“Just a small coffee, please.”
“Of course. That’s $4.25.”
I reached into my purse.
Then a man’s voice came from behind the counter.
“That’s all you’re ordering?”
I looked up.
A man in his forties was watching me.
“Yes. Just coffee.”
“And you’re planning to sit down?”
“For a few minutes. I’m feeling a little dizzy.”
Mary’s smile disappeared.
“Would you like some water?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
But the man wasn’t looking at me anymore.
He was staring at Benny.
“Then the dog can’t stay.”
I stopped reaching for my wallet.
“I’m sorry?”
“Pet-friendly seating requires a thirty-dollar minimum purchase.”
I glanced toward the DOGS WELCOME sign.
“I didn’t see anything about that.”
“It’s my café,” he said. “I’m telling you the policy.”
My first instinct was to apologize.
I’d developed that habit after Frank died.
