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“Couple options,” Master Greer said. “I’m not comfortable lettin’ you drive off at this hour when?—”
“Excuse me?” I scrunched my nose and glanced up at him. “Please, Sir, before you say something absurd, let me just borrow Corey’s or Archie’s car. I can return it tomorrow.”
“That’s the part I ain’t comfortable with,” he replied. “You’ve been cryin’ your eyes out, you’re vulnerable, and drivin’ off on your own?—”
“I’m a grown man,” I pointed out. “I’m practically thirty.”
He nodded once and scratched his beard. “You know what comes before thirty? Twenty-five. You worry about turning twenty-five first, and then we can discuss—” He was interrupted again, this time by someone speaking up from behind us.
Corey. “Take my car, Cam.”
“What is it with brats interruptin’ me?” Master Greer grated out.
I pulled up one leg and twisted in my seat so I could see Corey in the doorway.
“It’s not my fault,” he said sheepishly. “Archie asked if I could eavesdrop.”
Oops?
“That doesn’t surprise me one bit,” Master Greer told him. “He didn’t tell you to offer up your car, though.”
“But it makes the most sense,” Corey reasoned. “I know you, Papa Bear. You’re gonna offer to drive him, and then you’ll spend the night alone at the condo—or you’ll drag one of us with you. But you’ve worked all day, and everyone’s tired.”
“That,” I said, totally agreeing.
“Also, I don’t need my car till the weekend,” Corey added. “Also, also! Cam drives a Mini as well, so he’ll be used to Froggy.”
He had another point there. Only, my car wasn’t green or nicknamed Froggy.
Master Greer wasn’t too happy, but he knew this was a fight he couldn’t win. I wasn’t going to let him exhaust himself further by driving me. It was nuts. I was perfectly capable of getting home on my own.
* * *
I figured out the best way to thank Archie for their hospitality when I loaded up my overnight bag in Corey’s car.
I trailed up the porch steps to where they all waited for me. Corey was literally piggyback-riding Sloan.
“Next time we see each other, I’ll have a bit of my sourdough starter for you,” I said.
Archie lit up in a way that was probably comical to most outsiders, but I knew it meant a lot to him. He was bizarrely good at baking and cooking, but there was something about sourdough starters he couldn’t handle. He claimed they always died on him.
“With instructions, please.” He hugged me to him, and I chuckled and hugged him back.
“I promise.” I went to hug the others as well, and they told me to drive safe. And I was ordered to text Master Greer the moment I killed the engine.
“He means that figuratively!” Corey exclaimed. “Please don’t kill Froggy.”
“He’s safe with me,” I assured. “I’ll just pour gas down his throat.”
Corey nodded. “He likes that.”
Before long, I had the Finlay Ridge Family Farm in the rearview, and my stomach was tight with nerves. And soon, caffeine. After everything they’d done for me, I’d declined a to-go cup. What I needed was to find the nearest gas station where I could buy a big-ass Mountain Dew.
KC and I so rarely allowed any soda in the house that he and I suffered. Noa ate enough sugar, so KC limited him to weekends and occasional dinners—one glass maximum—and Master was certainly not allowed to drink it. I mean, he wasn’t the biggest fan of soda anyway, but if things got desperate, he’d hunt down any source of sugar.
Every now and then, KC and I snuck soda and dessert together, just the two of us.
Maybe we’d do that again.
