"So," Shane asked, "Michael didn't pitch you out."
"No."
Shane nodded slowly. He was even bigger and taller than she remembered, and his skin was a golden brown color, like he'd spent a lot of time in the sun over the summer. His hair had that bronzy sheen, too.
Sun-bleached where Michael was naturally blond. Okay, truthfully? They're both hotties. She wished she hadn't really thought that, but at least she hadn't said it out loud.
"Something you should know about Michael," he said. "He doesn't like taking chances. I wasn't sure he'd let you stay. If he did, then he got a good vibe off of you. Don't disrespect that, because if you do - I won't be happy, either. Got it?"
Eve was silently watching the two of them, which Claire figured was a new experience for Eve, at least the not-talking part. "He's your friend, right?"
"He saved my life," Shane said. "I'd die for him, but it'd be a dumbass thing to do to thank him for it. So yeah. He's been my friend all my life, and he's more like a brother. So don't get him in trouble."
"I won't," she said. "No milk in the eggs."
"See?" Shane turned back to the counter and started cracking eggs into a bowl. "Told ya."
"Traitor," Eve sighed, and poked at the frying bacon with a fork. "Fine. So. How was Linda last night?"
"Laura."
"Whatever. Not like I have to remember a name for more than one date, anyway."
"She bowled a one fifty."
"God, you're such a disappointment. Share, already!"
Shane smiled tightly down at the eggs. "Hey, not in front of the kid. You got the note."
"Kid?" That hurt. Claire dropped plates on the counter with a little too much force. "Note?"
Shane handed over a folded piece of paper. It was short and sweet, and signed "Michael"...and it told them that Claire was underage, and that the two of them were supposed to look out for her while she was in the house.
Cute. Claire didn't know whether to be pissed or flattered. On reflection...pissed. "I'm not a kid!" she told Shane hotly. "I'm only, like, a year younger than Eve!"
"And girls are much more mature." Eve nodded wisely. "So you're about ten years older than Shane, then."
"Seriously," Claire insisted. "I'm not a kid!"
"Whatever you say, kid," Shane said blandly. "Cheer up. Just means you don't have to put up with me telling you how much sex I didn't get."
"I'm telling Michael," Eve warned.
"About how much sex I didn't get? Go ahead."
"No bacon for you."
"Then no eggs for you. Either of you."
Eve glowered at him. "Prisoner exchange?"
They glared at each other, then swapped pans and started scooping.
Claire was just about to join in when the front doorbell rang, a lilting silvery sound. It wasn't a scary sound, but Eve and Shane froze and looked at each other, and that was scary, somehow. Shane put his plate down on the granite countertop, licked bacon grease from his fingers, and said, "Get her out of sight."
Eve nodded. She dropped her own plate onto the counter, grabbed Claire's wrist, and hustled her to the pantry - a door half hidden in the shadow of the awkwardly placed refrigerator. It was big, dark, and dusty, shelves crowded with old cans of yams and asparagus and glass jars of ancient jellies. There was a light with a string pull above, but Eve didn't turn it on. She reached behind a row of murky-looking cans of fruit and hit some kind of a switch. There was a grating rumble, then a click, and part of the back wall swung open.
Eve pushed it back, reached in, and grabbed a flashlight that she handed to Claire. "Inside," she said.