.”
“Thank you, Mario.” I rub the back of my neck. “So, you know about the, um, group?”
“I’ve heard a thing or two,” Mario admits. “It puzzled me, so I read up online. They’re real cute, the littles. I like having them here. Makes for a happy Sunday afternoon.”
I smile at him and take the tray.
I’m greeted with squeals from all four littles when I return with their “specials.” Sammi jumps up from his seat and tries to hug me before Jack sternly orders him back down. Sammi sinks into his chair with a muttered, “But he brought it for us special.”
“But youaskbefore you hug anyone, boy. You didn’t ask Max’s permission or mine. You’re not allowed to touch another daddy without my permission, even at playgroup. Do you need time in the corner to remember the rules?”
Sammi looks so crestfallen that I start to step forward to say it’s okay. Surely Sammi shouldn’t get in trouble for the same thing Mary Lisa’s been doing?
A hand on my shoulder stops me.
I glance behind me, expecting Logan. Instead, I see Warrin’s short dreadlocks and white smile.
“Come out in the hall and I’ll explain, but don’t get between them,” he murmurs.
I nod and stay in place.
“Thank Mister Max for your special drinks,” Jack tells the littles and I smile at the chorus of thank yous.
I make sure Cynnie gets her pink cup before I follow Warrin out into the stairwell.
seven
“Keep your voice down out here,”Warrin cautions. “People in the main restaurant going to the bathroom can hear us.”
