“The manager flagged us down,” the younger officer said, nodding toward a man near the counter, arms crossed, mustache bristling.
“I didn’t cause a scene,” I said. “My granddaughter was crying. I just needed a dry place to feed her.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
The manager stepped forward. “She refused to leave. She’s disrupting paying customers.”
“Paying customers?” the officer repeated. “So this is about money?”
“It’s about café culture,” the manager snapped.
The younger officer looked at Amy, still fussing. “Mind if I try? My sister has three kids.”
I hesitated, then handed her over. To my amazement, Amy settled instantly, drinking her bottle against his uniform.
He smiled. “See? Problem solved.”Continue reading…
