The grill kept smoking.
The grandpas kept finding room for more.
On the back of a paper napkin, Jun wrote LAST ORDER.
Ken borrowed his pencil and added a question mark.
“That’s not what we agreed.”
“I haven’t changed the words.”
Behind the counter, Emi turned a skewer. A drop of glaze struck the charcoal with a sharp hiss.
Both grandpas looked up.
A Small Exception
The stall stood beneath a broad tree, its orange curtains stirring in the breeze. Warm smoke carried the smell of browned mushrooms and sweet glaze across the counter. Jun shifted his stool out of a patch of sunlight; Ken nudged his cup safely away from the edge.
“Two more,” said Ken.
Jun tapped the napkin.
“Those are the last ones,” Ken explained. “We haven’t ordered them yet.”
Emi laid two skewers across the grill. “Shall I keep this?”
She pointed her tongs at the napkin.
“As evidence,” said Jun.
“As a suggestion,” said Ken.
She set it beside the till, beyond the drifting smoke. Near her elbow stood a small bowl with a pair of chopsticks resting across it. She moved it back to make room for their plates.
Room for One
They ate slowly. Ken caught a loose mushroom before it slipped off his skewer and landed it neatly on Jun’s plate.
“You dropped something,” Jun said.
“You caught it.”
“With my lunch.”
Jun ate the mushroom. Ken smiled into his cup.
Above them, leaves rubbed together with a soft, papery sound. Emi lifted a fresh skewer from the grill, then reached for another. Her own bowl remained behind the plates.
Ken watched a piece of spring onion turn at the edges.
“We could share one.”
“We just had the last two.”
“Half each. Very little paperwork.”
Jun studied the grill. “The one with the onion?”
“Naturally.”
Emi raised an eyebrow. Jun folded the napkin so the writing faced inward.
“It’s confidential now,” he said.
The Third Order
When their shared skewer was ready, Emi put it between them. Then she reached for a cloth and began wiping the far end of the counter.
Jun glanced at her bowl. The food inside had long stopped steaming.
“Was that yours?”
“I’ll eat in a minute.”
Ken looked at the napkin beside the till, then at the plates she had cleared for them.
He set down his skewer.
“Jun. We’ve missed an order.”
“Whose?”
Ken nodded toward Emi.
She shook her head, smiling. “I’m quite capable of feeding myself.”
“Excellent,” said Jun. “We’ll stop interrupting.”
Emi looked from one expectant face to the other. Then she turned the remaining skewers, set the tongs on their tray, and carried her bowl around the counter to the spare stool.
Ken moved his cup. Jun shifted the shared plate toward the middle.
There was room.
Still Open
Emi took a mouthful while the two grandpas attended carefully to their tea. For a little while, nobody ordered anything.
The grill crackled. A leaf landed beside Jun’s shoe.
“Quiet customers,” Emi said. “I should invite you more often.”
Ken reached for the pencil. On the folded napkin, he wrote DO NOT DISTURB and stood it beside her bowl.
Jun read it.
“Does that apply to the mushrooms?”
“Especially the mushrooms,” said Emi.
Ken put down the pencil. Jun left it where it was.
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