Saturday morning Richie woke up, prepared to help Duncan with whatever grunt work he had in mind. He stumbled out of bed and wandered into the kitchen; the promising smell of French toast leading his half-asleep body through the living room.
"Good morning, partner," Duncan greeted him. "Set the table for me, will you?"
Richie responded with something between a "sure" and a yawn. He set the table then sat down and closed his eyes, propping his chin in his hands.
"Still asleep?" Tessa teased him, coming up from having gone out to get the newspaper. She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned over him. "Milk or juice?"
"Juice please."
Tessa giggled and went to the refrigerator. "One of these days you're going to wake up before breakfast."
"Isn't that one of the signs of the apocalypse?" Duncan asked.
"Muh…" Richie grunted at their jokes, folding his arms and putting his head down.
"Oh, Rich, we're just teasing," Tessa assured him.
"Yeah, I find it rather amazing that you can eat while asleep."
"Duncan…" she scolded.
"Okay, Rich." Duncan went over to the table carrying a platter of French Toast. "You can stay asleep but you have to sit up."
Richie obliged him.
"I think you need this." Tessa put the warmed syrup in front of the teen.
After half a bottle of syrup had been ingested, Richie was able to put a few words together in coherent sentences.
"So what's on the agenda for today?" he asked as they fell into their clean-up routine.
"Clean up," Tessa told him.
"Store room or store in general?"
"Apartment. Angie and her parents are coming to dinner tonight."
"I know. But Mac said that if I wanted next weekend off…"
"We'll do it this week," Duncan told him, passing scraped dishes to him to put in the hot soapy water.
"And by 'we' you mean 'me,' right?" He washed the plates, then handed them to Tessa to dry.
"I also want you to come with me to the storeand helpmake dinner." She handed the dry plate to Duncan to put away.
"What are we having?"
"Quiche."
"Is that the thing with the meat and radishes in the sweet dough?"
"No, those are Cornish Pastes," Duncan said, wetting a towel to wipe down the table.
"Oh, yeah."
"I thought you liked those?"
"I did. I'm just trying to remember what a quiche is."
"I believe you called it an 'omelette pie'," Tessa smiled.
"Oh, that thing, cool."
After the kitchen was cleaned up, Tessa dusted, Richie polished and Duncan vacuumed. Then the dining room furniture was polished and a nice table cloth laid out. Richie was sent to clean his room, despite his protests, and Tessa went to take inventory while Duncan went down to open the store. Once Richie's room was clean, Tessa dragged him off from fresh market to fresh market gathering ingredients for the quiches, salads and strawberry shortcake.
"How many 'omelette pies' are you two making?" Duncan asked as Tessa and Richie walked past him, each loaded down with sacks of groceries.
"Four," Tessa answered casually.
"Four?" he repeated. "How many people are going to be here?"
"Only Angie and her parents."
"So you're making four quiches?"
"Of course. Don't just stand there, Richie," she sighed at the teen who was listening to the conversation. "We have dinner to prepare."
"Don't I at least get lunch first?"
"I'll make you a pizza once the oven preheats, just go." Into the kitchen they went. Richie was set to work grating wheels of cheese into separate bowls.
"They have electric graters now, you know," he grumbled.
"You are welcome to go buy yourself one," Tessa told him, sliding a frozen pizza into the oven.
By the time Richie was done with the cheese, Tessa had pan seared boneless chicken breasts and had him chop those into a third bowl while he munched on his lunch. After a long afternoon of grating, mixing, chopping, kneading, measured, pouring, scrambling, sprinkling and tossing, Tessa and Richie put together four quiches which were baking in the oven, filling the apartment with a garlicly aroma.
"It smells great up here." Duncan inhaled deeply.
"It's making me hungry," Richie said as he set the table.
"So what else is new?" Tessa teased. "Go get changed."
Rolling his eyes and mumbling, Richie retreated to his bedroom.
"You really pulled out all the stops," Duncan observed, nuzzling Tessa's neck.
"I just want them to like us."
"What's not to like?"
Richie appeared a few minutes later in a nice work shirt on and his hair combed.
"I suppose I better got get cleaned up as well," Tessa decided. "You, too, Duncan." She took his hand and the pair started off down the hall.
"Hey, guys," Richie called after them. They turned to look at him. "Not so fancy, okay? Angie's parents aren't so rich, you know?" he told them. "This place is already too fancy as it is…" He looked around the lavishly decorated loft, the silk wall hangings, crystal figurines, and antique tables.
Duncan nodded. "Of course, Rich."
Once they changed, Richie drilled them on what was and was not allowed:
1)No flirting, giggling, or mushy touchy feely stuff
2)No talk about traveling abroad
3)No talk about opera or other rich people stuff
4)No talk about his police record or how they met
5)And no, absolutely no, under any circumstances what-so-ever, no matter how tempting the idea may be, how perfect the set up, were they allowed to embarrass him.
The back doorbell rang.
"Promise," Richie demanded. Duncan and Tessa tried to repress their smiles. "Promise," he repeated, still moving toward the door.
"We promise," Tessa said, with all the sincerity she could muster.
"Mac?"
"I promise, Rich."
Satisfied, Richie went to answer the door.
"What are we allowed to talk about?" Duncan whispered to Tessa as they followed. She snickered and hit him in the arm.
