Bishop:We can leave at any time.
Which relaxed Kit just in time for the gaggle of tall blond people to descend upon him.
“Kit, this is my mom and dad, Ursula and Quentin,” Holden said, sliding back into his seat. His knee nudged Kit’s once again. “Mom and Dad, this is my boyfriend, Kit.”
“So lovely to meet you,” Ursula said, her smile exactly like Holden’s genuine, not-psycho smile. “Have you eaten here before? What’s good? Quentin, do you want to split a mushroom burger with me?”
There was a brief reprieve as everyone debated orders, and the waiter stopped by in the middle of it. Kit sat in a daze, letting Holden order for him.
Fucking hell. They were so normal.
Like, actually normal. Not the sort Kit was used to.
Once the waiter left, Quentin leaned forward. “What are you majoring in, Kit? And what year are you again?”
“Quentin!” Ursula said. “The last thing these boys want to talk about is school. Let them have the afternoon off.”
It was okay. Kit had decided how to handle this part. An answer weighted more towards truth than lies. “I’m actually not in school.”
Both sets of parental eyes zeroed in.
Kit shrugged. “I took a gap year to save money, and I got a job as a private detective’s assistant. I might get a degree later, but right now, I really enjoy the work.”
Holden patted Kit’s thigh under the table. They would have to discuss what counted as ‘blatant groping’ later.
The Radleys considered Kit for a moment. Then a grin spread across Quentin’s face, and Ursula’s eyes lit up with stars.
“Oh, that’s so sensible!” Ursula exclaimed.
Quentin nodded. “I’ve always said the preschool to undergrad pipeline is a racket.”
“You’ve never said that,” Holden said.
Quentin ignored him. “University isn’t right for every student.”
“How are the hours?” Ursula asked. “Not too much, I hope. I read this article about work-life balance recently. Did you know that working fewer hours per day can actually improve—”
Stunned by the approval radiating from both Radleys, Kit barely kept up enough to nod along.
The conversation was easy. Kit didn’t have to say much. Ursula could talk a mile a minute once she got going, leaving Kitto safely work through his Hawaiian burger. Quentin chimed in occasionally with strong opinions—several times contradicting his previous strong opinions.
And it was all… easy.
Until Quentin stood up to pay the bill, and Holden left to use the restroom, and Kit was all alone with Ursula.
She glanced around, then leaned forward. In a hushed, intense tone, she asked, “Do you do drugs?”
“Um.” Kit glanced around, but Holden was nowhere in sight, and Bishop was pretend-concentrating on his fries. “What?”
Ursula neither replied nor moved. Her gaze was eerily like Holden’s. Voices and clattering plates—normal restaurant sounds—swirled around the silent bubble of their table.
“Just weed?” Kit said. “Sometimes?”
Ursula waved dismissively. “Everyone does a little weed sometimes. I have these lovely CBD pills, and Quentin does love himself a—” She cut herself off and wiped her already-clean hands on her napkin. “Do you do real drugs?”
Trying coke once probably didn’t count. “No?”
“Wonderful, wonderful.” Ursula took her husband’s half-finished iced tea, having already finished her own. “I’m so glad Holden’s found such a responsible young man.”
