“You two.” Theo leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. “Special dinner request for the trip. What do you want?”
Sam lifted a tray and set it on the stack. “Anything is fine, Chef.”
I looked up from the pot, wiping the sweat off my forehead with my sleeve. “No. Anything is not fine.” I pointed the scrubber at Sam. “He likes pasta.”
Theo looked at Sam. Sam looked at the tray stack.
“And what about you?” Theo asked me.
I grinned. “I like what Sam likes.”
Sam rolled his eyes, picked up another tray, and didn’t join us.
“Pasta.” I nodded emphatically. “Is it not funny that pasta is the American comfort food?”
“You know it’s Italian in origin, right?” Theo asked me.
“Da. But I have Italian friends who eat less pasta in a month than my American colleagues eat in a week.”
Theo laughed and pushed off the counter. “I’m not getting into that. Pasta it is.”
I went back to the pot and turned it over and checked thebottom. It still looked scorched. “I hate this pot,” I grumbled.
“Want help?” Sam asked.
“No. It’s war now. And I’m not backing down.” I applied some more elbow grease.
“I have your back,” Sam replied in his usual flat tone.
I looked up in delight. That was a joke! Mr. Beckett had decided to grace me with one!
“Did you pack your first aid kit yet?” I asked him.
“Yes.”
“Not the boat kit?”
“Not that one.”
I focused on the stubborn pot for the next five minutes straight.
“Oh! Hey! Look!” I held it up proudly.
Sam and Theo looked at me together.
“Looks brand new,” Theo gave me a thumbs up and a grin.
I glanced at Sam.
“Passable.”
“Fuck off!” I hit him with the pot but he ducked and evaded me. I went after him only to have Theo block my way.
“Go back to work,” he said sternly like I was a particularly difficult student in his classroom.
***
Friday night at Waypoint meant movie night in the R&R lounge, and movie night meant war.
