Sorry, I take forever to upload, but it feels really weird writing this. And I'm really sorry if they're so short, because it seems a lot longer when I type it. Not that I don't have fun writing it! Honestly, tell me if I get too carried away. I'll make the next one longer, now that we're getting into the actual story :P

It was inevitable that Macy became a true, reliable Wish employee. Not that Delia locked a collar around her neck and chained her to the van, but it was experience that brought me to believe all human beings have a craving for excitement. If they could, they'd stand on the edge of a knife all day just for the thrill of the idea of falling at any moment.

That's how I viewed catering for my aunt's business. We were constantly balanced on the edge of a knife that was bound to fall several times during a job. I figured Macy had come back because she'd tasted the thrill of the catering business, and she couldn't wash that taste out.

Though, figuratively speaking, I received a nice slap in the face at least once every job, it sure as hell beat a boring job at, say, the library.

Despite all of this knowledge concerning the human addiction to excitement, I was still surprised to see her at the next gig we worked the following week. I had driven separately, so I came across her as she was helping the others unload the van. Kristy had called to tell Delia she was sick (Kristy Code for "I have a date") with the stomach flu ("with a totally gorgeous foreign guy"), so she was unable to make it. Whenever someone had been unable to show before, we'd be in a tight spot, a situation that required everyone to haul ass.

Now, though, we had Macy. We could afford one man down.

I was walking up to the van, and she was digging in the back of the van to pull out the heavy crock pot. She turned around, but I was too close, and I received the crock pot right in my gut.

Her eyes were startled when they landed on mine. "Oh, sorry!" she said, trying to side shuffle out of the tight spot.

I laughed, trying to regain my breath after having it knocked out of me by the culinary equiptment. "It's fine," I said, taking hold of the heavy crock pot. "I'll take this."

"Oh," she said, looking a little taken aback. "Thanks."

"Wes!" came Delia's voice from the doorway. It was a frantic tone, yet a low one. She didn't want to alarm our employers. It was a voice I knew all too well. "Tell me you brought the sausages!"

And I was swept up in the Wish business just like that.

It was a bot-mitzvah, and I was spending the majority of my time trying to deter the bot-mitzvee. The thirteen year old was surprisingly bold, but all of the onlookers found it cute.

I had an audience who found it cute that their underage thirteen year old girl was making a pass at a much older guy at the bar he was tending. Wonderful.

Safe to say, I was not at all depressed to be relieved of my job temporarily while the actual ceremony took place. Delia had swept me into the kitchen within two seconds. She threw me in line next to Macy as Monica exited with a tray full of finger sandwiches.

"You two," she said in commando mode. "I want you to use up the rest of the rolls and chicken salad to make all the finger sandwiches you can before that ceremony ends, understand?"

"Yes ma'am," I said, resisting the urge to salute her. Macy nodded, probably wondering if Delia was going to whip out a gun and hold it to her head if she refused.

Delia nodded once, grabbed a tray identical to Monica's, and strode out of the kitchen.

Macy turned to the counter and began doing as she'd been told. I shuffled up to the counter and began doing the same after a moment's hesitation.

"That's called stalling around here," I said to her.

She looked up at me, clearly confused. "What?"

I jerked my head back to the door. "She and Monica are going to serve those sandwiches as slowly as they can," I said. "Because those are the last trays of the sandwiches. As long as they're out there with food on their trays, our employers are happy. So they're going to stall until we can scrounge up a few more trays."

She looked back down at her work, already completely her second one. I saw her smiling slightly. "That's interesting."

I shrugged. "I thought you should know the tricks of the trade."

She looked back up at me. "Anything else I should know, then?"

I smiled broadly, reaching across her to pull the bowl of chicken salad between us. "Loads."

"Care to fill me in?" she pressed, and I could sense the true curiosity behind her collected voice.

"Monica," I began. "Doesn't dislike you." Her eyebrows raised at my straightforwardness. "She has communication issues," I explained lightly, checking the door in case it swung open to reveal an eavesdropping Monotone. "So you can't really get any emotion out of her. We call her Monotone."

"How endearing," she murmured, and I chuckled.

"Kristy," I continued. "Is not as superficial as she seems. She's pretty observant, and she's bright. So don't try and pull the wool over her eyes." She looked up at me sharply. "Not that I think you would," I added quickly. "She and Monica are sisters, if you didn't catch that one."

She looked at me once more, pausing for the first time in her sandwich-making. "No way."

"Yes way," I replied. Kristy and Monica weren't exactly alike. "Bert's my brother. He's a little eccentric, and it might take you a while to get used to him. Please, please humor him if he starts talking to you about the apocalypse. I am begging you."

She laughed, nodding her head as she resumed her work. "Alright."

"But he's a really good guy," I added. "Now Delia is pregnant," I said, as though she hadn't figured this one out. "So anything she does or says to you is not necessarily her fault, but the antichrist inside of her."

"Antichrist?" she asked. "Wouldn't that be your cousin?"

"Yes. But Lucy is mischief at its finest, so I can't imagine this one turning out any different."

She turned and looked at Lucy slumbering in the car seat we brought inside, then she turned to me to give me a doubtful look.

"Don't be deceived," I said in a low voice. "You want to know that kid's favorite game?"

"Candy Land?"

"'Let's Plant Suspicious Articles of Clothing to Try and End Marriages.'"

She looked at me for a moment longer, before bursting into a short bout of laughter. I watched her laugh for a moment with a smile on my own face, enjoying the lightness and freedom in it, a lightness and freedom that didn't seem to match up with her voice and eyes all the time.

"It's true," I said, both of us returning to work.

She nodded, unconvinced but still smiling. "Whatever you say."

We were quiet for a little longer, a time during which Bert and Monica both reentered to fill their trays lightly, spreading them out on the surfaces to make them seem more filled. Macy eyed this technique observantly, and I suddenly had no doubt in my mind she would do just fine in the catering business.

Delia wouldn't return for a while. She was the master of stalling.

They both re-exited, and a comfortable silence fell between us. I eyed the clock, wondering when I was due back at the bar. Probably whenever I heard the commotion of clapping and "Mazel tovs!" echoing outside.

"So what about you?" she asked suddenly, glancing up at me briefly.

"What about me?"

"Well," she began. "You told me about all my other new co-workers. What about you?"

"Oh," I said. I shrugged after a moment. "Well, I'm..."

She watched me expectantly.

"I'm irresistible, more or less," I said with a cocky smile.

She rolled her eyes, twinkling with amusement. "Let's go with 'less'," she muttered.

"What was that?" I asked, having heard her well and clear.

"I said, 'Look at this mess.'" Ah, so she was clever as well.

"Uh-huh," I replied, bumping her with my shoulder. She stiffened at the contact, but her smile didn't falter.

The night dragged on, and I was happy to find that, after I had left my sandwich station to return to my bartending obligation, the girl who had become randomly smitten with me was receiving enough attention to keep her satisfaction at bay, and also enough to keep a physical barrier between herself and the bar. It was a nice relief, yet I still would have preferred to be back in the much quieter, more interesting kitchen.

As we were loading back up the van, everyone was quiet with exhaustion.

Well, everyone except for Bert.

"So you should invest in a, ah, bomb shelter, I guess you could call it, and a hefty supply of water and nonperishables," Bert was telling Macy.

"I'll definitely look into it," Macy said.

She caught my eye and we shared a knowing smile.

Hope you enjoyed it, more or less! Hope to update soon