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  “That is progress. He could turn out to be super apprentice after all.” Travis laughed picturing Todd, their pain-in-the-ass apprentice, with a big gold star. “You look tired.”

  “Yeah well, I’m not getting a lot of sleep these days.” Logan smirked, obviously referring to his new fiancée.

  “Show-off,” Travis said before Logan disappeared up front.

  It was an hour before closing, so Travis checked the office and saw Paige’s lunch box sitting next to the desk. He smiled—she’d forgotten it again. He had started making Paige’s lunch a few months back when Kenna had forgotten the lunch box and he . . . well, he felt like doing something nice for her. She always seemed so busy, controlled busy, but he remembered wanting to help, so he did.

  Travis picked up the soft Daniel Tiger lunch box and brought it to the counter. He unzipped the light blue zipper and found it clean. There were no bags or wrappers, no uneaten food, just a piece of construction paper. Travis unfolded the purple page. A happy face with buggy eyes and a tongue was drawn in crayon. Under the face, also in crayon, were the words, “Thank you,” followed by several exclamation points and hearts and Xs and Os.

  Travis felt his chest warm in a way he had not known before meeting Paige. He hadn’t been around very many children, but he’d met Paige when she was just turning two and he lost a piece of his heart right then and there. Watching her grow up into such a smart and sassy little girl had secretly been one of the best things in his life. Not that he would share that with most people because, well, no one would believe him. Logan probably knew how Travis felt about both of the Rye family women, but he continued to keep things light by saying he admired the whole family. That seemed to work, but he was pretty sure Logan saw through his bullshit by now.

  Travis turned the construction paper over and read the words, “mac and cheese. pretty pleez,” with more hearts and kisses. He laughed. She was sending him requests now, and he instantly knew what he would be doing on his day off. He’d need to make mac and cheese on Sunday so Paige’s lunch would be ready when Kenna came whirling through the restaurant on Monday morning looking for the forgotten lunch box. She didn’t forget it all the time, but frequently enough that it had become sort of a game, one he looked forward to. There was something so simple about making a little girl’s lunch, checking off one of what he assumed were the many check boxes in Makenna’s world.

  Chapter Four

  Makenna and Sage sat on the dark yellow leather S-shaped couch at Lux Coffee the following Sunday morning. Paige sat with her legs crisscrossed, wearing jeans, daisy shirt, and green plastic clogs. Her earphones were on and she was staring at Makenna’s phone, no doubt watching some shark attack or lions and hippos in a turf war. Those were her two current favorites.

  The S couch was a coveted people-watching spot at Lux. They didn’t always manage a seat, but when they did, it was a good Sunday morning. From the comfort of what they assumed was sixties-era upholstery, they watched the line of people moving single file past the fresh pastries laid out on mismatched plates and toward the register. That was where they picked up their coffee orders and paid Bri, the woman who sat behind a counter that looked like a converted altarpiece. Bri had long dreadlocks that were usually tied back in a bunch and a tattoo of a barcode on her wrist. She was studying philosophy at UCLA, Kenna learned one morning when she stopped to grab Paige a blueberry muffin on their way to school. Kenna rarely understood a word Bri said, but she loved to say things like “it’s all crap,” and “well, according to Nietzsche.”

  A few weeks after Adam’s memorial, Sage decided Makenna needed to get out of the house, so they came to Lux. When Bri handed Kenna her Americano, she said, eyes averted as if looking at her was almost too painful, “That which does not kill us makes us stronger.”

  “Nietzsche?” Kenna had asked.

  Bri met her eyes and smiled just a little, and then she nodded.

  Makenna actually googled Nietzsche one afternoon and wondered how, with all of that swimming around in the girl’s brain, she managed to give a damn whether morning commuters wanted extra foam or their scone warmed up.

  “Third in line. Married?” Sage asked, after sipping her dirty chai latte.

  Kenna tore her eyes away from Bri, who was simultaneously trying to explain to one kid in skinny jeans that he had, in fact, not paid for his drink while telling a very pregnant woman where she could find a bathroom.

  “Um, third”—Kenna counted without pointing—“no ring. He’s single.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. I think he carries himself like he’s married.” Sage set her cup down on the metal crate in front of them.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, come on, you know, barely looks around. Seems perfectly content, like someone either rolled off of him this morning or made him an omelet or both.”

  Kenna leaned to the left to get a better look. She and Sage played this game every Sunday morning, so it was important to get things right. “Well, he just asked for one of those berry corn muffins and what looks like a side of bacon. No, correction, ham. Since he doesn’t look overweight, I’m guessing no one made him breakfast this morning. Also, he’s flirting with the new Tinker Bell-looking girl giving him his drink, so I don’t think anyone rolled off him either. I’m going with single, lives alone, maybe recent breakup because some woman picked out those pants. Guys don’t venture into royal-blue chinos on their own.”

  Sage nodded and gave her the customary victory high-five. “Well done.”

  “Thank you.” Kenna crossed her legs, put a napkin across Paige’s lap in an attempt to catch any bagel crumbs or cream cheese blobs, and took a bite of her own breakfast sandwich.

  Sage broke off a piece of bran muffin and slouched back into the comfy couch, propping her boots, the ones with embroidered stars, out in front of her.

  “Maybe we should start dating,” Sage said on a huff.

  “When I mentioned that a couple of months ago, you told me I was nuts and you were happy being single. You were leaving it to fate, remember?” Kenna brought her Americano to her lips and decided it was still too hot.

  “Yes, I remember, but that was before—”

  “Before what? Did Garrett piss you off again?”

  Sage smacked her shoulder and looked around like she always did at the mention of Kenna’s oldest brother. “Will you shut up.”

  “Oh yeah, this is definitely his kind of place.”

  “Someone could know him.”

  “I . . . highly doubt that. Not exactly his crowd.”

  “My desire to date has nothing do with your brother. He’s not my type, we’ve already been over this. I get it. He’s rude and doesn’t know I’m alive. He seems friendly with everyone else, doesn’t he?”

  “No.” Kenna now sipped her drink.

  “He dates women, so he must be doing something.”

  “Eh, would we call it dating? More like he flirts and then never follows through. We’ve been over this, Sage. Garrett likes to be—”

  “Liked. I know, he likes the game and that’s it. I don’t know why we are even talking about him again. I’m moving on. I have no interest in your sweaty farmer brother.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Sage sighed again and brought her muffin plate into her lap this time like a sulking child. Kenna always thought her best friend was more than beautiful. She was unexpected, sort of like an emerald compared to a diamond. Diamonds always got all the attention, but the emerald was special. She had golden brown hair cut short. She was sporting a pixie cut as of late, but Kenna had seen it with longer bangs and even what Sage had called an “uneven bob.” This was the shortest her friend’s hair had ever been, but she managed to look more feminine, more alluring, than most women with luscious locks. Her eyes were gray with twinkling spots of brown and her neck was long and porcelain. In fact, her whole body was porcelain, which she seemed perfectly fine with. Sage was the most comfortable-in-her-skin woman Kenna had ever
met. She wore crazy earrings—like the big chandelier things she currently had on—and paired them with sweatpants and heels or boots. She wore whatever she wanted, and somehow, instead of looking ridiculous, she looked hip. She shopped at vintage stores, and Paige had recently started telling her she had Bally Harry hair. Sage quickly translated that to Halle Berry hair and took it as a huge compliment.

  “I know we’re done talking about him, but merciful Jesus, did you see the John Deer T-shirt he had on yesterday? I mean, that should really be outlawed. His eyes are green for hell’s sake. He should be banned from green. To make it worse, there was a hole right by his neck.” Sage brought her fingers to her own neckline.

  Kenna threw the crust end of her English muffin right at her best friend’s face. “Snap the hell out of it.”

  “Right, great, thank you. I needed that. Good. So, back to what I was saying, we should date. I’m ready and you said you wanted to, so let’s commit.”

  “Okay. We should probably do an online thing because we don’t want to date the customers and since we spend more time at The Yard than any single woman should, online is probably our best pool of potentials.”

  “Did you know there’s an online dating site for people with pets now? And one based on your astrological sign.” Sage finished her last bite of muffin and put her empty plate on the crate.

  “Really?” Kenna took the plate with a mostly eaten bagel off of Paige’s lap. Her daughter was still in a trance, and when Kenna glanced at the phone, she saw two hippos fighting. Paige was leaning forward as if she were about to jump into the screen.

  Sage nodded, rubbing her neck and twisting her body like the yoga pro she was.

  “Let’s just start with a basic site. No animals or stars, just our profiles, and see what’s out there. We don’t even have to do anything yet because the thought of actually going on a date makes me want to heave.”

  “Then why are we doing this?”

  “Because it’s time. I’ve given it some thought, and that has to be what the dream was telling me.”

  “That you need to go on a date?”

  “Yes. Well, sort of. That I need to expand my horizons. I need more male reference points, more data to pull from when I’m dreaming.”

  Sage stopped short of almost laughing her latte through her nose. “Reference points? A little cold, but good. That’s funny. Speaking of, let’s play a version of our game. If Travis were standing in line . . . what’s his story?”

  “That’s silly, I already know his story.”

  “No, you don’t. If you just saw the surface, tell me his deal. Unless you’re too uncomfortable to go there with your new dream guy.”

  “Oh, you’re cute. Fine.” Kenna looked over at Paige, who had little curls of milk on her upper lip. She handed her daughter a napkin, eyes still on the video, Paige wiped her mouth. Kenna loved when her telepathic parenting worked. “Okay, Travis is in line on a Sunday.”

  Sage nodded.

  “I’m at a bit of a disadvantage since I can’t see the outfit, but I’ll guess because I’m just that good.”

  Sage laughed and sipped her drink.

  “He’d be in those cargo pants and some worn T-shirt with a motorcycle on it or even just a plain one. His hair would be all over the place and the beard would be trimmed.”

  “Even on a Sunday?”

  “Yeah, because he was probably out the night before. He always trims it when he has a date.”

  “Huh, interesting. Go on.”

  “Slightly wrinkled clothes would tell me he’s single and does his own laundry. Motorcycle reference, if it were there at all, would be subtle, so I’d assume he rides a bike. Usually, guys who actually ride go easy on the biker bling.”

  “True.” Sage laughed again.

  “He’d have his shades on his head and this early in the morning, he’d probably look hungover. I’d pin him as single party guy. Easy. Oh, and the body. We can’t forget the body. I’d probably call boxing or some kind of alternative exercise because he doesn’t look like a typical gym guy. There, like I said, he’s easy.”

  “What about his job?”

  “Probably wouldn’t be able to pick up on that. Although have you ever noticed Travis when he watches food being prepared or even the way he looks at food?”

  Sage smiled. “Can’t say I have.”

  “It’s like he’s watching a movie, a love story even. His eyes get heavy but sort of playful and he watches every detail. I’m used to Logan’s cooking eyes, but Travis is on another level. It’s—” She looked up because she could feel Sage’s silence. “What?”

  “Nothing. He’s easy huh? Just a surface party boy?”

  “Oh, shut up. You asked about his job. I was just providing data. Game over. So, I shouldn’t have judged before. Maybe dating will be fun.”

  “There’s nothing fun about dating. And maybe that dream was trying to tell you—”

  Kenna shot Sage a look that stopped her midsentence. “More data, that’s all I need, and you need to date too because it’s healthier than pining over John Deer.”

  Sage let out a sigh. “Do you think he knows?”

  “No.” Kenna was grateful for the change of subject.

  “How did you figure it out?”

  “Because you’re my best friend. You’re gorgeous, you dress like some urban fashion magazine, and for the past two years, you’ve dated absolutely no one. I began wondering why, and then I noticed that you lose yourself every time my brother walks into a room. I didn’t need to be Bri or Nietzsche to figure it out.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Well, he has no idea given that he’s clueless on so many levels. I’m sure of that, but unless you’re going to make your move, my dear friend, it is time to get over it.”

  “Right, I guess, I mean can you see the two of us together?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, well, thanks.”

  “Garrett is his own man. Self-contained. He is that farm, Sage. I honestly wouldn’t wish that on you and besides, you love the city and culture. He’s . . . not that.”

  Right as Sage looked like she was gearing up to plead her case for continuing to ogle Garrett, Paige, whose blue eyes had finally left the screen of Kenna’s phone, took her earphones out.

  “Are we having another round, Auntie?”

  “We sure are, and I’m buying.” Sage took her niece-by-friendship’s little hand and got in line for more caffeine.

  Travis woke up Sunday morning with his customary headache. Last night had been a little out of hand, but fortunately, when he turned his head toward the side of the bed that wasn’t his, there was no one there. Bad decisions may have been made, but he didn’t bring any of them home. Progress. He’d gone out with Logan, Garrett, and a few of the other guys from the restaurant as a send-off of sorts. Logan was taking his first vacation since The Yard had opened. He and Kara were going on a road trip up Highway One, “until we run into Canada,” as he’d put it. Logan and Garrett had called it a night early and Travis, of course, stayed to party with the boys. His throbbing head told him he was either getting too old or just plain tired of this shit. He dragged himself into and out of the shower. Dressed, he pulled on a sweatshirt and grabbed the keys to his bike, deciding on Egg Slut at the Grand Central Market for breakfast. He’d pick up cheese there too before heading into The Yard to make the best mac and cheese a certain almost-six-year-old ever tasted.

  The cool morning air helped with the headache. Travis had bought his BMW R nineT motorcycle last year. He’d had an older bike, but this one was a gift to himself for his thirty-second birthday. He liked bikes, the solitude of them. Sure, there was a tiny spot on the back if he wanted to bring anyone along, but that never really happened. He played but rarely paired.

  Entering Grand Central Market, he stopped by to see Jarrod, who now had his own cheese shop in the market. Jarrod and Travis both went to the American Culinary Institute in Seattle, Washington. They had studied under ren
owned chef-turned-instructor Marjorie Frieze. It was a small school: there had only been twelve in their class. He and Jarrod had grown close through long hours in the kitchen and even longer hours at the clubs and bars around Seattle. Jarrod used to give Travis a run for his money. They were crazy back in those days, but then Jarrod met Sabrina and things quickly changed. Suddenly he was staying home, buying her flowers, and when they graduated, she was there cheering him on. Something shifted in Travis’s chest thinking about it now. Jarrod had come from a really shitty family, and he seemed to have made his own way and found love.

  “How’s business?” Travis chomped into his egg sandwich and wiped his mouth.

  “Good, crazy even.” Jarrod was thirty-five, the father of two little boys and husband to Sabrina, who sang nights at the Peacock Lounge about four streets over from the market. He was tatted from shoulder to wrist on both arms, most of them having to do with his Nordic ancestry or his time spent in the army. Jarrod graduated from the academy and then moved on to apprentice with a cheese maker. His shop was always a source of fascination for Travis; there were so many cheeses he’d never heard of, and he tried something new every time he visited. He made a mental note that if Grady and Kate chose cheese plates for their wedding, he would ask Jarrod for suggestions.

  “I’m glad to hear that. Did you put the new shelves up in the back?”

  “I did. Well, Sabrina’s brother did, but I helped. Got a new slicer too.” Jarrod pointed to what looked like a slab of marble and a series of silver strings, four or five of them.

  “Nice. How are the boys?”

  “Growing up and mouthing off, you know, as expected. Sean’s into skateboards now and Sabrina keeps trying to put kneepads on him. I tried to tell her she was lucky the kid agreed to a helmet.” Jarrod laughed and, leaning on his display case, sipped his coffee from a brown paper cup. “So, you guys full of yourselves now after that LA Times feature?”