[The single benefit to closing at the café is having first dibs on the goodies getting tossed at the end of the day. Her feet ache and the rush reminded her how exhausting (and annoying) people get. But there were leftovers that couldn't be saved another day, and employees could take what they wanted.
And the other day, Labrys said she liked strawberries.
Once she's driven back to the apartment complex, Clover sends Labrys a text on her way up the stairs—Still up? They'd exchanged numbers the last time Clover and her brother left town and Clover was expecting packages; she asked her neighbor and acquaintance to keep an eye out for them, and the idea was for Labrys to let her know if they showed up, but they started actually talking...
For all that Labrys is awkward and unsure and kind of miserable at socializing, she's genuine and sweet and every time she talks about anything going wrong for her at all, the instinct to punch whoever's responsible right in the jaw flares right up because how could anything bad happen to such a precious cinnamon bun? She's cheerful and silly and kind and adorable.
And strawberries are her favorite sweet.
(Before she moved, Clover already used strawberry-scented soap and shampoo because it's her favorite; a happy coincidence.)
The reply confirming that Labrys hasn't gone to sleep yet (it isn't too late; the café closes early on Sundays, but she wants to be sure) comes just as Clover reaches the top of the stairs to their floor. Labrys's apartment is right across from her own. She knocks on the door, arranges the take-home containers in her purse—cookies for her, tarts for her brother, and—there! This one she takes out and holds in her hands—three slices of strawberry shortcake.]
18 mouom
And the other day, Labrys said she liked strawberries.
Once she's driven back to the apartment complex, Clover sends Labrys a text on her way up the stairs—Still up? They'd exchanged numbers the last time Clover and her brother left town and Clover was expecting packages; she asked her neighbor and acquaintance to keep an eye out for them, and the idea was for Labrys to let her know if they showed up, but they started actually talking...
For all that Labrys is awkward and unsure and kind of miserable at socializing, she's genuine and sweet and every time she talks about anything going wrong for her at all, the instinct to punch whoever's responsible right in the jaw flares right up because how could anything bad happen to such a precious cinnamon bun? She's cheerful and silly and kind and adorable.
And strawberries are her favorite sweet.
(Before she moved, Clover already used strawberry-scented soap and shampoo because it's her favorite; a happy coincidence.)
The reply confirming that Labrys hasn't gone to sleep yet (it isn't too late; the café closes early on Sundays, but she wants to be sure) comes just as Clover reaches the top of the stairs to their floor. Labrys's apartment is right across from her own. She knocks on the door, arranges the take-home containers in her purse—cookies for her, tarts for her brother, and—there! This one she takes out and holds in her hands—three slices of strawberry shortcake.]