Amanda turns, spoon still in hand. “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”
“I am capable of basic manners.”
“You once told a man at a community safety event that his question had managed to insult women, firefighters and common sense in under thirty seconds.”
Nour laughs softly into her glass.
I should probably stop there. But I don’t, because this is Amanda’s kitchen and I am off duty and the first glass of wine after a long shift always loosens the day from my shoulders before I remember to hold on.
So I tell them.
Not all of it. Not the moment in the locker room where we locked eyes. Not the way he went still when I helped him with the razor. Not the strange little pause between us before I stepped away.
Absolutely not that.
But I tell them about him arriving early, trying very hard not to look nervous, and the crew deciding almost immediately that his dignity had been overfunded. I tell them about AJ pretending the kit was not heavy, about his face when Kev suggested a BA set, about the beard negotiation, about him suggesting Marie Louise as a possible route of appeal before realising she had sent him to us in the first place.
Amanda laughs so hard she has to put the spoon down.
“He wanted to call his editor?”
“He floated it as an option.”
“And you said?”
“I said she’d tell him to shave.”
Nour covers her mouth. “Did he?”
“He did not test the theory.”
“Wise man,” Amanda says.
“He has moments.”
The words come out before I think better of them.
Amanda turns.
Slowly.
I immediately regret being born with a sister.
“He has moments,” she repeats.
I look at my wine. “Most people do.”
“Do they?”
“Yes.”
Nour sits back, eyes bright. “Interesting.”
“Don’t make this a thing,” I sigh. Last thing I need is my sister and her wife dreaming up some matchmaking nightmare.
I exhale. “He held up better than I expected. That’s all.”
Nour’s smile softens at the edges. “That sounds dangerously close to a compliment.”
