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“Wow. I still find it hard to believe that someone as surly as Torque spoke to you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it talkingexactly. He grunted and pointed. He was really awesome about it though. He never got annoyed or anything.”
“So, you rebuilt an engine?” I smiled.
Waverly pulled out a container of leftover cake. “Ihelpedrebuild an engine,” she corrected. “But it was fun and oddly cathartic. It helped me not to think about all this stuff going on, you know?”
“Mechanical meditation,” I said. “And you’re not seriously having cake for dinner.”
“Why not?” she asked. “It’s already cooked.”
“Because we had cake for dinner last night, and that’s not a healthy option. We did go to the grocery store and buy lettuce for a reason.”
“I’m not a rabbit,” she said with a grin. “The only vegetable I eat is in potato form. Preferably fried and smothered in ketchup.”
“You’ll die before thirty if you keep eating like that,” I quipped.
“But I’ll die happy.” With a sigh, she reluctantly put the cake back into the fridge. “Salad it is.”
I got up and stretched.
“How was your day?” she asked, her head back in the refrigerator.
“Good. Answered work emails. Called Laura and she’s putting me back on the schedule this week.”
I didn’t tell her I also started calling around to restaurants to see if they were hiring.
“You dice,” she said, tossing me an onion. “I’ll tear the lettuce.”
“Sounds good.”
I was washing my hands when there was a knock on the door.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
“It’s not Dylan?” I inquired.
“No. What about you? Is it one of your boyfriends?”
I glared at her.
She grinned at me cheekily.
I dried my hands with a paper towel and went to answer the door. Brielle, Jazz, and Brooklyn stood at the threshold.
“Have you had dinner yet?” Brooklyn asked, holding a slow cooker in her hands.
“Uh, no. We were just about to make a salad. And Waverly’s very happy about it. Aren’t you, Waverly?”
“Ecstatic,” Waverly called back.
I stepped away from the doorway and let the three of them in. “What are you guys doing here?”
“Just a little housewarming present,” Brooklyn said. “I made chicken with green salsa in your brand-new slow cooker.” She went immediately to the kitchen and set it down.
“And I made French bread this morning.” Jazz lifted a brown bag toward me and showed the crusty loaf.
“I brought wine.” Brielle held out a bottle of red to me. “I have no idea if its good, I just went by the label. It was pretty and it has flowers on it.”
