It’s chocolate. Elanore would approve.
The cake obviously needed eating.
“Madam?” She tried to block out the scratchy, tin sound of the automatic busboy as he paused by her table. She waved him off, but his programming was busted and he repeated, “Madam? Done?”
“Away with you,” she said, chastising him with the handle of her fork. His hollow chest cavity rang with the blow. “Can’t you see I’m not finished with this?”
Unperturbed, the busboy backed off a few feet and out of range of her utensils. “Apologies, Madam. I simply required confirmation.” The busboy canted toward the register. “The management wishes to inquire if you would like me to box that for you?”
“Is it a problem if I want to sit here and stare at this piece of cake for the rest of eternity?” Her matte-red lips curved in a mockery of a smile. “I’ve not been here for more’n an hour.”
“Apologies, Madam.” The busboy left her to return to its masters.
She wasn’t getting any younger and the cake wasn’t getting any fresher.She wielded her fork, hesitating with the tines a hairsbreadth from the chocolate frosting.
“This is for you, Elanore. I hope you’re happy wherever you are.”