The waitress blushed bright pink at being addressed by the person she had indeed assumed to be Blair Pfenning’s girlfriend and had been wondering what exactly this totally normal-looking person had that she didn’t have, and actually it had been making her think even better of lovely Blair for stooping to go out with someone who just looked like anybody, who wasn’t in expensive clothes or super-thin or anything. It just showed what an amazing, super guy he was deep down inside, like Pierce Brosnan, and made her love him more than ever.

“Um, sorry?” she said, flushing from pink to bright red, her eyes darting to the till.

“Well, you gave him a cup of tea and didn’t give him any change.”

Oke looked at her with amused eyes, and Carmen wondered with a horrible icy chill if she had perhaps gotten it wrong.

“Yes, it’s a suspended cup?” said the girl, looking terrified.

“What’s that?”

“It’s . . . um . . . when you buy a cup of tea or coffee along with your normal stuff for someone, like a homeless person, who can’t afford one. Then any time someone can come in and ask for one?”

Carmen felt horribly embarrassed, as if the entire café was staring at her, as indeed it was. Oke wasn’t saying anything at all, just staring at the ground, at his wet sneakers, in huge contrast to Blair’s shiny Wellingtons.

Blair looked up suddenly. “Well, that’s an awesome idea,” he said, completely surprising Carmen, and flashing his toothy grin to the café. “Here, I want ten suspended hot chocolates.”

At this all the focus turned to him, and there was practically applause. Blair beamed his shiny smile again and flashed his gold bank card once more. Oke, normally so chatty, took his tea, smiled briefly at Carmen, and left.

“Wait!”

She felt terrible, absolutely awful. For accusing the shopgirl—God, could she ever drink their lovely hot chocolate again?—but worse, she had accused Oke of being a rube, of not knowing what he was doing.

She caught up with him in the snowy street, the sound of everything muffled, no cars passing.

“Oke!”

He turned around. She had forgotten to put her coat on and was shivering.

“Look at you,” he said. “You’re dressed worse than I am.”

He immediately went to take off his jacket to offer it to her.

“No, I don’t need it . . . I’m so sorry,” said Carmen.

“I don’t know why you’re apologizing to me,” said Oke.

“Because I made it look as if you didn’t know what you were doing. Sorry.”

He shrugged. “Okay. Have you apologized to Dahlia?”

“Who’s . . . ? Oh. The waitress.”

He nodded. “You slightly accused her of stealing.”

“Oh God,” said Carmen. “I always do this. I just dive straight in and speak and get myself into so much trouble.”

Oke smiled. “Have you ever thought about not doing that?”