Eyeing me with that same wariness.
“What?” I growl.
And there it is.
The obvious answer to mywhat?
It’s you, dummy, I hear Caden say. You’re being a shit.
He’s not wrong.
She’s standing there looking at me like she’s afraid I’m going to turn into some kind of assassin who’s only faking using crutches so that I can use them to murder her.
I need to?—
A loudpop! in the microwave interrupts my thought.
Fucking mashed potatoes just exploded.
There’s splattered white junk all over the inside of the door as the container inside keeps spinning.
Christ on a lollipop.
Did any of the mashed potatoes stay in the container?
That’s a shit-ton of mashed potatoes.
If I believed in the supernatural, I’d say there’s a ghost in the house making the appliances and the food agree with the sentiment
That’s gonna be a bitch to clean up. “Goddammit.”
“What happened to your leg?” Ziggy asks.
“Nothing.”
“Yes, you obviously have one leg clearly in excellent health. What about the other leg? The one in a boot?”
I scowl at her.
Her eyes narrow.
Less wariness now.
That’s good.
That’s real good.
She’s pretty when she finds her backbone.
There’s anotherpop! in the microwave, and more mashed potato splatters the microwave walls and doors.
“Most people stop the microwave after the first explosion,” she muses.
“I can’t get to the fucking microwave.”
“The mashed potatoes levitated themselves into it and turned it on?”
Get out.
