Something In Between: Sequel to On The Edge of Tomorrow

Chapter 7

"Are you still eating?" I tapped the back of Tim's head as I settled onto the stool next to him.

"Don't judge me." He stuck an elbow in my ribs.

"Now, children," Mary scolded.

"Sorry, Mary," we both murmured in unison.

Tim leaned in close. "So, how did that go?"

I picked another strawberry from his plate and, as I popped it in my mouth, added, "fine."

It hit him with a wince. "Every time Tess says fine, it means I've super fucked up."

"So, you hear it often," I teased.

"Why do you think I have breakfast here every morning?" A crooked smile twisted across his lips.

"So," I said louder as I pulled away from Tim, "what's everyone up to today?"

"I've had a few requests for shortbread," Mary absently said without turning from loading the dishwasher.

"I was going to load the jukebox," Tim added as he pushed a blueberry around his plate.

"Jukebox?" I stole another strawberry while Tim attempted to stab my fingers with his fork.

"Get your own," he grumbled.

"Jukebox?" I prodded again.

"Yeah, Billy heard that some diner downtown was going under, so he bought the jukebox off them. It's in the basement. He threatened to load it himself, but," Tim lifted his eyes to give me a wink. "It would end up fine if he did it."

"Why do I feel like I am the he and fine means less than acceptable?" Billy asked as he slid onto the third stool.

"Jukebox," I murmured, trying to avoid the tug my eyes were feeling to spend the next twenty minutes inspecting every detail of him.

"Tim, I can load it myself," Billy protested.

"Can you? What would be your plan; something ridiculous like alphabetically by artist or worse by year." Tim let out a groan and leaned back so far I was convinced he'd fall off the stool.

"What's wrong with by year?" Billy shrugged.

"You're so pedestrian," Tim shot. "I'm doing it."

"How are you going to organize it?" I asked innocently enough.

"Only time will tell," he cryptically said as he slid off the stool and backed out of the kitchen like Frankenstein's monster.

"What are you up to?" I let my shoulder bump into Billy as he took a bite from one of the few pancakes Tim had spared.

"I gotta give Mom's car an oil change, and then I'm looking at a house up the road this afternoon. You want to come?"

There was an openness to his face that I found myself sinking into, causing me to forget the constructs of a conversation.

"Lil?" Bewilderment clouded Billy's face breaking my trance.

"Yeah, house; I'm in. No to the oil change; it sounds messy. I think I'll stick around here and help Tim."

Billy gave a dejected nod.

"And, there's a rumor that shortbread will be made. I want to make sure I get the first crack before the heathens have at it."

"Did you call me a heathen? I mean, Tim, yes, agreed. But me? I'm hurt." Billy's voice filled with teasing.

"I cannot apologize for the facts. When it comes to shortbread, you're a heathen." I felt drawn closer to him with the levity of the moment.