“She didn’t eat any peanuts! I was kissing her—” I jerk my gaze to the front counter, where a purely innocent pink box sits. “Did I just kill her with a peanut butter donut?” “Sir, I’m sure she’s not dead, but she needs your help. Can you follow instructions?” I’m thinking of Mrs. Tarico in third grade, who told me I have a terrible time following instructions. “No. Probably not.”
