wipe it away. I put it on thick, and only a three-step process or an act of God is going to get it off. First things first, though, I need coffee.
I walk out into the hallway and head for the kitchen, with my eyelids open just wide enough to see the way.
I smell the coffee before I see it, and then I turn into the kitchen and find Landon there drinking her own cup. I’m so thrilled at finding the caffeine already waiting for me that I almost smile, or at least sort of grimace in an upward direction. Landon beams at me over her mug with way too much enthusiasm.
“Happy Sunday!” she calls.
I hate morning people.
“I’m gonna go to church, and then I thought I’d hit the farmers’ market. You wanna come?” she asks when I don’t respond to her greeting.
“Work,” I grumble in reply.
She looks around the kitchen; for what, I don’t know. Finally she gives up the pretense.
“Your mom called me!” It bursts out of her mouth like a cheer, and she instantly starts biting her lip when I scowl in response.
“She said you won’t answer your phone. She said you’re being prickly and combative, and you’re going to force her to do something drastic.”
I swallow my first sip of coffee too quickly, and it burns my tongue. I am instantly awake and annoyed.
“She doesn’t need to check up on me,” I bark at her. “I am not a child!”
Landon smiles at me, and it’s just short of patronizing. At twenty-three she’s younger than I am, younger than everyone we hang out with, actually, but that’s never stopped her from trying to offer an opinion to anyone who will listen.
“Then maybe you should stop acting like one,” she says, before raising her cup and taking a demure sip.
I am way too flipping tired to be having this conversation with her.
“Oh, you can just stop your scowling right now. It hasn’t worked to scare me off yet, and it likely causes premature wrinkles.”
I stare mutinously at the neon hearts covering her pajama pants. The fact that someone wearing so many shades of pink at one time feels comfortable lecturing me just shows how far off track my life has gotten since she cartwheeled into it last year.
“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” I growl.
“We have to. You’re never ever awake this early, so it’s the perfect time. Plus I have an event tonight, so we can’t talk then. What’s going on? Why won’t you return Viv’s calls?”
I refuse to answer the questions simply because she thinks she can ask them. I latch onto the first part of her reasoning.
“I’m awake this early because I have to meet with the produce supplier to approve the new selections for work,” I yell, and make a beeline back to my room. “You acting like a harpy is going to make me late!”
“Why won’t you stay and discuss this?” she demands, stamping her foot.
“Because I don’t want to,” I say. Then I throw out the most mature statement of the century: “And because I don’t like you very much right now!”
“Yeah, well, I don’t like you right now either!” she yells back.
I’m actually kind of impressed; that was pretty stern for Landon.
“Max?” she calls sheepishly.
“What?”
“Take an umbrella. It’s supposed to be unseasonably drizzly today.”
All trace of her aggravation is gone. She sounds more worried about my getting caught in bad weather than my yelling at her.
I sigh so loudly that she’s got to be able to hear it even back in the kitchen. That’s the problem with Landon; she’s always quick to get over an argument, and ridiculously thoughtful and kind. She makes it sort of impossible to hate her. It’s one of her most annoying qualities.
The meeting with the hotel’s produce supplier is in the back of the industrial kitchen. The room itself is roughly the size of a small island nation because it supports all the restaurants and bars on-site. The assembled motley crew in the room are gathered around a long stainless-steel table
I walk out into the hallway and head for the kitchen, with my eyelids open just wide enough to see the way.
I smell the coffee before I see it, and then I turn into the kitchen and find Landon there drinking her own cup. I’m so thrilled at finding the caffeine already waiting for me that I almost smile, or at least sort of grimace in an upward direction. Landon beams at me over her mug with way too much enthusiasm.
“Happy Sunday!” she calls.
I hate morning people.
“I’m gonna go to church, and then I thought I’d hit the farmers’ market. You wanna come?” she asks when I don’t respond to her greeting.
“Work,” I grumble in reply.
She looks around the kitchen; for what, I don’t know. Finally she gives up the pretense.
“Your mom called me!” It bursts out of her mouth like a cheer, and she instantly starts biting her lip when I scowl in response.
“She said you won’t answer your phone. She said you’re being prickly and combative, and you’re going to force her to do something drastic.”
I swallow my first sip of coffee too quickly, and it burns my tongue. I am instantly awake and annoyed.
“She doesn’t need to check up on me,” I bark at her. “I am not a child!”
Landon smiles at me, and it’s just short of patronizing. At twenty-three she’s younger than I am, younger than everyone we hang out with, actually, but that’s never stopped her from trying to offer an opinion to anyone who will listen.
“Then maybe you should stop acting like one,” she says, before raising her cup and taking a demure sip.
I am way too flipping tired to be having this conversation with her.
“Oh, you can just stop your scowling right now. It hasn’t worked to scare me off yet, and it likely causes premature wrinkles.”
I stare mutinously at the neon hearts covering her pajama pants. The fact that someone wearing so many shades of pink at one time feels comfortable lecturing me just shows how far off track my life has gotten since she cartwheeled into it last year.
“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” I growl.
“We have to. You’re never ever awake this early, so it’s the perfect time. Plus I have an event tonight, so we can’t talk then. What’s going on? Why won’t you return Viv’s calls?”
I refuse to answer the questions simply because she thinks she can ask them. I latch onto the first part of her reasoning.
“I’m awake this early because I have to meet with the produce supplier to approve the new selections for work,” I yell, and make a beeline back to my room. “You acting like a harpy is going to make me late!”
“Why won’t you stay and discuss this?” she demands, stamping her foot.
“Because I don’t want to,” I say. Then I throw out the most mature statement of the century: “And because I don’t like you very much right now!”
“Yeah, well, I don’t like you right now either!” she yells back.
I’m actually kind of impressed; that was pretty stern for Landon.
“Max?” she calls sheepishly.
“What?”
“Take an umbrella. It’s supposed to be unseasonably drizzly today.”
All trace of her aggravation is gone. She sounds more worried about my getting caught in bad weather than my yelling at her.
I sigh so loudly that she’s got to be able to hear it even back in the kitchen. That’s the problem with Landon; she’s always quick to get over an argument, and ridiculously thoughtful and kind. She makes it sort of impossible to hate her. It’s one of her most annoying qualities.
The meeting with the hotel’s produce supplier is in the back of the industrial kitchen. The room itself is roughly the size of a small island nation because it supports all the restaurants and bars on-site. The assembled motley crew in the room are gathered around a long stainless-steel table
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