“You know, that’s one of the things we liked so much about you, Chuck.” “Cracking eggs down my back?” I ask, thinking of the plastic spider from the cemetery and narrowing my eyes. “No, silly, the fact that you didn’t get us written up for acting like twat-faces.” Micah pops the electric mixer into his bowl as I grin. “Twat-face. That’s a new one, but I like it.”
