It's official. Sam's breakfasts might be even better than the ones at Troll's, though with Troll's there are no dishes, no cleanup, no pans to wash. And you usually get a bill that makes it cost more than buying separate ingredients at the grocery store and making it yourself. I'm not sure if the lack of cleanup makes the difference worth it or not.
I could do that math, but between you and me I am exceedingly nervous about being in public these days and to be certain there is no price on peace of mind, at least to me, and so I think Sam would be a good short-order cook as long as Matt is away but it won't be long and I will be back to fending for breakfast for myself while everyone else does the same.
Jacob waved from the edge of the woods to me when I went to take some things out to the stables.
I waved back, reflexively and then caught myself. There you are, I think. Hiding in the fucking woods. That would be Cole's doing, sure as I live and breathe. Cole loves the woods. Jacob loves the beach. They were complete and total opposites and my brain has awkwardly put them together as companions, almost and so they are always together and must compromise. I find they take long periods in turn, like a season almost and then-
Where are you, Peanut?
In a fog maybe. Camping my projects and my pet projects too, I think. Sorry.
It's fine. Ready?
I nod and follow him back toward the garage. We are warm and fed and ready to go and do the repairs that Sam and I dutifully logged on the weekend. It won't take long. Lochlan loves this chore. Sam doesn't have to go because he made breakfast for everyone. Win-win.