Re: diner: cat/holly/eddie Dahlia and there was a story there that wasn't small town business meetings. Eddie and small town businesses, Holly could totally see. It was sneaky, the way Eddie worked and she could totally picture (okay, maybe not totally picture but picture a little) the harassment from one business owner to another. But Cat? So wasn't a small business person. And it wasn't the time to say Dahlia wasn't exactly peachy-keen on a house-guest longterm. That was if the dog didn't leave her alone long enough to think about getting comfortable. Holly, for the record, wasn't. Eddie approved, and Holly's smile was unself-conscious even if the eyeliner situation complicated shit.
The learning point? Sailed over her head like the old days, except that it was assurance Cat and Eddie weren't just small town business but roots into the Capital in exactly the way they had them back home. It was practically apple pie and Thanksgiving dinner, in a crummy way that made memories of gang-warfare home.
"Matt?" she cocked an eyebrow, because that was another name to add to the list of people who fourteen-years-old hadn't known or it had gone a little fuzzy since. She didn't say no and she didn't say yes, but it would shake out eventually. Permanent? Sounded like a roof, and she wasn't exactly against roofs that didn't cost six am starts.
But she grinned dimpled-mischief at Eddie as he promised pancakes, and she dug the menu out from behind the napkin dispenser. "With bacon."