SWEET SPOT
I stepped behind the counter, trying to look composed.
Gina shot me a glare. “Fifteen minutes late, Nyla.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my voice small. “Class ran longer than usual.”
She rolled her eyes and turned away without another word. The dismissal stung more than I wanted to admit. I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced a smile as customers approached.
I was busy counting some cash behind the counter when a deep, familiar voice floated over the counter like warm honey.
“Can I get a footlong Italian sub with everything and a Diet Coke?”