He set them on the counter beside my computer.

“You’ve been staring at that desk lamp for twenty minutes,” Ben said.

I pulled the crumpled yellow slip from my cardigan pocket and laid it flat on the black desk blotter.

“Take a look at this,” I said.

Ben pushed his glasses up by the bridge and leaned over the counter.

He followed the printed lines with his thumb.

“Two hundred dollars,” Ben read out loud.

“Salon deposit for bridal and prom services.”