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“How am I supposed to get over that and embrace pack life though?” I wondered, my gaze catching on the microwave’s clock and lingering. I wasn’t really looking at it; I wasn’t really looking at anything. My mind was moving too fast to do that.
“That’s a good question that probably not a soul knows the answer for.” Char’s lips curved upward a bit, her smile teasing. “Have you tried interacting with them? Chatting?”
I grimaced. “Of course.”
“Not as Waitress Sab, though. As you. Real, scared, Sab, who’s hurt by not fitting in, and uncertain about everything. Have you done that? Have you tried honesty?”
I sighed. “No. They’ve all got their shit together.”
“No one has their shit together completely, dude. And if they do, it’s only for a brief moment before something else turns to shit. And then they’ve got to figure out a way to smoosh that fresh crap into the massive shit-pile they’ve already built.”
I made a face. “That was a disgustingly graphic explanation.”
Char grinned. “You getting salty, heifer?”
A snort escaped me. “I love you.”
“And I love you, grasshopper.” She thwacked my arm with a spatula. “Now, get out of here. You’ve got a hunk to talk to. Take a plate of cookies with you; you’ve got to be starving now.”
“Always,” I sighed. “Thanks for the chat, and the chocolate.”
“Any time.” She smacked me on the arm with her spatula again. “Now, pick up the pace. Dax has probably already worn a hole in your brand-new floors with how long you left him waiting.”
Damn, I hoped not.
Still, I picked up the pace.
