Free Shadows of the Past by H.M. Ward, Stacey Mosteller

the wet away. When I pull my fingers back, they're covered in a buttery substance.  
    "You did not just do that!" My voice shrieks through laughter.
    "You started it," he says, sticking his tongue out and acting much younger than I know we are. I form a piece of my scone into ammunition and throw it at his face. The jerk catches it in his mouth. What a show-off!  
    "Yum." He licks his lips. "I think it tastes better coming from your fingers." He smiles deviously, both sides of his mouth tipping up, his mouth too wide for it to be a smirk, then throws a piece of something else at me. I'm not as coordinated as he is, and it bounces off my nose before landing on my plate. My nose feels cold and sticky.
    I stick out my tongue, acting like I'm just going to lick the stickiness off and watch his eyes get wider the closer my tongue gets to my nose. Giggling uncontrollably, I wipe it off with a napkin before picking up the piece he threw and put it in my mouth.  
    "Mmmm," I moan loudly, closing my eyes and acting like it's the best thing I've ever eaten. When I open my eyes, he's breathing a little heavier, and I start to feel self-conscious.
    Suddenly, a throat clears beside us. We both look over to see the waiter glaring at us.  
    "Sir," he says looking at Oliver and completely ignoring me. "I'm sorry, but we're going to have to ask you to leave." He looks down his nose at Oliver before he continues, but Oliver just smiles at him.
    Oliver looks properly chastened, but when our eyes meet, he winks. "My apologies," he studies the man's name tag, "Lionel. We'll just be on our way." He stands, pulling out a long wallet and putting a few bills on the table.
    As we walk out, the manager rushes up to Oliver, “Mr. Jackson, it’s so nice to see you again. Are you leaving already?”
    “Yes, I’m afraid something has come up.” He smiles at me, gesturing for me to walk in front of him.  
    The man is acting like Oliver is very important and appears slightly horrified. “Please, can I make amends for Lionel? He’s unaware of our select guests. Please, both of you come back this way and I’ll have your tea drawn in the private room. It’s a beautiful view and offers a private place to try new things.” The man looks discretely at me and I feel silly for starting a food fight.
    Oliver looks at me. “What do you say? Maybe we can find something you enjoy?”
    “I can make you something if need be, I’ll wait on you personally the rest of the afternoon. Anything you like, miss, just let me know. Sir, if you’ll follow me?”
    I lean into Oliver and whisper, “Who are you? You should have been tossed out.”
    “Likewise, American Girl. I can’t take you anywhere.” He grins as we are seated in a private room. Lionel, who looks like he swallowed a sheep, brings in our tea and champagne.
    “Sir, madam, I’m terribly sorry for the misunderstanding.” He bows and turns, leaving us alone.
    “I think we got put in the kiddy corner. I hope you’re happy.” Oliver scolds me, teasingly.
    I pick up the little purple cake and toss it at him. “Don’t throw those!” He leans sideways and catches it before it hits the floor, then pops it in his mouth. “God lord, woman! Your aim is horrendous.”
    I laugh. “The purple cake is that good?”
    He nods and picks one up, holding out for me. Being the dork I am, I lean forward and bite it. It’s flakey and sugary. “I thought this was going to taste like Play-doh.”
    “I figured as much.” He takes a plate and puts a scone on it. “Here, try it with these.” He hands me the clotted cream and jam.  
    “What do I do with it? Dunk it?”
    He laughs. This must be like watching someone try to eat a taco the wrong way. To him, it seems normal, but this thing looks like a biscuit and at home we dunk biscuits.  
    “No, split it open. You put some of this and then that.” He points at the preserves. I do as he says.  
    “What is clotted cream? Is it like sour cream?” I hope