Page 57 of Down Bad

And I return to smiling through the window at every passerby like everyone’s having their best day today.

Except Cash, apparently.

If this routine keeps up, I’m gonna have to start charging him per hour. Am I his boss or his therapist?

Maybe I don’t mind being both today. “Y’know, no matter the latest crap Nico puts you through, who cares?” I chuckle as I pluck the perfect fry from the basket. Cash watches me with a wrinkled-up face. “He’s your dude. He’ll always be in your life. He loves you in his own way. And you love him, right?”

Cash’s lopsided frown turns into a pout. “Only thing he loves is himself. Even Savannah’s getting conned at this point, thinking he’s into her.” He folds his arms at the table and sulks.

“Just finish your burger.” I playfully nudge his plate. “No one is allowed to sulk inside Biggie’s Bites. It’s a rule. Mrs. Tucker will come out and swat your booty with a spatula.”

Cash snorts at that image—not quite a laugh, but not quite not a laugh—then does just what I say, picking his burger back up, and I’m allowed back into my french fry fantasy land.

I actually finish quite a lot at the store before locking up and heading home. So it’s with a feeling of accomplishment that I pull into my driveway, thinking I might treat myself to an evening tea.

That’s when I see Diego out with his car.

Hood up.

Toolbox at his side.

I haven’t seen him working on that car in days.

He looks up the moment I step out of the car. Meets my eyes.

He seems a little frozen suddenly.

I’m first to break the ice, lifting a hand and giving him a wave.

He licks his lips absently, as if deciding what to do, like my act of waving at him was a puzzle he’s gotta solve. Then, after a shift of his weight from one leg to the other, he just gives me a grunt and a nod before dipping his head back under the hood.

I smirk, pocket my car keys, and head across the lawn.

“Is she purring yet?” I ask.

Diego—who clearly did not notice me coming over instead of heading inside—lifts his head so fast that it bangs the hood. With a grimace and a scowl, he rubs his head and mumbles, “What?”

“The car.”

His eyes stab me accusatorily, like I meant to sneak on up and startle him. Then he seems to decide to let it go. “Nah. Gonna be tinkering with this for a long time yet.”

“Can’t figure out what’s wrong?”

He sighs. “Nope. Think it’s one thing. Then another.” He flings a rag over his shoulder after wiping his hands, then stops. “Did … everything go okay at the, uh, flower place?”

For a moment, I’m pleasantly taken aback that he just asked how my day went.

Then I realize what he’s actually asking. “Mr. Asshole did not drop in today, no need to worry.”

“Not worried. He can choke on a snail’s butthole for all I care. Just curious about you.”

That takes me aback. Again. “Well … thanks. It went well.”

He nods slowly, not quite looking at me. “Good.”

Are we having an actual conversation? “And … you?”

“What about me? Oh.” He shrugs. “Shop was slow today. Carl was … talkative. Again. Guy needs a friend, seriously.”