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“Seasoned or unseasoned,” he asked.
“Unseasoned, please,” she replied, bending over to look at their selection of meats.
I bent over beside her, too. “I saw a modern art piece once that had humans in a glass like this with animals pushing carts. I did not understand everything about it at the time, but now it is clear.”
Her head turned to me, and the look on her face was odd. “You sure know how to make conversation.” She giggled.
That sound, for some reason, made me feel good. “Thank you.”
“Your chicken thighs,” the butcher said, handing it over to her.
“Thank you,” she said and once more and looked at her list. “Three pounds of chicken thighs, salt, ground black pepper, cooking spray, olive oil, two bulbs of garlic, chicken broth, heavy cream, thyme, cayenne pepper, lime, and butter. Yep, we have everything.”
“So, we are done?” I asked as she put away her phone. “How do you pay then?”
The guy behind the counter looked at me as if I had two heads.
“Super-rich kid,” Odette whispered over to him, though seeing as we could all hear her, there was no point.
The guy’s mouth made a large O, and he just nodded. He looked me over and then shook his head. “Must be nice,” he said with tone.
“She is a—”
“Come on, Mr. Warbucks.” She linked arms with me, preventing me from outing her as a super-rich kid herself. “This will be your last obstacle of the day. The self-checkout lines. You’ll be my bagboy.”
“Wait. Your what?”
Chapter 18
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My first day here had taught me cooking was much harder than it looked. Now, after days of being here, I had learned that cooking was still hard, and I did not belong in a kitchen.
“It burns!” I hollered, grabbing hold of the sink, trying to wash out my eyes only to have Odette rush to me.
“No water!”
