“Did Patty ask if you were coming back for weekend breakfast shifts?” he asked.

“She sat me down in a booth and brought me a slice of warm apple pie,” I said.

“She wouldn’t take a single dime for it.”

Nate smiled, just a small twitch at the corner of his mouth that reached his eyes.

“Patty knows what forty thousand dollars in tip money looks like,” he said.

“She said the counter feels empty without me balancing four plates up my arm,” I said.

“The ground’s drying out fast down in the creek bottom,” Nate said, turning back to the window.