His tone carried no complaint and no attempt to manipulate sympathy, and that calmness unsettled Pamela more than defiance would have. She folded her arms and said, “This is not a place to linger without ordering, because paying customers need these tables.”
A man at the counter paused mid bite of cherry pie, and a woman by the window pretended to study her phone while clearly listening.
“I am just waiting,” Tyler answered while lacing his fingers together on the tabletop.
“For whom are you waiting?” Pamela asked with growing impatience.
“I am waiting for my dad,” he replied after a brief hesitation.
“And where is he?” she demanded.
“He is coming,” Tyler said, although his voice wavered slightly at the edges.
Pamela gestured toward the entrance and said, “You can wait outside because I cannot allow you to occupy a booth without ordering.”
A subtle hush settled over the room as utensils scraped softly against plates and the soda fountain hummed, and no one intervened. Tyler slid from the booth with deliberate care and said, “I am sorry,” in a way that suggested the apology had been practiced many times before.