Chapter 6 #3
‘You’re right, you’re right. Although to be honest, I don’t know much about you other than the fact that you have a Palm Springs phone number, you own a smoothie shop, you live with a truly unhinged number of roommates, and that you’re pro Frog and Toad. Which is a solid ten points in your favour.’
Zoey pointed a papaya at him. ‘That’s worth at least twenty.’
Nick wandered around the shop as she blended them up their drinks – passionfruit, papaya, pineapple, some mango, and a heady pour of rum.
‘Who’s the old lady?’ Nick asked curiously, pointing at the photo of Maeve by the front counter.
‘Maeve. She used to own this place,’ explained Zoey, between blender whirs. ‘Sometimes life moves in mysterious ways, and then you find yourself owning a smoothie shop.’
Nick cocked his head. ‘It wasn’t your lifelong dream?’
Zoey chuckled. ‘I’m sure it’s someone’s dream. Mine was sitting behind a walnut desk in a tweed jacket discussing the finer points of vintage picture books. But then Maeve died … and here I am.’
‘The new smoothie maven,’ said Nick, a mix of admiration and understanding in his voice.
‘The one and only,’ she agreed as she poured out the smoothie into two cups. And she meant it. Leaning on the shoulders of others wasn’t how she preferred to do things. Not even shoulders like Nick’s, which were quite broad and seemed to have been designed for the purpose.
Well, that, and easily throwing someone down on a bed. Not that Zoey was thinking such things about her mushroom vendor.
For at least the third time that day.
‘She looks like a granny with attitude,’ said Nick, with a nod at the giant flower in Maeve’s hair and the beads she wore around her neck.
‘She was,’ said Zoey. Then, before she could stop herself, she admitted, ‘I miss her. It’s nice having her here where she can keep an eye on things.’
Ugh, was she being vulnerable? What was this mushroom man doing to her?
‘And also, people tip more when her photo is out,’ she added for good measure, as she passed Nick a compostable cup and a paper straw.
‘Ah. That’s why I have Alice. She carries around a hat for me.’ Nick sipped his drink, then raised surprised eyebrows. ‘You know I’m driving, right?’
‘Of course.’ Zoey popped the blender into the dishwasher and hit start. ‘I’m a responsible business owner. I have a four-point-eight review average.’
‘What dropped it?’ Nick leaned against the counter, dark eyes sparkling as he drank.
Zoey fiddled with a paper straw. ‘A new mother brought in her placenta and asked me to add it to my Iron Maiden smoothie.’
‘Could be worse. I have a bachelorette party wanting to do a mushroom-foraging tour, with a focus on the poisonous varieties.’
‘Sounds promising. Although not for their partners.’
‘I’ll need to have my lawyer put together a liability waiver before I allow any bachelorettes on my property. I take no responsibility for mushroom murders. It’ll cover Alice as well.’
‘Speaking of, how’s she doing outside?’
‘She’ll let me know if she’s having a bad time.’ Nick twirled his straw in his drink, shooting her a glance that did strange things to her innards. ‘We could take her for a stroll down Belmont. Grab some food and maybe take her for a run around Laurelhurst Park?’
Zoey folded her arms. ‘Are you sure you two didn’t work this out beforehand?’
‘She’s a sneaky girl.’
Say no, Zoey. Don’t do it. Don’t risk your heart.
Alice gave a mournful howl.
Dammit, how could she say no to that?
‘All right. Let’s do it.’
Zoey locked up while Nick grabbed Alice from the truck. As she came around to greet him, she heard a commotion at the dumpsters across the street. This wasn’t so unusual, as the dumpsters were a hive of activity after sunset. Or even on cloudy days, which was most of them.
Hang on. She knew those distinctive red polka-dot Keds. Wasn’t that Nestor from earlier?
‘Nestor?’ she called, hesitantly.
Nestor turned, slowly, taking Zoey in with bleary eyes. But he didn’t so much as wave or say hi. Perhaps he didn’t recognise Zoey outside of the smoothie shop (although with her sharp features and long auburn hair, Zoey did think she was quite distinctive-looking, really). Or perhaps …
Of course. Nestor was dumpster diving, and wanted to go about his business without rousing the attention of others.
Well, Zoey was no narc. And besides, wasn’t it better to give something a good home than add it to the endlessly growing piles at the dump?
If someone was willing to dig around with the raccoons and the fruity swill that lurked at the bottom of the trash, then who was she to judge?
If Nestor came up with some fancy hard cheese and some untainted stationery, then good for him.
Times were hard, and rents certainly weren’t dropping.
It wasn’t like Zoey lived with a Brady Bunch’s worth of roommates for funsies.
The smoothie shop did well, but not living-alone well.
‘Brains,’ muttered Nestor quietly, as he poked through the refuse in the dumpster.
A strange choice, but offal was growing in popularity. And every time an offcut hit the mainstream, it went from being cheap to being the new truffle.
I hope he finds what he’s looking for, thought Zoey.
She shot a sneaky glance at Nick, thinking that perhaps, just perhaps, she had.