I didn’t know how to take that. “Uh.”
“Classic repartee,” Cassidy said. “But I think I see where he’s going with this.”
“Oh, uh … where’s that?” Eilish asked. “I mean—no, I totally see it, too,” when Cassidy cast her a frown.
“Where I’m going with this, Eilish, is here,” and Harry looked back at me. “If Cassidy hadn’t knocked at your door, you’d still be sitting in Florida, glued to the television screen, watching all this unfold on the pixels.”
“Actually, I’d be sleeping at this hour,” I said. Harry gave me a knowing little smile, and I felt compelled to answer. Sort of. “Yeah, I’d still be in Florida, enjoying a nice boozy vacation from—y’know, fighting villains and running from the law. Most people call that a vacation. What’s wrong with that?”
“Most people don’t consume entire production runs of scotch in one sitting,” Eilish said, mostly under her breath. Or possibly around a Twinkie. “Gyah. This is not to my taste.” And she spat whatever it was back in the plastic bag. “Do you Americans not have Jaffa Cakes?”
“Never heard of them,” I said. “Listen, Harry—I get where you’re going with this, but come on, man. I’m a liability to any sort of metahuman response at this point. I bring down more John Laws than—”
“Than a hooker on Saturday night,” Cassidy said, and she flushed when I looked back at her. “Sorry. I’m trying out my own repartee.”
“Work harder at it,” I said, and turned back to a smirking Harry. “I’m not—”
“You’re on vacation,” Harry said like he understood, but I caught a faint trace of mocking embedded in his tone.
“Yeah,” I said. “And a liability. There are teams that handle this sort of thing. Reed runs them.” I flipped my hair out of the way, because wearing it down was annoying.
“Is that how you felt about it before you went to Scotland?” Harry asked, slipping that dagger between my ribs.
I let that one sink in for a second, and started to open my mouth to argue when Harry said, “Waffle House!” and started to pull off on the next exit.
“Oh, good, waffles,” Eilish said, “because I’m totally famished right now.”
“How?” Cassidy asked, a little pointedly.
“Because I don’t know what this is,” she said, throwing a partially eaten Snickers into the bag, “but it’s not the Snickers I’m used to. When you lot said ‘road trip,’ I got all excited, because last time—when Sienna and I went through Scotland with Diana—there wasn’t a chance to properly stock up on road trip food. I figured this time would be different, but then I try all your American snack food and—ugh. None of it hits the spot like Walker’s Crisps. None. I’m left to wonder how you people eat the way you do.”
“Try the Cheetos,” I said, folding my arms as we slid up the offramp and onto the road, then into the parking lot of a Waffle House. The big yellow sign hung overhead, and I kept my sullen silence as Harry parked the car and we all got out.
The Waffle House was a brick building with glass windows that stretched all the way around. Crowned with a short, triangular roof, it had a look about it that said it had been here for a while, situated at this prime piece of real estate since maybe before it had even been a prime piece of real estate. Now it was directly off a freeway ramp, which guaranteed traffic.
As I walked up to the door, Harry opened it and held it for me. I caught a twinkle of mischief in his eye as I frowned and walked in, grabbing a seat at the counter while the others filed in around me and filled in the spaces next to me. Harry seated himself on the other side of Eilish, who took the spot to my left. Cassidy plopped down to my right, setting her laptop in front of her. I stole a glance at her screen, and it looked like she’d been watching video of Jamie Barton’s fight as filmed on a cell phone from the deck of a passing ferry or something.
“Hey, what can I get for you?” A guy with a little too much pep in his step for this time of morning came sauntering up in an apron with a name tag that identified him as “Mike!” (I added the exclamation point because, honestly, it fit this guy.) “Coffee? Juice? Water?”
“Coffee,” I said, before anyone else could answer.
“Orange juice,” Cassidy said.
“Do you have any tea?” Eilish asked.
“Sure!” Mike! said. “And for you, sir?” he asked Harry.
“Eilish,” Harry said, staring at the menu, “you’re not going to like that tea. It’s sweet tea.”
“So it’s got honey in it? Sugar?” Eilish asked, frowning at him.
Harry looked like he was holding in a smile. “Well, it’s got sugar.”
“That’s fine,” Eilish said, completely disregarding him. “I like my tea sweet.”
That twinkle was back in Harry’s eye, and he looked for a moment like he wanted to say something else, but held it in. “I’ll take a coffee, too,” he said instead. “Black.”
“I’m a flagrant racist, so I would like mine with lots of cream and sugar,” I said. Mike! didn’t seem to know what to make of that, so he just sort of forced a smile.
“Coming right up,” he said, and turned from the counter to walk on down to where a fridge waited. Almost the entire kitchen was open for us to see, right there behind the counter in front of us, but it tapered into a slightly more private area to our right, where on our side of the counter it led to the bathrooms.
“What are you going to order?” Cassidy asked, perusing the menu.
“A waffle, of course,” I said, and when she gave me a curious look: “It’s Waffle House. How can I go wrong ordering that?”
“That’s an interesting theory,” she said, and I got the feeling she was dismissing it out of hand. “What should I get?”
I looked over her skinny, rail-like frame. “Everything on the menu, girl. The fattier, the better.”
She looked up, worked through that for a second, then looked back down, frowning. “Oh, ha ha. Because I’m skinny.”
“I should probably do the same,” I said, “but since my tendency usually leans toward the more rubenesque framing, I’m gonna hit that waffle and call it quits.”
“Well, this is all fascinating, ladies,” Harry said, standing up, “but if you’ll pardon me, I’ve got to go see a man about a horse.” And off he went, toward the bathroom, disappearing down the short hallway and into the bathroom.
“You know, he’s quite a handsome one,” Eilish said, watching him go. Mike! brought the drinks, setting her tea in front of her, and Eilish picked it up.
“Don’t waste your time, Irish,” Cassidy said, still staring at the menu. “He’s only got eyes for Sienna.”
I felt like someone had just delivered a shock down my spine that made my head come up hard. “What the—no, he doesn’t!” I looked over at Cassidy, who was still staring at her menu. “What the hell are you talking about, Cassidy?”
“I’m sitting in the back seat and I’m not blind,” she said. “That’s what I’m talking about.”