“Good news. It’s your lucky day, my friend. Two dollars for the first bottle, and because I like you, I’ll let you have the second one for only three.”
I laughed. “Mate, that’s not how bulk buying works.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself, but if you pass out in the street, I’ll charge extra to drag you back inside.”
I laughed again, cracked the lid, and downed half the bottle in one go. It tasted good, even if it was lukewarm with the faint hint of plastic. “You always been this good at salesmanship?”
“Are you kidding? I’m just getting started.” He reached under the counter and thunked a jar of jerky between us. “Tell you what. Buy another bottle and I’ll throw in a free sample of elk jerky. Well… half the jar is free. The other half is the usual retail price.”
He opened the lid, and I peered into the jar. The strips of meat looked so dry they could’ve doubled as roof shingles. “Mate, that’s not jerky, that’s a choking hazard.”
“Good for the jaw muscles,” he said without missing a beat. “Strong jaw, strong man.”
“It’s gray. Is it supposed to be gray?”
He pushed the jar closer. “You buy two bottles, I’ll even throw in a toothpick. On the house.”
“That’s your idea of a deal?”
“Best in town. Nobody else is giving away toothpicks today.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “You always upsell like this?”
“Only when the universe tells me to.” His voice went soft, his eyes steady on me. “Universe tells me you’re the kind of fella who’ll buy something he doesn’t need, just to prove he’s not scared of what comes with it.”
That stopped me mid-swallow from my bottle of water. A second ago, we were haggling over jerky, now I felt like I was being read like an open book. I made a mental note for my article:jerky philosophy, worth more than the meat itself.
I slid the jar back toward him. “Thanks mate, but I’m not really a jerky fan anyway. Reckon I’ll stick with the water for now.”
He gave a small grunt, almost approval. “Smart man. My next offer involved diarrhea pills and a dozen rolls of toilet paper.”
I meandered along the park and crossed Main Street Bridge at an easy pace, leaning on the rail halfway just to take it in. The river slid beneath me, blue and steady. Sunlight flashed off the ripples, and I wondered if it froze over in winter. Who knew? I certainly wouldn’t be here long enough to find out.
By the time I reached the other side my stomach had started to grumble. I’d skipped breakfast and wisely declined the jerky from the general store, but now I was bordering on starving.
Ahead, the smell of butter and sugar drifted out of a café painted in the colors of France. The sign on the awning readPascal’s Patisserie—a place Benji and Bastian had mentioned—so I let my stomach make the decision.
Inside, glass display cases gleamed with croissants, éclairs, and tarts, all dusted and glazed within an inch of their lives. The air smelled sweet enough to give you cavities just by breathing. It was heavenly.
“Welcome, welcome!”
I looked up to find two waitstaff bearing down on me—a couple in their late fifties or early sixties, wearing matching aprons. They were both grinning like I’d just wandered into their living room, both talking at the same time.
“New in town?” they asked in unison. “We haven’t seen your face before.”
“Sit anywhere you like,” the woman said.
“But not that one,” added the man, pointing vaguely at a perfectly fine table. “That one wobbles.”
She nodded seriously. “Terrible table. Don’t trust it.”
“Nearly tipped soup right into Mrs. Roper’s lap last week.”
“Hot soup too!”
They both laughed like this was the funniest thing in the world, before the woman guided me toward a booth and handed me a menu. “Sit over here, dear. I’m Lonnie.”
“And I’m Ronnie,” said the man.
