“Our caterer. There’s been a little mix up in the order, so we’re shifting to plan G.”
“We already blew through A to F?”
“Yep. So now all plans are G, for good enough.” He strolled over to me and sat at the island. “You’re home early.”
“Am I?” I glanced at the digital clock over the stove and was surprised to see it was just after five o’clock. “I’m right on time, actually.”
“Except you never are.”
“Never?”
“You’ve been working a lot of overtime lately.”
I grabbed the jar of olives and some cheese and put them on the counter. “Is that right?”
“Yes.”
I twisted the lid and fished in the drawer for a fork. “I’m wondering how you know when I get home anymore, Mr. Bailey. You are rarely here, either.” I popped an olive into my mouth.
“I have my ways.”
“Spies?”
“Maybe.”
“Surveillance?”
“Possibly.”
“Did you install cameras?”
“I’ll never say.”
I sliced cheese and placed it on a cutting board along with the jar of olives and set both between us. “Look at that! I made dinner!”
“Olives and cheese?”
“It’s a charcuterie board.”
“No fruit?”
I glanced around the kitchen, found a banana magnet on the fridge and plunked in on the board. “Fruit.”
“No crackers?”
“You’re crackers,” I muttered, while chewing on a slice of cheese.
He leaned both arms on the countertop. “You haven’t asked me how I’m recovering. You know, from the disfiguring injury I’ve endured.”
“Sounds like you’re feeling pretty full of yourself.”
“I might be in pain. After staying home all day on the couch, napping.”
“Are you?” I stabbed an olive, offered it to him. He opened his mouth and pulled it off the tines with his teeth.
“I wasn’t even in pain when you left. Still good.”
I glanced at the square of bandaging taped to his forearm. “Are you? You got stitches, Ryder.”
