Am I coming? Hell, yeah. I would follow him anywhere. He's Dirk Adams!
"Yes!" I announce and take two steps. "I mean, no! I can't eat. I'm in training."
He ignores me and keeps on walking. The kitchen is small and practical with the Turkish theme my mother insisted on giving the whole cabin. My family is pretty eccentric, to use the politically correct word for batshit crazy. My mom gives every cabin her own touch, either an international theme or something New Agey.
Dirk Adams pulls a frying pan out of a drawer and puts it on the stove. He takes a dozen eggs out of the refrigerator and cracks six open into a bowl. He takes a handful of mushrooms and dices them on the cutting board and throws them in the frying pan with a half stick of butter.
"I'm in training," I squeak.
He's still
