Marlowe
We cooked dinner together that evening, badly, King burning the first attempt at anything resembling a real meal while I laughed harder than the situation actually warranted, both of us grateful, I think, for one ordinary evening in the middle of everything else threatening to come apart around us.
"You're supposed to flip it before it looks like that," I told him, watching smoke curl up from a pan he clearly had no business operating unsupervised.
"I know how to flip a pancake, Marlowe."
"You very clearly do not."
"I'm the President of a motorcycle club."
"That has nothing to do with pancakes."
He laughed, real and unguarded, and tossed the ruined pancake toward the trash with theatrical disgust, and for a few precious minutes the whole weight of Reid's suspicions and Doria
