The Wicked Cat was in full late Sunday morning brunch when Becca and Gilberto arrived. Gilberto grabbed a table in the corner facing the door—the same table he’d sat at when he first sought Becca out last night. The act reminded her of something she saw in Mafia movies.
She joked about him being paranoid and he laughed and said that one could never be paranoid enough.
The patron at the next table grabbed Becca’s arm and said hello. She patted it and told him thank you for coming. She took Gilberto’s order—a ham and egg croissant and a coffee—and she wandered to the kitchen, making a semi-circle around the floor making sure everything was in order. She swiped a water pitcher off the bar and topped off a few people’s waters.
As usual, the customers were smiling, chatting, and enjoying the
