I smile. “Uh-huh.”
I type his order in––a large, iced coffee with four sugars and cream and a chicken salad sandwich on a croissant with extra mayo.
Carlton is tall and lanky, and one of those people gifted with a high metabolism. Because no matter how often he comes in, no matter how many of these oversized sandwiches he consumes, he’s always thin as a stick.
Taking his card, I swipe it through the reader. “How’s the band doing?”
His grin widens. “Great! I don’t want to jinx it yet, but we might have a good gig coming up.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Carlton nods. “You’ll still come if we book it?” When I hesitate, my shoulders stiffening with nerves, he sticks his lower lip out in a pout. “You said you would.”
I force myself to relax a little at his teasing tone. He’s just being nice. “As long as
