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the passenger side, and wrenched open the door. “Come on,” I said, holding up my arms to help her out. But I didn’t immediately release her, pulling her against me instead. “I’ll eat a late lunch here.” I dropped a light kiss on her lips. “Can you bring my food to me?”
    She smiled. “I cannot serve customers, but I can clear their tables.”
    “I’ll be extra messy,” I said with a laugh.
    The meatloaf was amazing, and the mashed potatoes rivaled my mom’s. I had a little on-purpose mishap with the salt shaker, one that required Susanna’s assistance. I didn’t feel bad about it, though. The dining room was empty except for me.
    Before I left, she introduced me to Lucy and her coworkers. They all seemed nice, which was good. Or maybe not. If they hadn’t been, I would’ve had a reason to insist she quit.
    As we were saying our good-byes, a Mercedes SUV rolled to a stop next to my truck. A guy in a leather jacket and jeans got out. Susanna watched him walk in. He waved, she waved back, and then he disappeared through the EMPLOYEES ONLY door.
    “One of the staff?” I asked, not really seeing how that could be possible.
    She shook her head. “I do not know how to describe Isaac. He is neither customer nor employee.” She picked up a rag and bottle of cleaner. “Perhaps we should call him a friend.”
    Friend. Right. “I’ll see you at nine.”
    She nodded automatically, her attention already consumed with cleaning the messy table I’d just vacated.

    I awakened Monday morning in a pissed-off mood, which wasn’t improved by having quizzes in my first two classes. The day seemed to crawl by. I headed home, did a hard bike ride, showered, changed, and drove to the apartment complex.
    Susanna was pushing her bike into the outside storage closet of their apartment when I pulled into a parking space. She didn’t look my way as she unlocked the front door and went inside.
    The uniform for Lucy’s Farmhouse looked strange on Susanna. After months of seeing her in long skirts and the occasional pair of loose pants, it was taking some effort to adjust to this Susanna. Whenever I’d imagined her legs in denim, my mental picture had included tight jeans—not baggy overalls.
    The door stood ajar. I rapped once as I walked in. “Hey.”
    “Hello.” She looked up from the table, her hands stilling on a stack of mail.
    I scooped her into my arms, my nose twitching at the odor of restaurant food clinging to her clothes.
    “What is wrong?” she asked.
    I shrugged. “You smell like fried chicken.”
    Her hands splayed across my chest and pushed hard. Surprised, I took a step back.
    Her chin lifted. “Perhaps you should warn me before you come over. I can bathe in rose-scented soap if that is your preference.”
    “Where did that come from?” I had ached all day to be near her, and this was how she greeted me? “Are you trying to pick a fight?”
    “I am expressing dismay at your lack of respect for my choices.”
    Here was proof that girls had passive-aggressive in their DNA. Susanna had it down and she’d been born in the eighteenth century. “We’ve hardly spent any time together in the past two days. You’re—” I stopped talking before I said something stupid.
    “Go ahead, Mark.”
    “You’re wearing yourself out over a job that doesn’t pay much.”
    “I am an adult. I must earn a living.”
    “Your handwriting job makes money.”
    “It isn’t enough to support me. I’m saving it for emergencies.” She watched me through narrowed eyes. “My job is honest work at a fair wage. Your attitude distresses me.”
    When she talked that way, it made me crazy. “It distresses me to see what wiping tables does to you.”
    “Indeed.” Her jaw tightened. “The people I served this day did not notice I was there. Perhaps you should take a lesson from them. Ignore me when I reek so much that it ruins your mood.”
    “Shit, Susanna. That’s not how I feel.”
    She disappeared down the