“How can I help you?” the older woman at the cash register asks.
“Chicken strip basket, Dr Pepper,” I say.
“Deluxe cheeseburger basket, root beer,” Talon adds behind me.
We carry the little numbered stand to a corner booth by the window. He sits opposite me, stretching his legs out under the table until his knee knocks mine.
“Sorry,” he says.
He doesn’t move his leg. Neither do I.
The food arrives on a blue tray, all golden and bad for our arteries. I dunk a chicken strip in ranch and bite. Grease and salt flood my tongue, and for a second my brain just shuts off in gratitude.
Talon watches me, amused. “That good?”
“You have no idea,” I say around my straw as I take a long pull of Dr Pepper. “I haven’t had Culver’s in weeks. Been a little busy hoping students don’t spread my secrets and that skeletons don’t burst out of my closet.”
He takes a huge bite of his burger, chews, swallows, then points a fry at me. “I’m still really fucking sorry about that. I promise, given this chance with you, I’ll do better, be better.”
“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad.” I tilt my head, looking at him. “Was trying to make light.”
We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, letting the grease do its magic. Outside, cars slide through the drive-thru, people move through their perfectly normal days.
“How are you really?” I ask.
He stares at his fries for a second, then picks one up and tears it in half. “Do you want the real answer or the Penelope answer?”
“Both.”
“Real answer,” he says. “I’m terrified. I keep imagining a dozen ways this can go wrong. I keep hearing that woman’s voice in my head saying ‘foreseeable future’ like it’s a prison sentence. I keep seeing Minx in that ugly uniform, wondering if she thinks we forgot about her.”
My chest aches.
“And the Penelope answer?” I ask.
He forces a smile. “Tomorrow is the day. We have a plan. I’m not alone. You’re fucking sexy when you threaten to burn institutions down, and your chicken strip obsession is charming.”
I roll my eyes, but warmth curls low in my stomach. “You’re deflecting with charm.”
“It’s one of my only skills,” he says. “That and pissing off my mother.”
“You’re good at more than that,” I say before I can stop myself.
His brows lift, interest sparking. “Yeah?”
“You’re annoyingly good with people,” I tell him. “You read a room faster than most therapists. You’re loyal to the point of self-destruction. You notice everything and pretend you don’t, which is infuriating because it means I can’t hide when I want to. You would burn your own life down to save your sister, which is both noble and incredibly stupid, and I’m trying very hard to make sure you don’t actually have to.”
He stares at me like I just recited a poem.
“Penelope,” he says quietly. “You’re going to make me cry in Culver's.”
“Please don’t,” I say. “I can’t handle being banned from the one place keeping me sane.”
He laughs, the sound rough and real. He takes a sip of his root beer and watches me over the rim of the cup.
“And you?” he asks. “How are you really?”
I trace a circle in the condensation on my Dr Pepper cup. “Tired. Angry. Terrified, I'm going to lose my dad. Terrified, we'll not get to Minxy in time. Terrified that I’m dragging all of you into a reverse harem mess.”
