There were a couple of customers still in her shop, and her team was in earshot. “Hey, Auntie, why don’t you text me. You have my number, right?”
Her aunt squinted. “Okay,” she said almost pensively. “But remember catering is paid by the person. We lose if someone who said they were coming doesn’t show up.”
Retta smiled and nodded. Way to apply pressure on her date that very evening.
After Cheyenne completed the transaction, Aunt Wendy left the store with an order confirmation form and a box of madeleines.
Upon closing up shop for the day, Retta got ready for her date in the small bathroom.
When she emerged, she was met with sincere compliments from Omar and Philippa.
“Who’s it today?” Omar asked as they walked together to their vehicles.
“A graphic designer,” Retta said. Or was he the college admission’s officer? The profiles were starting to run together.
Drawing nearer to her car parked on the street, she was pleased to see no ticket flapping underneath her windshield wiper today. While her staff helped her load some baskets of laundry into her back seat, she spotted Duncan hauling two garbage bags.
“Who’s that?” Omar asked.
“One of the owners of the gym,” Retta said as they all watched Duncan dump the trash into the green bin.
“When’s this parking mess getting resolved?” Philippa asked.
It had been two days since she’d brought it up to Duncan. “Hopefully soon.”
She was giving him a few more days, but Retta was tired of playing “has my car been towed or did I forget where I parked it?”
Duncan must’ve felt the intensity of several pairs of eyes searing into the back of his head because he suddenly looked over in their direction. All three of them struggled to find a natural orientation that didn’t look like they’d been staring at him for the last twenty seconds.
“This is awkward,” Philippa said.
Retta braved a look and caught Duncan waving.
She returned the greeting, and he started jogging toward them.
“I-is he coming this way?” Omar asked, squinting.
“Yes,” Retta said. “Don’t be weird.”
“Never,” Philippa said, before placing one palm awkwardly on the side of Retta’s car and the other on her hip like a bad pin-up model.
“Jesus,” Retta said under her breath.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you for the gift basket,” Duncan said when he arrived in front of them. “It didn’t last long.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Retta said.
He introduced himself to her team. In the process, he complimented Philippa on her tattoos and asked Omar about the backpack he wore.
“What was your favorite thing you tried?” Omar asked.
“Oh, hands down the blueberry scone with the…”
“The lemon glaze,” Retta said.
“Yeah,” Duncan said before closing his eyes and producing an exaggerated shiver. “Flaky and buttery. There’d be a problem if I could make them myself. Do you have a recipe?”
“I’d need your firstborn child and hair follicles as payment,” Retta said.
