Houston leaned his head back and looked around. By his internal clock, it was almost dinnertime and his internal clock in his opinion was much more reliable than any other clock in existence. He’d thought he’d heard someone order in delicious hamburgers for dinner.

“It’s almost dinner, someone needs to go wake Savannah,” he said. He reached up, squinted, tilted his head to get the light better in the hole he was working in from flat on his back and tried to get two wires to fit together like they were supposed to do.

“You said you would do it,” Skyler said.

“I’m up to my elbows here,” Houston replied.

Skyler pouted. “Like we all aren’t.”

“I’m saying someone needs to do it.”

“Not it.” Eberron’s voice echoed in the hull of the transport.

“Quinn could do it,” Skyler said.

“I refuse!”

Skyler rolled her eyes. “You pissed her off to begin with.”

“I still refuse. Rio can do it.”

Rio’s eyes widened and she looked around. Uncertain if she should be moving or not. Since no one else was jumping, she stayed put.

Houston rolled his eyes. “She’s not that bad,” he said. He knew Savannah could be slightly grumpy upon waking up, but it really wasn’t any grumpier than over half the pack would be. Besides, she’d be cranky about it being dinnertime and not about getting back up. He thought about that for a second and decided that no, she’d be cranky about both, but be crankier about no one waking her up to help.

“Then you do it,” Quinn retorted.

“Still up to my elbows,” Houston pointed out.

“Rio shouldn’t be exposed to Savannah’s cranky side. We want you to like her,” Skyler said and wiggled further under the transport.

“I propose you draw straws,” Houston said.

Quinn riposted with what he thought was a better idea. “I propose to let her sleep.”

“Seconded!” Eberron shouted.

Houston sighed. “We can’t. We really do need another pair of hands.”

“Then cut somebody else’s off and leave Savannah alone.”

Eberron spoke up again. “That’s a disturbing mental image.”

Outside the transport but still inside the hangar, Blake rolled his eyes, jumped down off the bench and headed for the clubhouse. He tugged his bowler hat down to block the early evening sun from his eyes better. The crew had forgotten he was there. He was positive of it. He went to the kitchen, put a pot on the stove, and went after milk and cocoa. It took a bit of scrounging to find the sugar, as it was hidden behind several things of flour, but he managed by sniffing.

Esme stuck her head inside the kitchen. “Blake?”

“They’re arguing over who should wake up Savannah,” Blake said. “I’ve got it under control. Let them argue.”

Esme smiled and shook her head. “Carry on.”

Blake fixed Savannah a cup of hot cocoa and went upstairs. He dodged into the bathroom and started the water, turning it on hot. It would warm up. He went to the closet, pulled out clothes that were her size and a large towel, and left those in the bathroom. Only then did he go and open the door to the room Savannah was using.

Savannah lay curled on her side in the middle of the bed. Her legs were bent up towards her chest and her arms crossed. Blake shook his head. She probably hadn’t moved since falling into it and wrapping the blankets around her. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

Savannah’s eyes snapped open. She jumped and swore. “Holy shit! Blake! Don’t do that,” she hissed and shoved herself up by her elbow.

The way she knew it was Blake and thus the reason he didn’t have the muzzle of a gun pointed at his nose was she could see his forearm with its underwater scene of what he called ‘steam punk’ motifs. One that she’d helped him create back in high school and their best tattoo artist had refined into something that truly was a work of art. There was a mermaid with dark brown hair and a sweet looking face that looked like his wife Poppy. A host of sea creatures, that appeared to be a mishmash of machines and flesh, swirled around a small single man submarine in happy abandon. The tattoo, like his bowler hat and his tendency to wear scarves in midsummer, was something that Blake had and did.

Blake held out the mug of cocoa as if in apology for waking her up. “I made you hot cocoa. The shower is running, and I found you clean clothes. By the time you’re done, dinner should be here.”

Savannah slowly took the hot cocoa and sipped it. Her eyes narrowed. “Dinner?” she asked.

“Hamburgers and fries,” Blake said. There were onion rings too, but Savannah didn’t like onion rings. There was no point in mentioning it.

“Dinner! I should have been up hours ago.”

Blake leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Shower is all ready,” he reminded her and smiled. His eyes got lost in his cheeks. He bounced off the bed and out the door. “I’ll make sure you get a milkshake before the ice cream melts.”

Savannah stared after him. She muttered something about people with excess energy and took a sip of her cocoa. She sighed, shoved the blankets out of her way, and rolled out of the bed. She stood with a groan, and then set the cocoa down. She stretched without fear of spilling of it. She wrinkled her nose, picked the mug back up, and hunched her body around it. A shower would be nice. She felt icky. She shuffled towards the bathroom and batted at her hair.

She opened the bathroom door. Steam rolled out and she sighed in pleasure. Blake was a wonderful friend.

---

Showered, dressed and much more awake than she’d been close to five hours ago, Savannah walked back across the parking lot, and paused in the large doorway.

“Someone needs to wake her up,” Houston insisted.

“Not it!” everyone else shouted at the same time.

Darkside spoke up, “Look, in the time you all spent dithering, it could have been done already.” Nobody dared mention that she hadn’t volunteered either.

“And Houston said he was going to do it.”

Savannah rolled her eyes, came over to the transport and leaned over. “Wake who up?” she asked. She knew they were talking about her.

Skyler started. “Savannah!”

“That’s right,” Houston paused and turned around using his back as a pivot. “You’re up!”

Savannah grinned. “Blake woke me up.”

Houston smiled. “I hadn’t heard him in twenty minutes, did he disappear? He must have disappeared.”

“He did. He came and woke me up, which it sounds like you were all too chicken to do,” Savannah said. She figured Blake was now on his way to pick up Poppy and their daughter.

Quinn scowled. “Hey! Not chicken! Realistic at crankiness levels.”

“I resent the comparison to a chicken. Chickens are mean,” Eberron said.

Houston made a chicken sound.

Savannah wrinkled her nose. “At least someone was brave, strong, and wolf enough to wake me up.”

Quinn glared at her. “Strength has nothing to do with it!”

Houston snickered. “Unless you grabbed the pillow and refused to be moved.”

Savannah placed a hand to her forehead. “Oh yes, there was much pillow grabbing and whining and refusals to move. Oh woe is me!” She dropped the hand. “You should have sent someone earlier.”

“We are progressing nicely and,” Houston paused. He heard the autovan. “I think that’s dinner.”

Savannah straightened and turned to look. The black van pulled in, parked, and Cole and Grant got out, from the looks of it, mildly bickering. “Who took them off of Ashley patrol?”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Brand. They needed a break,” Skyler said. She’d worked her way out from under the transport and wiped her hands on a rag.

Savannah wrinkled her nose. “I know, but—”

“She’s not going to get in too much trouble eating dinner at the diner with her friends.” Skyler nudged her and walked away to get cleaned up.

Savannah frowned a minute, then shook her head. She had more important things to worry about. She’d let Brand take care of Ashley. Grant and Cole grabbed bags out of the back of the van. “Dibs!” she shouted and took off at a run, laughing.

Quinn looked after her and then over at Houston. “She does realize she’s the one that doesn’t have to get cleaned up?”

“I don’t think it matters,” Houston said and then grabbed the hose. “However, if you want to clean up fast.”

Quinn’s eyes widened and he dashed to the sink, almost bowling over Skyler. He grabbed her so he wouldn’t tumble into her, apologized, dodged around her, and continued running.

Houston smirked and turned the hose on Darkside.

Darkside raised an eyebrow at him. She was the one of them that was completely clean, as she had nothing to do with the wiring or the grease. Though she still wanted to wash her hands. She didn’t know where the transport controls had been. “Don’t think about it, little man. Or you will be in the sink.”

“I don’t think I’ll fit.”

Darkside smiled. “I’ll make you fit.”

Houston considered the hose, and then considered her and pouted. He put it away. Darkside’s smile turned triumphant.

---

There were many diners in Jasper. There was one diner that anyone in the Club referred to as ‘the diner.’ Whether or not it had a real name was debatable, the one sign that was legible simply read, ‘Diner.’ The brick building had a curved corner with large windows and inside there were rows and rows of vinyl covered booth seats, tables made out of old bowling alleys and the scuffed linoleum might have been a fake white marble at one time. The place served never ending coffee, all day breakfast, grilled, fried, and fast food. The place had a good clientele, and at almost any time a quarter of them wore the kuttes of the Club, while the rest were made up of families, older folks looking for a cheap meal, and college students.

In one of the booths, Frankie leaned towards her boyfriend, George, as he droned into her ear about one of the master engineering classes he was taking. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She wanted to be able to hear out of both ears properly. She didn’t know if George knew that she read his textbooks behind his back and she could actually keep up with what he was talking about. It was that or be terminally bored all the time.

Frankie was smart. She knew she was smart. She’d made all the honor rolls in high school. She could have entered college at any time she wanted. Her mother was a professor. She’d get one of those neat teacher pup’s discounts. She didn’t want to go to college. She enjoyed working at the dojo, learning different fighting styles from any master that would teach her, and made more than enough money protecting her sister during security missions.

She loved teaching at the dojo. She taught all the children and a class for women on self-defense. It gave her a thrill to watch the children’s avid faces and their concentration as they focused on learning a new skill, and their happiness when they finally succeeded. She hoped that someday those children would be hers and, hopefully, George’s. Teaching the women she considered a sacred duty and obligation.

George didn’t require any responses to his monologue about his latest grad courses and his thesis. Really, all he wanted was an audience. Frankie nodded from time to time, munched on French fries and made noises of agreement in the back of her throat. In one ear she could hear Ashley and her friends talking, and in the other ear she could hear Brier and her friends at a different table talking.

Ashley was currently complaining about her day. Frankie refrained mightily from rolling her eyes. She knew George wouldn’t appreciate it. Ashley had to go collect rent. That wasn’t her job. She had to deal with Thing One and Thing Two, which is what she called Cole and Grant mostly out of their hearing.

Frankie thought those nicknames contributed to the dehumanization of the two, making it easier for Ashley to complain. Grant was cute and close to her age. Ashley needed to flirt more, complain less, and they’d probably back off a little.

Ashley’s current main complaint about the two was that Savannah didn’t have guards. Frankie wanted to snort. If Ashley up and ditched her guards as much as Savannah ditched hers, which meant whenever possible, Brand would see the pointlessness of assigning Ashley guards. Frankie didn’t think that Ashley had the gumption to ditch Cole and Grant. Savannah didn’t give a flying flip about whether or not her grandfather thought she needed guards. She had way too much fun and entertainment out of losing them.

One of Ashley’s friends interrupted Ashley’s complaints. “Heavens, Ashley, I don’t know why you want this job. All you do is complain about it.”

Ashley muttered something about the sergeant’s job being important. Frankie didn’t think Ashley knew why she wanted the job. It wasn’t Frankie’s business either, outside of soothing Savannah’s ruffled fur about Frankie herself not getting the required number of other officer’s votes a.k.a. all of them.

Despotism was a thing in the Club. Steele had started it. Savannah had been a recipient of it, and wasn’t immune to turning around and doing the same thing in return. Frankie’s opinion hadn’t been asked on the matter. But she’d been the one who had to listen to Savannah’s venting about not getting her way at the meeting when it was all over. And continued venting about how unsuitable Ashley was for the job in Savannah’s opinion.

Another of her friends spoke up, “The new guy is going to be staying at Beda’s building. I’ll have to find a way to spend more time near there.”

As on the other side one of Brier’s many friends went, “The new puppy became a prospect. Oh Lord, he is handsome.”

And since there wasn’t that much distance between the two tables and both groups had good hearing. One of Brier’s friends chimed in with, “Did I hear that he’s living at Beda’s building?”

“I wonder where he’s going to get a job.”

“We can hang out there,” another said. There was a chorus of giggles.

“He’s well-built.”

“It’s a pity his clothes are shabby.”

“Hey, I’d help make his clothes less shabby. Help him out of his old ones too.”

Frankie’s perked up and she listened. She didn’t know anything about this new prospect. She needed information, not useless speculation, but speculation was fun too.

Ashley’s table started talking about his auto. Frankie stopped listening to Brier and her friends who were giggling over the new prospect’s looks. Apparently, the prospect had an auto, one that was a few decades old, old enough to be considered a classic. Ashley said he’d been driving it all over the Hills but he hadn’t tried anything fancy with it. She didn’t know what was under the hood.

“He doesn’t have a motorcycle yet,” Ashley said.

“Oh, he’ll have to get one. I wonder which one he’ll choose.”

Frankie’s fingers paused. The new prospect didn’t own a motorcycle yet. Oh, this was interesting. She hadn’t known that. And if Frankie didn’t know anything that personal, it was a sure bet that Savannah didn’t know anything. Especially since Savannah had been tied up in fixing the transport the last few days.

They started debating, based on looks alone, which motorcycle style that the prospect would veer to. Frankie itched to open her new notebook and add it in as a new betting pool. She didn’t think she’d have the time to start a new pool when she was leaving for a mission within twenty-four hours. And she knew that Brand would encourage the Prospect to get a motorcycle as soon as possible, especially if he didn’t have one.

“He’s from New York,” one of Brier’s friends said.

“Oh, that’s great. Means he’s free for the taking.”

“Unrelated, totally hot, and totally lickable.”

“First new guy in forever, he’s a total hunk, and I’m not single,” one of them groaned.

“Finally, we don’t have to check the chart backwards for three generations to make sure there aren’t any close blood ties.”

Frankie paused in chewing on a French fry. They were right of course. Poor new guy, new males and females were a rarity in the pack. Look at Spike, when she’d come to Jasper, she’d been snatched up by her ‘secret’ boyfriend within a year. The mystery was the fact that she and her boyfriend were still a secret.

“I hope he takes up with someone interesting,” one of the other girls said.

“Do you have any ideas, Ash, on his interests?”

“He was doing touristy stuff, like he couldn’t make up his mind or something.”

“Oh drat, that’s not at all helpful.”

Ashley spoke up, “He was really polite though wherever he went. He opened doors and let those older than him go ahead of him in line. It was weird.”

“A gentleman.” One of the girls sighed. “Oh, I’ve always wanted a gentleman.”

“Do we know how old he is?”

“No.”

“Damn and double damn.”

“Like age means anything around here.”

Frankie wanted to snort. The girl had a point. It was a good thing she was still listening with half an ear towards George.

“—my time is going to be taken up with this new project.”

Frankie turned her head to look at him. “New project?” she asked.

He smiled at her. His dark brown hair fell into his bright blue eyes. Frankie resisted the urge to reach over and rub his perpetual five o’clock shadow. “Yeah. Really important, really big, but I can’t talk about it yet.” He leaned over and kissed the side of her mouth. “You’ve got ketchup, sweetie,” he muttered and licked it away.

Frankie blushed and turned her head to kiss him back. “Really big and important, huh?”

“All hush hush. It’s going to be great. Tomorrow is the first meeting.”

“That’s great, Georgie. I’ve got a job tomorrow,” Frankie said.

George didn’t pay attention. “And I worked really hard to get on the team.”

Frankie grinned at him, unaware that he’d missed her having a job the next day and instead thinking that he was okay with it. “And you made it. I’m proud of you.” She lowered her lashes. “You could have told me earlier.”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up.” George kissed her quickly again and went back to her food.

She mock pouted at him. “I could have been your cheerleader or helped.”

“Not that type of project.”

“Oh well.” She wiggled closer to him.

“The guys I’m tutoring have asked me to help with their Founder’s day booth this weekend too. You’d think it wouldn’t be that hard but they want to go big with their chili stand.”

Frankie sat straight up. “Chili?”

“Yeah,” George said. He took a bite and swallowed. “The sports club is doing a chili stand this year. The students have to come up with their own ideas each year.”

Frankie’s brow furrowed. “George,” she said in a low tone. “The Club does chili.”

George looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “I know that.”

“Do they?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Frankie tucked her chin down. “Then they can think of something else.”

“Oh come on, Frankie. Someone else other than the Club can do chili.” George snorted.

“We have done chili for two hundred years. Chili is our thing,” Frankie said. “They probably saw it was popular and decided to go with it instead of doing hamburgers or something,” Frankie growled. “Convince them to do hamburgers.”

“Sweetie,” George said and his tone said she was being silly and unreasonable.

“Hamburgers make more sense for a sports event themed booth than chili!”

“Frankie,” George sighed. “You guys could change.”

“I told you, two hundred years of tradition.” Frankie poked his leg. “You need to convince them it is in their best interest to do hamburgers. People like our chili. They expect our chili. They come to Founder’s Days expressly for Heaven’s Heathens chili. Talk to your jocks.” Frankie poked him at each of the last four words.

George rolled his eyes. “I’ll try,” he said.

Frankie beamed at him and kissed his chin. “Thank you.”

“Though I don’t guarantee results,” he said.

As at the same time Frankie said once again, “With me going out of town, I won’t be tempted to do it myself. I’m glad you’re busy.”

George missed the first part of her sentence. “I’m too busy.”

Frankie snuggled up to him, relieved that he wasn’t picking a fight about the job. “But you’re still not too busy for me.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

“Never,” George said.

Frankie grabbed the bill. “I’ll go pay and then we’ll go be busy,” she said and winked at him.

George grinned, grabbed her hand as she stood, and pulled her down for a kiss. She pressed his nose back when he was done and frowned at him, but it was marred by her immediate smile. She bounced to the register.