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“Captain Pancake needs breakfast.”
“Hank can feed him.”
“Hank measures dog food by instinct.”
“Is that bad?”
“His instincts are generous.”
She considered this.
“Can I come?”
The question sounded casual.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup.
“You want to?”
“I have nothing else planned.”
“That isn’t the same answer.”
She looked at me.
“Yes. I want to.”
“Then come.”
Reef Rascal was louder than usual when we arrived.
A pink inflatable tail blocked the entrance. Silver streamers hung from the awning, and someone had taped a sign over the chalkboard.
HAPPY 8TH BIRTHDAY, LEXI!
Beneath it, in Hank’s handwriting:
MERMAIDS MUST SIGN WAIVERS.
Annie stopped on the path.
“What is happening?”
“Mermaid birthday party.”
“You really offer those?”
“Against my better judgment.”
A child wearing a purple swimsuit and a plastic crown ran past us carrying a glitter-covered pool noodle.
Another followed with a snorkel in one hand and half a cupcake in the other.
Annie watched them disappear behind the building.
“I thought mermaids were more organized.”
“They’ve had sugar.”
