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the boxes. Moving was all it was cracked down to be.
    She probably hasn’t eaten supper. Her kitchen won’t be set up to cook in yet.
    Fortunately, his was. Jake headed down the back stairs to the grill to check the fridge. There was still some meat loaf, even though it had gone over well with the early supper crowd. Since the Green Apple didn’t have a liquor license, he closed up by 6:30 every day. Along with freeing up his evenings, it appealed to his sense of fairness.
    Might as well let the local bar and its restaurant on the Square cater to late diners.
    When he put the meat loaf in the oven to warm, the savory scent streamed into the air. He nuked some garlic mashed potatoes and fried okra. Once it was all steaming hot, he packed the food in an insulated catering bag along with some fresh icebox rolls. Then he decided to screw watching his diet for once and dished up blackberry cobbler and hand-packed homemade walnut ice cream for two. Lastly, he put a bottle of Yellow Tail merlot from his private wine stash into the bag.
    His grill might not have a liquor license, but that didn’t mean the apartment above the Green Apple was dry.
    Jake headed out the front, setting the bells ajingle, and locked the door behind him. He nearly tripped over Lester, who’d staked out a spot on the sidewalk where he could watch the occasional car and more frequent pedestrian go around the Square.
    â€œEasy there, marine,” Lester said, smoke curling from his stubby cigarette. Jake was relieved to smell only tobacco. “Walk wary. Saw an enemy patrol cruise by about a minute ago.”
    â€œI’ll keep an eye out.” He was also glad to see that Lester hadn’t relocated his pallet of dirty blankets to the front of the restaurant. “Think it might rain tonight. The Green Apple has a covered back stoop, remember.”
    Lester nodded. “Might take you up on it. Never know where the Cong is like to show up. Don’t think they patrol the alley much though.”
    Cong. Poor guy thought he was still back in Nam half the time. At least when Jake had a flash that took him to Helmand province, it was very much separated from the real world, and once he came to himself, he knew exactly where he was and what had happened. He could usually hide that he’d even had an episode. That counted for something in Jake’s book. It gave him a measure of control.
    For Lester, the past was all tangled up in the present and he couldn’t seem to distinguish between the two. On top of that, his mental state was slathered with a thick coat of paranoia.
    Thank God that’s not me.
    But sometimes Jake wondered if there might come a time when a flashback might fail to disperse completely. Or if he’d lash out at someone in the throes of one without realizing what he was doing. He shook off the morbid thought. No sense borrowing trouble.
    Jake took off around the Square. Half a dozen middle-aged couples were headed to the Opera House, where the local big band would be playing standards until 11:00 p.m. That counted as a pretty late night for most of the wannabe swing dancers. Some skateboarders had set up a ramp on the courthouse steps. They’d flirt with head injuries until a County Mounty came by, gave them a stern lecture, and made them pack up their gear.
    There were a few window shoppers wandering toward the ice-cream parlor that stayed open late hoping to catch folks coming out of the five-dollars-a-head theater. The Regal never screened a first-run show, but it was a good place for a guy to get real butter on his popcorn.
    Jake shook his head. He used to think of the back row of that theater as his favorite make-out spot. Now greasy popcorn was the first thing that came to him. He had to get his mind off his leg and on a woman again.
    Well, he was doing that, wasn’t he? Lacy Evans was the best opportunity that had come his way in a long time. She was worth the effort.
    Worth the