“Not at all. I’ll see you then.”
They hung up and Clay went into the kitchen to see if he did have something to make a decent meal. He generally fixed a sandwich—or a burger if he felt like cooking. Not sure that constitutes cooking in the real world.
After considering the contents of the fridge and the cupboards, he decided to whip up hamburger stroganoff since it didn’t take a French chef to toss together noodles, mushroom soup, hamburger, and sour cream. He wasn’t sure why he had the sour cream. Probably some bright idea the last time I went shopping.
Just as he had everything put together and the noodles ready to put in the pot to cook, he heard the buzzer. Going to the door, he checked to be certain it was Quint and a couple of minutes later let him into the loft.
The first words
