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“I BROUGHT YOU BREAKFAST,” said Shane Letcher, setting a McDonald’s bag on Charlotte’s desk. He looked... different. Happier than normal. Charlotte wondered what was up.
“This is a nice surprise,” she said, doing her best to hide her skepticism.
“Bet you don’t get this very often,” said Shane. “I brought it from Winter River. We have nice places there like McDonald’s and Walmart. You ought to think about blowing this pop stand and moving up there sometime.”
“I’m quite familiar with the charms of Winter River, but I like it just fine here in Windy Pines,” said Charlotte.
“Did you have a good weekend?” Shane asked.
“It wasn’t bad. What about you?”
“I’ve been swimming all weekend. My indoor pool finally got completed on Friday. Three months behind schedule!”
Charlotte nodded. “An indoor pool. How novel,” she said.
“Aren’t you going to look in the bag?” Shane asked her.
“Oh, sure.” She unfolded the top of it and peeked inside. “Look at that. An apple pie and a hash brown.” She nodded again, trying to block out the feeling that he must have done something to this food. “Thank you.”
“How’s the party planning going?”
“Great,” she said.
“That’s good to hear. You’re going to blow all our minds?” He made a gesture with his hands like his head was exploding.
“I’ll certainly try.”
“Lighten up! I’m funny! You have no sense of humor,” he said, giving her upper arm a little lighthearted punch. “Okay, Char. You’ll be here Friday, right? Day after Thanksgiving.”
“I’m planning on it.”
“Good. Good. I won’t be here. None of the salesmen will either, since there’s no point. They can’t sell on the day after Thanksgiving since the rest of the country’s a bunch of lazy losers who won’t even pick up their phones. But the factory’ll run a seven-and-a-half-hour shift—I like to give ‘em a break that day, just to be nice. And you gals should all plan on working a regular day. I think years past they’d do a little potluck. Why don’t you arrange that this year? Tell you what, Char: You’re in charge of the spinach dip. And remember: You can wear jeans.”
“That’s great. Thanks.”
“And another thing: Don’t worry about calling me ‘Sir’ anymore.”
“You sure?” asked Charlotte. Addressing him in this way had been line one of her employment contract.
“Yeah, just forget it.”
“Okay.”
“Alright, then. Get to work.”
“Thanks again for the breakfast,” said Charlotte.
“You’re welcome,” said Shane, stepping out of her office and whistling as he walked away.