Page 129 of A Matter of Time

“Again, no. That’s so bad.”

“Enough.”

“Christ, Dane, maybe it’s time to slow down, huh? Holy crap.”

“I truly had no idea who she was.”

“Holy crap,” I repeated.

“Stop saying that.”

“I can’t help it. She must have been so humiliated. I mean…I never really liked her, she didn’t eat deep dish and that was just weird, but damn, at least I remember who she is.”

He made a noise of disgust.

I raked my fingers through my hair. “Poor Sabine. She’s gotta be horrified.”

“I would imagine so.”

“Holy shit.”

He growled and told me to knock it off.

“She was the one with the great wine cellar, remember? I recall you mentioning that.”

Clearly, from the vacant look on his face, even with prodding, he had no idea.

“Well, I can tell you that she called for two weeks after you broke up with her.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Because once you break up with them, I’m on deck.” I cracked a grin. “I handle cleanup.”

He looked at me hard.

“What?”

“You do a lot for me.”

“You pay me well to do so,” I teased him.

He grunted and leaned back, getting comfortable in the seat as he drove. “I turned down the food offer for you. Mr. Ward’s wife wanted to make you a doggy bag.”

“Oh, that would’ve been nice.”

“No,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t do charity.”

Which made no sense. “It’s a common form of kindness here on earth to give people food to take home with them when they leave. We even have special receptacles to carry the food in. It’s called Tupperware.”

He grunted again, and I settled back in my seat, watching the streetlights go by.

“I hate leftovers.”

We had been silent for several miles, and so his voice, coupled with the fact that he was still following the same train of thought, surprised me.

“What?”

“Leftovers,” he repeated. “I hate them. It’s never as good as you remember.”