“You could’ve at least let me pay for the food poisoning we’re about to experience,” I mutter as I slide into the seat opposite her.
She laughs. And somehow, I find myself smiling too. “This place only takes cash,” she says proudly.
“Of course it does.”
As I glance around the café again, a teenager approaches the counter and mutters something quietly to the owner. A small package gets slid across the counter before disappearing into the kid’s jacket.
Wynter notices me watching.
“This place gets all sorts,” she says like she’s discussing wildlife. “Once, a married man brought his mistress in here and his wife turned up.” She grins. “There was screaming. Someone threw chips. The police came.”
I blink at her. “Wynter, what the hell are you doing coming here alone in the early hours of the morning?”
“And did you know dancers make an absolute fortune?” I stare at her. “One night a bunch of them came in after work counting tips,” she continues excitedly. “One of them made over a grand.” I wisely keep my mouth shut about owning a strip club three streets away. “Imagine making that much for taking your clothes off,” she says.
I clear my throat. “I imagine there’s usually more involved than just taking clothes off.”
Her eyes widen. “I don’t even want to know how you know that.”
I rub a hand over my jaw. “Seriously though,” I say again, “you shouldn’t come here alone.”
Our coffees arrive. I stare down at the stained mug suspiciously.
Wynter takes a sip and closes her eyes happily like she’s drinking luxury coffee in Paris.
“I don’t think caffeine is helping the sleeping problem,” I point out.
“Don’t you ever want to just . . . live a little?” she asks suddenly.
I scoff softly. “I live every day.”
“In your perfectly controlled world,” she counters. “Where cups are spotless and food’s made by private chefs.”
The bacon baps arrive then. I glance at the crispy bacon hanging out the sides before my eyes drift towards the kitchen. The grill looks older than me. I slowly push my plate away.
“My days of eating questionable food or from the trash are over,” I mutter. “I worked hard for that.”
Her expression shifts slightly. “You really ate from bins?”
I shrug once. “When things got bad.” There’s no point pretending otherwise. I did what I had to survive.
“That makes me sad,” she says quietly. “No kid should live like that.”
“It was a long time ago.”
She studies me for a second before taking a huge bite of her bap. I wince instinctively. “It explains a lot though,” she says around the mouthful.
Then she slides my plate back towards me. “At least try it.”
I eye the bap like it personally offended me before sighing and picking it up. Wynter watches me closely as I take a bite.
And annoyingly . . .
It’s actually good.
When I smile reluctantly, her entire face lights up.
“See?” she says triumphantly. “That’s exactly my point. If you never try things, you never discover something good.”