“You wanted tacos from Ish, right?” Mary asked, absently watching the snooty customer. “They don’t deliver, unfortunately. But Rocko’s does.”

“Rocko’s?” Via piped up from below. “No! I refuse! I got food poisoning from there once. I’m on a Rocko’s strike.”

“Ish is that place down by Borough Hall, right?” Estrella asked.

“Yup.”

“Oh, they’ll deliver to me.” Estrella had a glint in her eye that Mary couldn’t quite interpret.

“You’ve got the magic touch?” Fin asked with a wry expression on her face.

“Let’s just say I’ve got connections all over this city.” Estrella wasn’t doing a Godfather impression, but Mary felt she might as well have been.

They told Estrella their order and then Mary worked her own particular brand of magic on the customer. She could clock what kind of shopper a person was from a mile away. And she knew that this particular lady was not one who wanted to interact with the sales staff. But she also knew that once she’d arrived at the shop, she’d started second-guessing which of the side lamps she actually wanted to purchase.

Mary made some subtle changes to the lighting in the store and decided that now was the perfect time to unpack those afghans that an artisan in Boulder had finally shipped to her. Their tones were deep and rich, not her usual summer decor, but they would set off the ruby lighting of those lamps and help make her sale, she predicted. And sure enough, not ten minutes after she’d draped one of those afghans over the armchair next to where those lamps were sold, Mary was ringing up and carefully wrapping the five-hundred-dollar purchase.

Not too bad for a Friday night. If it weren’t for the aching cavern in her belly where food should be, she’d almost be glad that Sandra hadn’t shown up for work. The girl was as likely to people-watch in the picture window as she was to actually try to sell anything.

Once the woman left, Mary briskly folded up the afghans again and readjusted the lighting.

“Didn’t you just set those out, Mary?” Via asked.

“Our sly Ms. Trace did that just to make a sale,” Fin observed, never missing a trick. “You must have known how those colors would perfectly offset the lamps?”

“Mary’s mother didn’t raise no fool,” Estrella called from where she leaned against the counter.

Mary laughed, but that simple turn of phrase made something ancient twist a quarter turn inside of her gut. Because according to Mary’s mother, she had, in fact, raised a fool. An aging, single fool who was going to wake up one day soon and realize that she’d prioritized her life in the wrong direction.