Honor

Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

E vie

“I can pay,” Lottie insists as I dig my credit card out of my wallet. “Seriously, Evie, I want to.”

“No,” I say firmly, but with a smile. “I invited you, so this is my treat, and before we get into an argument about it, I’m covering dessert, too.”

She laughs. “Dessert?”

“Have you been to Cremza?” I quiz her about my favorite ice cream shop in the city.

Her head shakes. “Never. What’s Cremza?”

“You’ll find out after a quick subway ride.”

Before she can ask another question, I’m handing my credit card to the server. I grab hold of the offered tableside card reader and add a generous tip.

I know how much work is involved in a job like this, so I always tip well. While I was fortunate enough to have my dream job every summer while I was in college, my other job during the bleak months of fall and winter was to wait tables at a bistro in the West Village.

I went home from too many shifts with sore feet and barely any tips in my pocket. I always swore that if I were ever in a position to tip well, I’d do it.

My job at Vidori isn’t going to make me a millionaire, but it does grant me the joy of sharing the small amount of good fortune I do have.

Once the server has left, Lottie reaches across the table and pats the top of my hand. “You’re a good person.”

Touched that she thinks that, I smile. “I try my best.”

Her gaze falls to the front of the multi-colored blouse she’s wearing. I know it’s a designer brand because I spotted it in the window of the Arilia boutique on my way to work one day.

It’s a high-end clothing store packed with clothes I’d love to wear, but it’s all beyond my price range.

Lottie has paired the blouse with jeans and a purse designed by the one and only Dexie Walsh. Again, one of those is on my list of ‘ I-wish-I-had-that ,’ but right now, I prefer a growing bank account to a better wardrobe.

Besides, the cute pink sundress and low-heeled sandals I’m wearing earned me a few extra glances on the subway from creepy-looking guys, so that’s something.

“Before we take off for this Cremza place, I have a confession to make.”

My gaze shoots up to meet Lottie’s. My stomach knots as I take a deep breath. “What is it?”

She scrubs both hands over her forehead, and for the first time since we sat down, I notice the dazzling diamond engagement ring on her finger. I’d offer a compliment about how it rivals the size of the sun, but she’s about to make an admission that may send me running out the door.

I highly doubt it’s anything horrific. I consider myself a great judge of character, and my heart is telling me Lottie is a good person.

“I’m not sure where to start,” she says while giggling nervously.

“Anywhere you want is fine with me.” I finish the last few drops of wine in my glass.

I regret not ordering a second glass, but unless Lottie is a wanted criminal, I’ll be enjoying two scoops of strawberry ice cream soon.

She tilts her head. “Are you familiar with Emmel’s?”

“The grocery store chain?” I ask with a little too much exuberance.

There’s an Emmel’s less than two miles from my folks’ house in Milford. It was our family’s destination every second Friday evening for most of my childhood. That’s when my dad would get paid, and the four of us would go to Emmel’s to buy groceries.

My sister and I were allowed to pick one treat each during those shopping sprees. Tracey would choose something different every time, but I always went with my favorite. A dozen chocolate chip cookies from Emmel’s in-store bakery was my pick.

I shared the cookies with my sister, but I’d still end up taking a few to school the following week for a snack at recess. Whenever I’m in Milford now, I drop by there and pick up a dozen or two to bring back home to Manhattan with me.

“Right.” Lottie nods. “I’m an Emmel.”

“You’re an Emmel?” I ask, confused if she means she’s an actual member of the Emmel family or if she considers herself an honorary member since she works there.

At the Emmel’s location close to my folks’ house, all the staff considered themselves part of the Emmel family since the company dumped a tiny sliver of their profits into a pot split by all the employees at the end of each calendar year. I heard from a friend who worked there part time that it didn’t amount to much financially, but it did inspire a sense of family in every person who wore the trademark red Emmel vest to work every day.

Her gaze drops to the table. “I did, but I meant my mom is an Emmel, Evie. I’m part of the Emmel family.”

“That must have been amazing when you were growing up.” I can’t hide the surprise in my tone. “Did you get to take whatever you wanted off the shelves?”

She tosses her head back in laughter. “No. I tried that once, and my granddad made me write an essay about not being a thief.”

I smile. “Your granddad sounds like mine.”

“I loved him a lot,” she confesses. “He passed away a few months ago.”

“Oh, no.” I reach across the table to grab her hand. “I’m sorry, Lottie. I can’t imagine how hard that is.”

“It’s rough,” she acknowledges as a single tear slides down her cheek. “I miss him every day.”

I squeeze her hand. “If you ever want to talk about him, I’m a great listener. I love grandpa stories.”

A smile spreads over her lips. “I might take you up on that.”

“You better,” I reply.

“So, we should head over to this Cremza place, right?”

I tug my hand free of hers and push back from the table. “I hope you love ice cream as much as I do.”

“At least that much,” she says before she’s on her feet.