Pepper cranked the shuttered window open on the blue food cart, and poked her head out. Standing on tiptoe, the end of her tongue sticking out of her mouth, she tugged at the yellow scalloped awning. One bedraggled edge hung down, the end of it jamming the rest up as she tried to unfurl it. She poked it with the propping stick, dropping the stick out the window in the process. She jammed her glasses up on her nose and shouted over her shoulder to her partner, “Can you open this? I’m too short.”
Penny came through the door, hugging an enormous bag of sugar against her chest. She thumped it down on the counter. “You’re still too short? You were too short yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. Try to work on that. The stick is at the bottom of the stairs. I kicked it that far, but I couldn’t pick it up.” She looked down and sighed. “We’re wearing the same shoes again. We’re ridiculous.” She leaned out and pulled the awning down, revealing the sign that read Bluebird Pies in curly script.
Her husband elbowed the swinging screen door open, lugging a crate of apples. He shoved the bag of sugar over with a corner of the crate and set the apples beside it. He nodded a good morning, and then looked down. “Do you plan that? Do you have some kind of shoe signal that only you two can hear?”