“I accept your apology as well,” I say graciously.
“That was not an apology.”
“Well, it wasn’t a great apology. But you’ll get better at it.”
By all rights, I should be apologizing to her and I damn well know it. She’s right, and I’m man enough to admit it.
But not right now. Right now, I just want to see her with her hands on her hips and a flush on her face, leaning forward as she yells at me, her t-shirt dipping low enough that I can see the top of her cleavage as her breasts rise and fall with each breath she takes.
I’m a pig. I never pretended otherwise.
I’m not a complete chauvinist, though. Clearly, I underestimated Coffee Girl. She’s perfectly capable of standing up for herself. And I shouldn’t be staking my claim on her like she’s my property. But damn it, when I saw those two assholes giving her grief, I couldn’t help it. That shit just isn't right.
She makes a frustrated sound, her hands clenched into fists at her side, then pulls her apron over her head and slams it down on the counter. “I don’t have time for an argument. I have to go pick up my kid from school.”
“I should know your name, since we’ve just had our first fight."
She narrows her eyes as she looks at me. “It’s not our first fight,” she says, “because there aren’t going to be any more. Because you’re going to walk out of my bakery and go back to your cabin and do whatever it is that you do there.”
“Chop up the bodies of unsuspecting women I spill coffee on,” I say. I think I see a flash of something in her eyes then, the corners of her mouth turning up. She wants to laugh, but she doesn’t.
She turns toward the door, holding it open for me, my cue to exit the premises, I suppose. “Lily,” she says, her one concession to me.
“Lily,” I repeat.
“And?” She arches an eyebrow. "You are?”
“Going to grab a cup of coffee before I take off.”
“I think you might be the most irritating person I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.” She exhales heavily as she gestures to the older woman behind the counter. "Opal, please give Caveman a cup of coffee. To go."
5
Lily
“After Princess Chloe defeated the fire-breathing dragon she asked him, ‘Would you like to come to the palace with me? We could even have cake if you like, although I’m not sure I have a big enough chair for you.’ The fire-breathing dragon burped, and a little puff of smoke escaped from his mouth.”
Chloe giggles. “He only breathed smoke because he’s trying to be nice.”
“It’s true. Princess Chloe decided it might be fun to have a dragon around the house…if he could avoid setting anything on fire.”
“How is he going to not set things on fire?” Chloe asks. “That’s what dragons do.”
“I don’t know.” I pretend to mull it over. “Do you have any ideas?”
“The dragon could help her cook.”
“That’s a good idea,” I agree. “He’d be a natural at barbecuing.”
“But dragons can’t wear chef hats.”
“Of course they can,” I tell her. “Princess Chloe would have to send away for a special dragon size, though. With a matching apron.”
“This story is not about me.” Chloe looks at me, a stern expression on her face. “And you know that dragons aren’t real.”
I feign shock. “What makes you think this story is about you? This is an entirely fictional story about a completely made-up girl and her pet dragon. And how do you know dragons aren’t real, anyway?”
“Mom.” She cocks her head to the side. “Of course they’re not. That’s why this story is fictional, because fictional means that it’s a lie. But you can keep telling it anyway, I like pretending.”
“Fiction isn’t exactly the same thing as lying.”
“Yes it is,” she protests. “It’s like when Hannah says that we’re hiding in this town because you’re supposed to be in jail. That’s fiction.”
“Wait a second. This is what the kids in your class are saying?”
“Yeah,” Chloe shrugs nonchalantly and averts her eyes and I know from the look on her face that they hurt her feelings. “I mean, they say all kinds of things. I know that it’s lies, but they won’t listen.”
I exhale heavily. “I’ll have a talk with your teachers.”
“Mo-om,” she protests. “Don’t do that. I know it’s not true anyway.”
“They still shouldn’t be saying stuff like that.” Those stupid little shits.
“It’s okay. I told them we were spies.”
“You did?”
“Nana said it was okay sometimes to tell white lies. I don’t think this was a bad lie.”
“You told Nana what the kids at school were saying?”
Chloe shrugs. “Nana said my white lie was clever.”
I draw her against me and kiss the top of her head. Gone are the days of preschool and arguing with her classmates about whose turn it was to use a toy. Now it’s teasing and bullying. “Nana is right. You are clever.”
“What does clever mean?”
“It means that you’re smart. Spies, huh?”