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"Nice," Nixon's voice said with a pleased smirk as he eyed the gun aimed at his head. His body curved, tapping in the code quickly before reaching down to free Padfoot whose tail looked about ready to fly off. "I found someone lurking outside," he added, moving out of the doorway, allowing Jamie to step inside. Then promptly rush toward me.
Jamie was tall, short dirty-blond haired, slim but sturdy somehow at the same time. She was perpetually dressed in jeans and some sort of plaid button down shirt. Today's shirt was red and white, her jeans lovingly made soft at the knees from too much wear.
"You don't call me when you were chased down the street by a bunch of men?" she accused, grabbing my face, tilting it around until she was satisfied I wasn't hurt before wrapping her arms around me in the bone-crushing type of hug I had come to expect from her.
"You hens cluck. I'll be in the office," Nixon called, giving me a nod from over Jamie's shoulder.
"I'm fine, Jame. I promise. It was scary. But I got here. I'm fine," I assured her, feeling her move back, casting Peyton a glance. "Put that down, would you?" she demanded, waving toward the gun.
Placing the knife back down, I moved through the living room to re-set the alarm before coming back, hearing Jamie and Peyton talking in hushed whispers.
Guilt stabbed at me for not reaching out immediately, knowing I would be one of their first calls if something even half as traumatic happened.
Our friend network - or maybe it was more appropriate to say Peyton's friend network - was vast, but in the end, it was always just us three. I couldn't count how many nights we had spent all at Peyton's place, watching movies, drinking wine, ordering takeout, listening to Peyton tell some over-the-top story about her latest escapade, hearing Jamie tell us about whatever girl she was casually seeing at the moment. I crashed at Peyton's and Jamie's places more than I did my own. We were practically sisters. And I had kept them out of the loop for a full day.
"Do you think Kingston is going to be disappointed that there's no meat in the stir-fry?" I asked, looking at the heaping vegetables lining the copper pan. Peyton had shown up with the makings when I had asked her to, but it had never occurred to me to ask her to pick up chicken or something since I didn't eat it. But King did.
"You're making it, aren't you?" Peyton asked.
"No, actually. The house elves are," I said, rolling my eyes as I waved a stalk of celery in the air.
"What she is saying is that Kingston is going to love it just because you made it, whether it has meat or not. Besides, he knows you don't eat meat," she rushed to add, cutting off my tirade about how I expected more from her, that she was not the teasing, pushy friend like Peyton often was.
"That's true," I mused, handing Jamie a carrot to peel as she moved in beside me, rolling her sleeves up.
"Don't strain yourself, Peyton, honey," she called over her shoulder as she made no move to help.
"I'm supervising. So, where were we? Oh, right. Savvs and Kingston are going to be trapped in this apartment until those big, bad men are tracked down and dealt with. How long until they end up all hot and sweaty?"
"How long have you been dealing with this?" Jamie asked, nudging me with her shoulder, lips curled into a small, patient smile. Like a mother dealing with a trying child. In a lot of ways, she and I had always been somewhat mothering toward the difficult, rebellious Peyton, trying to make sure she ate right, got a couple hours of sleep at night, got home safe from whatever shenanigan she got herself into.
"I'm now the boring, old, settled down woman. I have nothing better to do with my life than play matchmaker to all my single acquaintances. Which reminds me, Jamie..."
"Oh, God," Jamie groaned.
"Better you than me," I mumbled.
Half an hour later, the smell of dinner was thick in the air, Jamie and Peyton were gathering their things, saying their goodbyes to Padfoot because Nixon had dropped in to tell us that Kingston was on his way home.
I won't deny that there was an odd jumping sensation in my belly at the idea of Kingston and home and me all in the same sentence.
Playing house.
That was what we would be doing for a while.
And I had a feeling it was going to be a hell of a lot harder on me than I could have anticipated.
"I will drop off Hannibal tomorrow afternoon," Peyton added, slinging her purse up higher.
Hannibal was her dog.
Hannibal the Animal.
We had been, essentially, sharing him for years. Some days, when my boss wasn't around, I would bring him in with me. Because Peyton worked evenings, I took him out when my shift ended at a reasonable time, fed him, played with him, kept him company.
