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“It’s a buttery pastry with beef filling—you haven’t lived until you’ve had a hot pie and sauce at the footy.”
“What’s the footy?”
He grinned. “It’s like sayinggoing to the game. But in this case, it’s the Australian Football League. Australian Rules. No helmet, no pads, full contact. You’d lose your mind.”
“Maybe. Or it could be fun. Sounds like backyard football with my brothers. I really like your accent. But you only pull it out when you talk about Australia.”
“Yeah, we came to the US when I was ten, and I worked hard to drop it. No one understood me.” A knock came at the door, and he got up.
“I’ll get it,” she said, but he grabbed her arm.
“Nope. You hide in the bathroom.”
“What? Do you think Black Widow is going to come through the door disguised as a waiter?”
“My Avengers team hasn’t chatted lately, so who knows?” He pushed her inside and toward the bathroom. “Lock it.”
“For the love—” But she closed the door. He waited until it clicked, then went to the door and peered through the peephole.
A man, dressed in the uniform of the resort, holding a wide tray of food under silver covers. Another man behind him held a tray of drinks.
“What’s for breakfast?” Hud asked.
No answer. Here went nothing. He opened the door a crack, left the chain on.
“Sir? Your breakfast?”
He glanced over the man. No obvious weapons. “Just leave it on the floor.”
The man frowned.
“I’ll leave a tip with the front desk.” He motioned to the floor.
The waiter slowly lowered it, and the man behind him did the same.
“Thank you,” he said and closed the door. Watched as the two looked at each other, then walked away. Waited a full two minutes and then opened the door again.
He scooted the tray inside, then the second and shut the door.
“So, Thor, any trouble?”
“You were supposed to stay in the bathroom.”
“And you were supposed to not be a crazy person.” She walked toward him.
“Have you been asleep over the past twenty-four hours?”
She stared at him then. Sighed. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m hungry. And the game is on.”
“The game?”
“Barcelona Dragons and Vienna Vikings?”
“That’s today?”
“No, it was last night. But I caught the rerun in the bathroom.” She walked over to the television and grabbed the remote. Turned it on.
And there it was, on the flatscreen. His team, sallying forth without him.
