“Fuck me, brother,” Rafe barks down the aisle. “Do you own any footwear that aren’t steel-capped boots? You stomp around like the Big Bad Wolf from Little Red Riding Hood.” Gabe looms over us like a storm cloud and scowls down at Rafe. “All the better to kick your head in with, my dear,” he growls. “Holy shit, that’s the most I’ve heard you talk all year,” Rafe shoots back with an easy smile. “Good to see you, bro.”
