Brady gave his most charming smile. “Day job problems,” he tried.
The face the bigger man made was unamused. “If you wish to remain here, leave your day job with your boots.”
At the door. Brady got it. “So, uhm,” he said hesitantly, “you, uhm, found a use for the Subaru?”
“Da,” the Russian said, and then, after rolling his eyes, he seemed to take some pity on Brady. “It is good car, and you were kind. Do you expect us to make it street-racing machine?”
“Uhm, no!” Brady said, surprised. “I… I mean, is there an SUV class for street racers?”
The big man snorted as a reply. “No,” he said. “And it is too square to go fast. I was simply tempering any unrealistic expectations you might have.”
“No, no—see… I pass this place every day on patrol. I see cars that look like wrecks turn into nice machines. I, uhm, like that idea. I thought I’d help.”
He got a narrow-eyed, suspicious gaze in return. “Unusual,” the giant pronounced, and left it at that.
Brady grunted and wandered back to the pass-through so he could peek inside the kitchen.
“Don’t mind him,” Ace said from his spot at the table, beer in hand. “He’s very protective.”
“Of Ernie sleeping?” Brady said, making sure.
Ace’s grimace told him it was good he tried to make sure. “Of, well, all of us,” he said with a swig of his beer. “But you’vegot other stuff to talk about. Tell us about Walmart, ’cause that sounded like a good time right there.”
Brady laughed a little to hear it called “a good time,” but then he realized that this was his chance to fit in here.
“Well, it all started when our friend Bruce decided to polish off a twelve pack this morning,” he said, and to his gratification, Ace, Sonny, and Eric laughed. He told the rest of the story, making a lot of Eric’s windup and release, and the absolutely befuddled expression on Bruce’s face as he fell forward.
“He must’ve had one helluva fastball in high school,” Brady finished with, and Eric paused long enough in his food prep to cast a modest look over his shoulder.
“Over ninety miles an hour in my senior year,” he said, as though pleased with the memory.
“Holy hell, boy!” Ace said. “Did you take that shit to college?”
Was Brady the only one who caught the slight hitch to what was supposed to be a smooth shrug? “Family matters put off my education,” he said, turning back to the cutting board. “Sonny, have you brushed olive oil on all the bread slices yet?”
They started talking some more about whatever fancy dish Eric was making—and there was more than one thing working on the stove—and Ace turned toward Brady and started talking cars.
For a rather blissful half hour, Brady didn’t have to think any further than the differences between modern German and modern Italian craftsmanship, and whether the American muscle car could ever make a return.
About the time Brady heard a drowsy, “Wow, you guys let me sleep late” from the direction of the bedroom, Ace had set the table, and it was time to sit down to dinner.
Ernie wandered in after Jai and Brady had pulled up their chairs, and in a moment, they were all gathered at the smalltable, passing around a serving plate full of bruschetta, a bowl of shredded chicken, and another bowl of seasoned risotto, as well as a gravy trencher of sauce.
“He wasn’t sure who liked what,” Sonny said proudly, “so I told him we could just put in parts. So that way, if you like the sauce and the chicken, you could put it on the little rice-spaghetti. Whatya’all think?”
“Is good idea,” Jai said decisively. “And the food is unusual. Thank you, Mr. Christiansen, for the dinner.”
Eric—apparently EricChristiansen—inclined his head. “Sonny helped,” he said. “And he can make chicken pepper risotto now any time he wants.”
“It’s like cheese gravy,” Sonny confided, “only fancier. The tomato and sage mini-pizzas were the fun things.” He blew out a breath. “But alotof work for this many. From now on, I only do this for me and Ace.”
It wasn’t Brady’s imagination—Eric’s mouth twisted ruefully.
“Well, the plan was to have bruschetta for lunch all week,” he said, “but I suspect I may have to find another Walmart and shop there.”
“You can shop at that one,” Brady said. “There’s usually only bloodshed on Black Friday.”
Eric’s chuckle was unexpectedly warm, and it initiated a flush that traveled from Brady’s face to his groin.
