He listens. “Yes.” I glance over my shoulder, but Shadow is gone now. “So, he’s okay with everything?”
“Yeah. I figured he would be. I just need to let him know I’m out of the rotation while I deal with this.”
“Does it mess up your schedule? Do you even have a schedule?”
Chuckling again, he picks up a piece of banana and feeds it to me. “Not a schedule in the way you’re thinking. When wehave assignments, it’s up to us how we handle them, but usually we have some sort of timeline for when the client is expecting completion.”
“You sound like a project manager, not a hit man.”
“It’s kind of the same thing sometimes. The difference is how the work gets done.”
I laugh at that. “A minor difference.”
He smiles. “It really doesn’t bother you, does it?”
“No.” I busy myself molding the dough into a pie crust. “I guess it should, but I thought it was hot when you and Shadow were talking about what you were going to do to Leon.”
“What if it wasn’t Leon? What if it was someone else?”
I shrug. “I don’t know that I would even think about it. Is that weird? I mean, yes, it is. I know. I’ve always been a little odd compared to my peers.”
“I don’t think you’re odd at all.”
“You’re a hit man, Carnage. I think your view of reality is slightly skewed.”
He laughs again, and I’m happy I haven’t offended him.
“You’re so adorable.”
“Thanks.” I grin in spite of myself before swinging around to put the dough in the oven to blind bake for a bit. “I think I’ll make a fruit salad too.”
“What can I do to help?”
“You can get some grapes and a bowl ready.”
“I can do that.”
The two of us move around the kitchen, preparing the food, and by the time the savory scent of quiche starts filling the air, my tummy is growling. Carnage whistles and several of his brothers pour into the kitchen.
“Set the table. Food’s almost ready.”
“It smells fantastic,” Colson says. “What is it?”
“Quiche. Hope you guys like it.”
“Never had it,” Nimble says. “But it smells good.”
“It’s just eggs, cheese, and veggies. Like an omelet with a crust.”
“I’m in,” Nimble says, grabbing cutlery.
Everyone grabs something, from plates to napkins to juice, and before long we’re all sitting down at the table. I’m proud of how the quiche looks, so I hope it’s tasty.
I cut slices and we pass plates around to serve. It surprises me how normal and mundane the morning is. There are a bunch of hit men sitting around a table eating breakfast and talking about very regular things, like movies they want to see and TV shows they’re watching.
It’s nice. They’re a family. Maybe an unusual one, but the bond is the same.
“This is incredible.” Specter shovels more quiche into his mouth. “Petition to add Rue to the breakfast rotation. No offense, Ghost.”