‘Sorry for what?’ He handed me my apron. ‘I’m late.’ He looked up at the clock showing a slice of pie. ‘By what? A minute?’ I grinned. ‘Yeah.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Jeesh. If only they were all as conscientious as you.’ ‘I’m a keeper,’ I teased. Outside the doors, people from out of town were already lining up to eat. I wiped down a few tables. ‘You doing OK with the insanity of apple time?’ He was doing his best to buff the countertop spotless. ‘I think it’s good for me to be busy right now,’ I said. In the kitchen the cook was singing to the radio. La Bamba had never sounded so fun. I laughed. Irv rolled his eyes again. ‘He’s a great cook. Can’t carry a tune in a bucket, though.’ I moved on to the next table and watched more folks join the throng waiting outside. ‘Do you put drugs in the food, Irv?’ I asked. I smiled at him. ‘What?’ he yelped. I nodded to the crowd. ‘Look at that.’ ‘Oh.’ He chuckled. ‘We serve the only decent burger and fries for miles, is all.
