“The same kind that happens at any other hour?” Tilly asked.
“Don’t be a smart-ass.” Quinn set down the ice cream. “I think we should have The Talk.” And not the one that she’d hoped to have either.
“What talk?” Tilly asked suspiciously.
“You know, the birds and the bees.”
Tilly looked horrified. “What century were you born in again?”
“I’m serious,” Quinn said. “Do you know your options? Do you know that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do?”
Tilly closed her eyes. “I’m having a bad dream—”
“Speaking defensively is a sign that you’re feeling pressured,” Quinn said. “Never let a boy pressure you.”
“Oh my God,” Tilly groaned, covering her face.
“I’m serious.” She paused. “Listen, I’m just going to come right out and ask you. Are you sexually active?”
“Let me repeat. Oh. My. God.”
“It’s a yes or no answer, Tilly.”
Tilly sighed. “No,” she said, looking so wistful that Quinn actually believed her.
“Okay,” Quinn said, taking a breath for calm. “Can you promise to tell me before that changes so we can . . .” She felt ridiculous, but forged on. “Discuss your options?”
“I’ll promise you whatever you want if you’ll stop talking.”
“You can’t just sneak out, Tilly.”
“And you can’t tell me what to do.”
“Actually, I can,” Quinn said. “You’re a minor.”
Tilly sighed. “This sucks.”
“You oughta try it from my side of the fence.”
“I’d switch places with you in a heartbeat,” Tilly said. “You’ve got it easy.”
Quinn nearly choked on her laugh. “Anyone ever tell you to pick your battles? You don’t have to show up to every argument you’re invited to.” She paused. “And you think I have it easy?”
“I know so,” Tilly said.
“Then you have a deal.”
“What?”
“You just said you’d switch places with me in a heartbeat,” Quinn said. “Let’s do it. Tomorrow you be me, and I’ll be you.”
Tilly stared at her. “But tomorrow’s Sunday. I’m supposed to work the morning shift serving tables and you’re in the back barking orders and cooking.”
“Yeah. So?” Quinn asked.
“Fine. Whatever. If you don’t care, neither do I.” She shook Quinn’s hand. “Deal. But just so you know, tomorrow you’re going to tell me I was right, that you have it easy compared to me.”
“Or,” Quinn said. “You’ll tell me that I was right. That your life doesn’t suck nearly as bad as you think it does.”
Tilly didn’t look convinced. “So what now, we go to bed angry?”
“Never go to bed angry,” Quinn said. “Stay awake and plot revenge.”
THE NEXT MORNING they walked over to the café together and told everyone about how they were switching roles for the day.
Greta, Trinee, and Dylan stood there in morbid fascination as Tilly strapped on an apron and headed behind the stove.
“Uh,” Dylan said. “Does anyone but me know that she burns water?”
Tilly jabbed a finger at Dylan, which Quinn presumed meant “Shut it!” Still, Quinn watched for another moment, suddenly torn, worried Tilly might burn herself or mess up on purpose to make a point. “Hey,” she said. “If this is too much—”
“No.” Tilly lifted her chin. “We made a deal. I get to be in charge and be bossy and all that.”
“I’m not bossy,” Quinn said.
Both Greta and Trinee snorted and Quinn gave them a “shut it” look.
Dylan studiously stared at his shoes, looking to be hiding what could have been either a grimace or a grin.
But at least they all zipped it.
“Okay, fine, I get it,” Quinn said to Tilly. “You’re in charge. But if you need a time-out, just say so, okay?”
“Piece of cake,” the teen said. “And anyway, what are you doing standing around? The help doesn’t stand around, they get out there and serve people. Go! Pour coffee, smile, and don’t eat anything off the customers’ plates, they frown on that.”
Quinn opened her mouth and Tilly grinned. Grinned. With all her teeth and all her heart, and for a beat, she looked so young, so cute, so adorable and sweet that Quinn could only stare at her, unbearably moved.
“Go,” Tilly said, shooing her along. “Oh wait! First we need fresh eggs.”
Quinn’s smile immediately drained away. “Oh no. Not me. I’m not going. Those chickens hate me.”
“You backing out on our deal?”
Dammit. Quinn went out to the chickens, who got all ruffled up at the sight of her. “Oh, cool it,” she said, hands on hips. “We’re going to do this and we’re all going to survive it.”
Five minutes later she had a basket full of eggs and only one puncture wound.
Baby steps.
AN HOUR AND a half later, Quinn’s arms were aching from carrying heavy trays and her back and feet were killing her. At a rare lull, she took a peek into the kitchen.
Tilly was flipping pancakes like she’d been born to the task, and Quinn had to admit she was feeling a little bit annoyed that the experiment, meant to make Tilly understand the difficulties of being an adult in charge, seemed to be backfiring. Spectacularly.
Then she caught sight of Trinee and Greta rushing around cooking everything else. “Hey,” Quinn said. “That’s cheating!”
“It’s not cheating if you’re the boss,” Tilly said without looking up from the pancakes.
“You’re not the boss.”
“Today I am. You said so.”
“No,” Quinn said. “We’re walking in each other’s shoes, and I’m not the boss here.”
Tilly looked confused. “Then who is?”
“We’re both the boss,” Quinn said. “Equally.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to win,” Tilly said.
“And that,” Quinn agreed and Tilly snorted. It made Quinn smile. No one on the planet could make her as crazy or as amused as this girl.
Which was an odd and uncomfortable and kind of wonderful feeling all in one.
When the shift was finally over, Quinn and Tilly looked at each other. Quinn raised a brow. She happened to know that Tilly had indeed burned water, and that she couldn’t have handled the shift without Dylan, Greta, and Trinee all sneaking time in the kitchen to save her cute little ass.
Tilly lifted a shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Your life sucks too. Happy?”
“Our lives don’t suck,” Quinn said. “But maybe we could each appreciate each other’s role more.”
“Hmm,” Tilly said, noncommittal. “Sure. I guess.”
Small favors . . . Quinn gathered Greta and Trinee and the rest of the staff. “I’d like to have a small surprise birthday party for Lena here tonight. She’s turning thirty and she’s sad,” Quinn said. “Plus I need someone to make a cake. Chocolate. Anyone interested?”
“It’s her thirty-first birthday,” Greta said.
“She definitely said thirty,” Quinn said.
“Well, of course she did, no one wants to admit to being thirty-one.”
Quinn blinked. “You sure?”
“Yep. Unless last year’s thirtieth roast she held for herself at the Whiskey River didn’t happen.”
Quinn sighed. “Okay, so she’s pretending to still be thirty. So what?”
“I’d pretend to be twenty-seven,” Tilly said. “’Cause thirty’s old. Just sayin’.”