Chapter One
The popcorn tasted stale, the beer flat, and the movie could win an award for worst CGI in the history of mankind, but Ben watched it sideways anyway. “Did the ground dissolve under her feet as she was running, but neither she nor anyone else noticed, or did I blink past the explanation of that one?”
“I don’t think there was an explanation.” Grady spoke from somewhere above. “Remind me who picked this movie again, because they never get to pick another movie for movie night. They forfeit their right for making this thing something I can’t unsee, no matter how much brain bleach I apply, and for lowering my IQ at the same time.”
Carrie shifted her legs, dislodging Ben’s head, and the smack Ben heard suggested she’d hit Grady. “I picked it, asshole. I have a serious girl-crush on that actress and this is her early work. If you support an artist…”
Carrie trailed off, so Ben rolled to look up at her. From this angle, she was all tits, hair and chin. “You watch their crap stuff too?”
Grady laughed and Carrie dug her fingers into Ben’s side, tickling him mercilessly. He hated to be tickled, but she hated when he razzed her about movies, so it was a fair move. Grady smacked them both with pillows, attempting to break them apart. It worked, but they both turned their attention to tickling him instead.
Breathless, they all sagged back onto the couch. “So, you have a date with your handsome prince charming tomorrow, right? Friday night date night or some other trite bullshit commercial romance ritual, if I remember correctly. We should go over invoices before I head home, not that I’m not dying to see how this movie ends, unless you both want to do it in the office tomorrow.”
Grady sighed. “Or we could skip it altogether. Have I mentioned my loathing for invoices?”
The three of them ran a bakery together, had for a few years now, something which only cemented their longtime friendship. Back when they were kids, it was them against the world—a truth which had gotten them through death, depression and even divorce throughout the intervening years. The big Ds weren’t made easier because of their tight friendship, but they at least became survivable. Carrie was the brilliant one in the kitchen, rummaging through old family recipes to come up with her own twists on trusted family favorites, which set them apart from their competitors. Grady laid on the charm, handling a lot of their marketing with almost accidental grace, since there was something about him that always drew people in. Which left the accounting to Ben, something he’d have pointed out was a far cry from his actual life plans, if it didn’t satisfy him so much to do it.
Out of the three of them, he’d been the worst at math, yet he found he possessed a gift for figures when it mattered. It turned out real-life application of number crunching and the use of Excel had very little to do with the grade school version of the same practice, so he pleased himself more often than not with his skills, shocked at how much he liked seeing the columns match up…and the fact he never had to show his work.
“It needs to be done, is all I’m saying, so we can do it here, over stale beer, or in the office where we need to at least pretend a semblance of professionalism.” They’d long held the tradition of crunching numbers on Thursday evenings over beer and a movie, since it wasn’t fun for any of them in the beginning, not that it kept them from bitching when he turned the conversation that direction. Back when the goal was to simply not end the year in the red, the beer helped soothe the fear that they’d bit off more than they could chew. Now, with the business solvent, it made the mundane work more fun and reminded them all where they’d come from.
And where they planned to go.
Resting his head back on Carrie’s knee, Ben inhaled the scent of her. If the rest of the world outside blew up with apocalyptic
The popcorn tasted stale, the beer flat, and the movie could win an award for worst CGI in the history of mankind, but Ben watched it sideways anyway. “Did the ground dissolve under her feet as she was running, but neither she nor anyone else noticed, or did I blink past the explanation of that one?”
“I don’t think there was an explanation.” Grady spoke from somewhere above. “Remind me who picked this movie again, because they never get to pick another movie for movie night. They forfeit their right for making this thing something I can’t unsee, no matter how much brain bleach I apply, and for lowering my IQ at the same time.”
Carrie shifted her legs, dislodging Ben’s head, and the smack Ben heard suggested she’d hit Grady. “I picked it, asshole. I have a serious girl-crush on that actress and this is her early work. If you support an artist…”
Carrie trailed off, so Ben rolled to look up at her. From this angle, she was all tits, hair and chin. “You watch their crap stuff too?”
Grady laughed and Carrie dug her fingers into Ben’s side, tickling him mercilessly. He hated to be tickled, but she hated when he razzed her about movies, so it was a fair move. Grady smacked them both with pillows, attempting to break them apart. It worked, but they both turned their attention to tickling him instead.
Breathless, they all sagged back onto the couch. “So, you have a date with your handsome prince charming tomorrow, right? Friday night date night or some other trite bullshit commercial romance ritual, if I remember correctly. We should go over invoices before I head home, not that I’m not dying to see how this movie ends, unless you both want to do it in the office tomorrow.”
Grady sighed. “Or we could skip it altogether. Have I mentioned my loathing for invoices?”
The three of them ran a bakery together, had for a few years now, something which only cemented their longtime friendship. Back when they were kids, it was them against the world—a truth which had gotten them through death, depression and even divorce throughout the intervening years. The big Ds weren’t made easier because of their tight friendship, but they at least became survivable. Carrie was the brilliant one in the kitchen, rummaging through old family recipes to come up with her own twists on trusted family favorites, which set them apart from their competitors. Grady laid on the charm, handling a lot of their marketing with almost accidental grace, since there was something about him that always drew people in. Which left the accounting to Ben, something he’d have pointed out was a far cry from his actual life plans, if it didn’t satisfy him so much to do it.
Out of the three of them, he’d been the worst at math, yet he found he possessed a gift for figures when it mattered. It turned out real-life application of number crunching and the use of Excel had very little to do with the grade school version of the same practice, so he pleased himself more often than not with his skills, shocked at how much he liked seeing the columns match up…and the fact he never had to show his work.
“It needs to be done, is all I’m saying, so we can do it here, over stale beer, or in the office where we need to at least pretend a semblance of professionalism.” They’d long held the tradition of crunching numbers on Thursday evenings over beer and a movie, since it wasn’t fun for any of them in the beginning, not that it kept them from bitching when he turned the conversation that direction. Back when the goal was to simply not end the year in the red, the beer helped soothe the fear that they’d bit off more than they could chew. Now, with the business solvent, it made the mundane work more fun and reminded them all where they’d come from.
And where they planned to go.
Resting his head back on Carrie’s knee, Ben inhaled the scent of her. If the rest of the world outside blew up with apocalyptic
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