Tres Leches

I had a neck-knife dangling in front of my chest, Alec was unshaven in his leather outback hat. After camping on the edge of Stephen’s Pond for the last week, we craved real food, something sweet. At a little coffee shop, we ordered sandwiches and a slice of Tres Leches cake, to go. The woman behind the counter, the owner, the chef was disappointed. She brought out two forks and a square of cake. On the house, she told us as she boxed up another piece. We ate as she watched. She invited us and our future children back anytime.