“I feel like I’m owed a secret of yours since you know one of my dirty little ones.”

“I have a strong suspicion you’re not the only one who eats pickles during a movie.”

“True. They do keep the jar right there on the counter. Oh, crap!” She dashes across the shop, pushing through to the back. “Dammit!” Her voice reaches all the way to my table in the front.

I start to wonder if I should offer assistance, but just as I stand, she pushes through the door and heads my way with a plate in her hands. “Everything okay?” I ask.

“It’s all good. I burned one grilled cheese to smithereens because I left it too close to the fire on the grill.” She sets the plate down with a bowl balanced on top. “Fortunately for you, that was my dinner and not yours.”

Looking at the plate and then back at her, I offer, “We can share?” I gesture to the other chair again, my paper now on the back burner near the fire, ready to fail me for ignoring it.

“No, that’s yours.”

“I don’t mind.” Picking up one-half of the cut sandwich, I dunk it in the soup. “Chef recommended.” I take a bite, letting the creamy soup meld with the cheesy bread. I haven’t had a grilled cheese in a long time. I’d forgotten how good they are. The chill from the rain has worn off, but the soup and sandwich warm me on the inside. “It’s really good.”

Her hand covers her belly, and she looks around as if others are eavesdropping. “My stomach just growled.”

I push the plate closer to her. “Take the other half.”

“I—”

“I insist.”

She bobbles her head in debate and then sits. “Well, since you insist.” Picking up the other half, she dips a corner into the soup, then devours a big bite. “Little known fact about the coffee shop. We only make this meal on stormy days. I’ve pleaded to management to keep it on the menu, but the owner insists it tastes so good because we crave it.”

“Absence makes the stomach grow fonder.”

“Something like that.” She takes another bite and monitors the other patrons. Everyone’s too involved in their work to care about her taking a break with me.

When we finish our halves, she moves the bowl to my side of the table. “I appreciate the snack. Now eat your soup.” Pushing up, she adds, “I need to get back to work.”

Glancing at my laptop, I say, “I guess I should, too.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” She backs away and adds, “Thanks for sharing. The food’s on me.”

I’m sure she means something entirely different than the images populating my brain. I finish the soup, then dig into my paper. The professor crossed a line when she threatened me with an F. So what if I skipped some classes and forgot about a few assignments? I aced the tests, and I’ll be golden when I finish this paper.