Chell saw them as far as the elevator, then waved goodbye—or, in her words, “aloha!”—with a promise to see them again sometime next week.
“Monday, right?” Lane asked.
With a shrug, Chell pushed her dreads off her shoulder. “Yeah, somewhere around then. Ciao.”
“Wait, no.” Remy stepped in front of her, blocking her exit. “What time Monday?”
Chell shrugged again, obviously not bothered to be tied down to a rigid schedule. “You know, sometime. Noon-ish, maybe. Whenever. After the gnarliest waves have rolled out.”
Braden frowned up at Lane. “What’s gnarliest mean?”
“It isn’t a real word,” Lane told him. “She made it up. Rem—”
Remy held up a hand to quiet everyone. “No, not whenever. Monday we have to get the marriage license. You said Lane and I have to both go down to city hall, or the
