“It’s annoying,” Benji says. “DJ says I’m like a walking encyclopedia that nobody asked to open.”
“I did not say you were annoying,” DJ protests. “I said you were endearing.”
“You said I’m ‘endearingly annoying.’”
“Well, you are.” DJ gestures at me in the same way. “Benji, meet Eden, whose talent has not yet been discovered, but who no doubt has one lying there, under the surface.”
“I can trip over things that aren’t there, if that counts as a talent,” I offer.
Benji purses his lips into a line. “Griffin said dinner is ready. Are you hungry?”
CHAPTER 10
I take a detour to pick up Bob from my room and bring him downstairs to the kitchen, where DJ and Benji already are. I’m surprised by how big it is in here. I could do cartwheels without hitting anything, not that I know how to do a cartwheel, but the point stands. Copper pots hang from a rack above a central island counter where Griffin works. He’s wearing jeans and a heather gray T-shirt, and his hair has dried enough to curl on the ends.
“Good timing. Here, taste this.” Griffin extends a wooden spoon toward me, a dollop of red sauce on the end, his other hand cupped under it to catch any drips.
I glance at the spoon, then at DJ, who’s watching us with raised eyebrows.
“It’s just leftovers,” Griffin adds, misinterpreting my hesitation. “Had to reheat since we got home late, but it’s still better than anything you’ll find in a restaurant.”
“I go to shitty restaurants, so that’s not saying much for me,” I say, but I’m already leaning forward because whatever’s on that spoon smells incredible and my body has officially overruled my brain. The sauce is rich and garlicky, with undertones of something sweet. It’s nothing like the watery marinara I had for dinner earlier this week, or even the fancy stuff Dylan loved to pour over ground beef and pasta when he was bulking. Barring the sandwich Ray gave me, this will be the best meal I’ve had in a long time.
“Well?” Griffin asks.
“It’s edible,” I manage with a shrug, even though my mouth is watering for more.
DJ covers her mouth, but I can see her shoulders shaking with laughter. Griffin switches the spoon out for another one, and I scan the kitchen, looking for something useful to do other than stand here watching Griffin cook. The long rectangular table isn’t set yet. Dad always said I should never ask if I can help because people will just say no—I should jump in and start helping. So I do.
I open cabinets until I find plates, then carry a stack to the table. Bob limps after me, sniffing around the baseboards.
Griffin glances over as I set a plate down. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do.” I move around the table, counting each plate until I’ve made seven settings. “My dad used to tell me I should never stand around when other people worked.”
“Good man,” Griffin says.
I close my eyes for half a second, forcing the wave of grief back into my box. I don’t need any of that shit to come out when I’m having dinner with new people.
I reach for another question, something to keep from spiraling: “So, what’s the deal with team dinners? Do you do this every night?”
DJ pulls a handful of forks from a drawer. “Only on Sundays—or special occasions like this. Otherwise, it’s pretty much fend for yourself around here. The kitchen’s communal, so label your stuff or it’s fair game.”
“She means I’ll eat it,” Griffin says.
“Last week he ate my leftover Pad Thai that I was saving for lunch the next day.” DJ jabs a fork in his direction. “I’d written my name on it, and he didn’t care.”
“In my defense, seeing ghosts burns a lot of calories,” Griffin says.
“You don’t burn calories bylookingat things.”
“Sure you do,” Griffin says. “Ghosts are cold, right? So being around them all the time means my body has to work harder to maintain its core temperature.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” DJ says.
Benji lifts the forks from her hands.
She reaches up on her toes to ruffle his hair, and he angles away from her touch. “Care to enlighten him, Benj?”
