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Toots

She stood behind the counter, giving him this root-beer float kind of smile.

"Hey, toots!" he called out, unable to resist. He’d always wanted to call someone "toots".

She seemed to appreciate it. Her blue eyes sparkled like diamonds. She sauntered up to the counter and leaned forward.

"Somethin’ I can get for you, honey?"

"Well, yeah, there is. All of a sudden, I got me a hankerin’ for a root-beer float. Think you can handle that?" He plopped down on a stool and cocked his head.

"Honey, I can fix you whatever it is you’re wantin’, even one o’ them fancy cherry phosphates, if’n you like that sorta thing."

"Do you?"

"I’m more of a chocolate soda kinda gal."

"Well, then, how about you fix me that root-beer float, then fix yourself a big chocolate soda. I’m buyin’."

"Sure would like to, Mister, but I ain’t allowed to indulge whiles I’m a-workin’."

"All right, so how’s about I just give you a nice big tip, and then after quittin’ time, you can buy that soda." He slipped a crisp dollar bill across the counter.

"Wouldn’t seem right to be drinkin’ a soda all alone."

"What time you get off?"

"Nine tonight."

He grinned, tipped his cap and walked out. She never fixed the root-beer float, but that was all right. He forgot all about it.

Note to self: This is what happens when I have Duke Ellington playing in the background.

Story by:

Christina Cole

submitted at 5:12am

12 August 2009