During the stroll to our SUV, Clay and I bickered over the best butter substitute for vegan baking.
Vegetable shortening was his pick, but I sided with margarine based on its artificial flavor.
We piled in our ride, I drove out the front gate, and we rolled into town where I pulled into a gas station.
With a grunt, Clay exited the vehicle, and I did too. Then I cast a spell to fry any tracking devices or other fun equipment that might have gotten attached to the SUV while it was idle. A few chunks of metal hissed as they hit the asphalt under the tires, and I turned my attention to a secondary sweep for spells.
The precautions were tedious but necessary to protect our privacy.
Hence the debate on butter substitutes rather than anything sensitive, like our lunch plans.
“Done yet?” Clay slurped behind me before pumping a straw that screamed in my ear. “I’m starving.”
“Almost.” I turned to find him shoveling gas station nachos, heavy on the jalapenos, into his mouth between gulps of an electric-blue slushy. “Why are you like this?”
“Handsome? Charming? Intelligent?” He thrust a loaded chip in my mouth that incinerated my tongue on contact. “Be more specific.”
Forget the peppers. The cheese sauce was molten-magma hot. As my tastebuds died screaming, I considered waiting until he got in the SUV then smudging his shem so he missed out on gulab jamun.
The fried dough balls soaked in sweet rosewater syrup were a favorite of his.
“Drink?” He tilted his cup toward me when I started fanning my face. “It’s blue raspberry.”
Since my mouth was on fire, I did take a sip. Then I stole the whole cup and flung it in a nearby trash can.
“Hey,” he squawked, pointing a cheesy finger at the garbage. “That was half full.”
“That just means it was half empty.”
“Look here, pessimist, that jolt of sugar was all that stood between me and oral incineration.”
“How did you even get food that fast?”
“It’s not fast food. It’s junk food. They are not the same thing.”
“To prove I’m a good friend—”
“You’ll buy me another slushy?”
While his eyes shone with hope, I snatched his nachos and trashed those too.
“—I’ll save you from yourself.” I dusted my hands. “No nuclear cheese, no need for a slushy.”
“You were right.” He faked wiping a tear. “About what you said before.” He sniffled. “You are evil.”
“I’ll make it up to you.” I patted him on the shoulder. “Promise.”
Once I climbed behind the wheel and strapped in, he slid in the back and made sad puppy eyes at me in the rearview mirror until I rolled up to Glory of India. I had my pick of parking spots in the empty lot, which was nice. This place was usually packed to the gills during the lunch rush.
There were definite benefits to booking an entire restaurant for a private meeting.
Happiness too large to fit in my body exploded in tingles across my skin when Asa rose from a low bench beside the small koi pond, a remnant of the days this was a Chinese restaurant. I was out of the SUV and running before Clay got his door open. Asa and I met in the middle, he dug his fingers into my hips, and he lifted me until my feet dangled above the pavement.
“Four hours.” Clay spread his arms. “It’s only been four hours.”
Asa, proving I was a bad influence on him, spun me around like we were a couple reunited in a romcom. I cackled like the witch I was, tucking my face in the crook of his neck and filling my lungs with his scent.
“I missed you,” I whispered in his ear, and he growled in response, sending shivers down my spine.
“Knock it off.” Clay bumped his shoulder into us on his way past. “You’re embarrassing yourselves.”
The jostle slid Asa’s unbound hair over his shoulder, and a white bolt shot past me.
“Clay.” Colby lit on his head and nestled into his wig, giving his scalp a six-point hug. “You’re here.”
His eyes softened to marshmallow fluff, and he reached up to collect her. “Hey, Shorty.”
Opening his jacket with one hand, he held out the magically insulated inner pocket while she dove in.
About to gleefully point out I wasn’t the only one suffering from separation anxiety, I got distracted by a woman mashing her face to the window by her table. She buffed the glass with her forearm, puffed hot breath on it, and then wrote hey bestie in the resulting fog with a fingertip.
“That’s who you traded me in for?” Clay muttered out of the side of his mouth. “Seriously?”
“You traded me in first,” I reminded him. “Colby is your bestie now, remember?”
“I stand by that upgrade.” He passed Colby her custom headset and phone. “Can you say the same?”
Sure, Marita had stuffed a straw up each nostril by the time I glanced back at her. And yeah, she was blowing bubbles in her drink that way, but she was also grinning from ear to ear. Because she saw me.
Me.
I had an actual friend. One I made all by myself. One who…was lifting her tee to show us her pink bra?
“Is she flashing for beads?” Clay tilted his head. “She knows we’re not in New Orleans anymore, right?”
“Why are you looking?” I smacked him upside the head. “She’s a married woman.”
“Her undershirt.” He ducked my second swing and raised his arms over his head. “There’s something written on it.”
Sure enough, Marita had figured out she was putting on a show and began wrestling with her undershirt where it stuck to her tee. Our pictures, hers and mine, were printed on the front. Beneath our disembodied heads was written Besties for the Resties.
“She’s just buttering you up so you’ll take her monster hunting.”
“Jealous?” I tweaked his side. “Green isn’t your color.”
“Lies,” he hissed. “All colors are my colors.”
Before Marita escalated again, I made a beeline for the door and then the reserved table. “Hey.”
“Don’t hey me.” She smacked into me with the force of a linebacker. “Hug me.”
With her pinning my arms flush against my sides, the highest I could reach with my fingers was her hips, which didn’t make our embrace awkward at all.
“I can see we have work to do.” She reared back to frown down at me. “Practice makes perfect.”
“I don’t need—”
“Prepare for Stealth Hug Protocol.” She wiggled her fingers at me. “Love could happen at any moment.”
Beside me, Clay mouthed Stealth Hug Protocol with the joy of a child experiencing his first Christmas.
“Um.” I scooted closer to Asa, escaping her immediate grab range. “Okay?”
“Marita.” Clay chose the seat next to the one she had vacated to greet us. “Always a pleasure.”
The lack of pleasantries between Asa and Marita told me they had chatted while waiting on us to arrive.
“Back at you.” Her gaze dipped to his pocket as she reclaimed her spot. “Lunch for five?”
“Just four.” He winked to confirm Colby was present. “We can begin whenever Rue is ready.”