“I wasn’t talkin’ about Calla. I was talking about this house.” Randy balled his free fist, taking a step in Row’s direction. “Talk all you want about either. As always, no one’s listening.” Row smirked defiantly. Randy shoved his plate in Lyle’s chest, stepping into Row’s vicinity with his fist raised above his shoulder. “You got somethin’ to say to me, Chef?” “Yeah, actually.” Row ate the rest of the distance between them, dropping his plate at the table with a loud clank. “Eat. Shit.”
