@densofyarrow from here.
It was honestly amazing how fast this young woman before him could increase his blood pressure. He'd responded to overdoses, suicides, and broken up more than his fair share of bar brawls. Her? She tested his damned patience like no one and nothing before.
Before he can tell her just what she can do, she lists off a number of things not currently relevant to her situation. That blood pressure continues to climb. It causes him to grit his jaw tightly, the pressure making his jaw pop audibly.
When she suggests something actually plausible, he gives a slight shake of his head. "There ain't no way in Hell I'm giving you a portable camp stove." He let the sentence hang for a moment. "But maybe I can," he glances down at the tray with the messy sandwiches on it, "change up the menu."
She didn't know, after all, that this was coming right out of his pocket. No taxpayers were funding these meals. Money was tight at home, but . . . he could think of something. Cut back on his own dining out . . . show up for dinner at home more.
The thought made him uneasy. One of the perks of earning his own income, a decent income as far as he was concerned, was the ability to use it to put some space between himself and his family. Space was good when you had a mother like Constance Hackett.
As the gears in his mind worked, he ran his tongue along his bottom lip in thought. Decision made, he straightened and pulled out his notebook and pencil. Tapping the tip to his tongue, he pressed it to the paper.
"Any allergies I should know about?" he asked, loud enough for Brinly to hear, too.
