Bird in the Nest

by scesketch

Samantha Meyers, Alfred Pennyworth's grand niece, has been hired to work at Wayne Manor as a maid. Little does she realize that living in the same house as billionaire Bruce Wayne and his four sons will come with its own difficulties.

4. Chapter 3: Midnight Mishaps

Chapter 3 - Midnight Mishaps

Saturday, my day off, dawned quicker than I had expected. I woke up ready to work, realized what day it was, and fell back onto my pillows. My mind, that little overachiever, started making a list of all the things I could do with my free time. Alfred said Mr. Wayne was paying me through a daily deposit right into my bank account, which meant I had money, real money. I could go shopping in that nicer part of downtown with all the fashion shops. I could even catch a train and travel to some small town in the suburbs for a quiet day out. Maybe I could go to Bloomfield-

Bloomfield. The town where I was born. Where Mom used to take me to that cute cafe on the corner. Except now, I couldn't remember what she looked like back then. All I saw was pale skin, sunken eyes, tubes and wires…

Think of something else. I could make myself a big breakfast. I could probably whip up some biscuits and gravy, my favorite.

Dad loved biscuits and gravy.

Stop. Something else. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, suddenly angry at the cheery sunlight for invading the nice, cozy darkness of my room. Maybe I should just keep sleeping. I pulled the covers over my head and curled into the tightest ball I could make. Just let sleep come, please. Let it come fast.

Knock knock.

I groaned into my pillow and slapped away the covers. "Come in."

The door opened, and Alfred came in, bearing a tray of steaming food. My anger abated as my stomach cried for attention.

"For me?" I asked, sitting up.

Alfred set the tray on my lap. "You deserve it. You've worked like a madwoman all week."

My mouth instantly began to water when I saw what I had to look forward to. Scrambled eggs topped with a heaping layer of slowly melting cheese. Crisp bacon, still sizzling. And bless the man, he had made me tea.

A smile worked its way to my lips. I leaned over and gave Alfred a peck on the cheek. "Thank you, Uncle."

He smiled, which made his eyes crinkle in the corners. I loved it when he smiled like that.

"You're welcome, Samantha."

He went to leave, but before he could, Mr. Wayne pushed the door open. I jumped a little; I wasn't really prepared to have my boss walk in on me in my pajamas. But then I was distracted by the intense look on his face. Something had to be wrong.

"Alfred. We need you… downstairs."

Alfred's face fell. "Yes, sir."

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Work," Mr. Wayne said. He left quickly.

"What's going on?"

Alfred paused in the doorway and sighed. "Just… enjoy your day off."

He closed the door behind himself. I blinked rapidly, trying to figure out what had just happened. Maybe there had been a break-in or something at Wayne Enterprises. But my breakfast in bed smelled heavenly… too heavenly to worry about Wayne business.

I shrugged and dug in.

/

By noon, I was bored out of my skin.

I had wandered Wayne Manor from top to bottom, getting lost twice. I plunked out a random tune on a piano I found, something from when I was still taking lessons. I stumbled across a gymnasium and attempted one-person volleyball, one-person soccer, and one-person basketball, all of which I can say with confidence are the most boring sports ever played. My wanderings finally led me back to the tv room, where I was now, playing Super Smash Tennis on the tv. I had already unlocked five new characters, seven power-ups, and a hidden level. Sports and videogames were a fair distraction, but they didn't hold my attention very long. I needed to be doing something.

A part of me - the little lonely child that lived in the back of my head - kept barking at me to seek out some company. Surely, having someone else around would be more entertaining than playing the fifteenth level of this ridiculous tennis game. The only problem was, I hadn't seen anyone else all day. Not a Wayne to be found, adopted or otherwise. It was starting to worry me. Where had Mr. Wayne taken them all?

Then, just as I beat another level, I heard a rustle behind me. I paused the game and turned around. Dick was standing in the doorway.

"Hi," I said, acting casual. But inside I was crying with relief. Thank God, another life form! "Where did everybody go? I thought you'd all left me."

"We were… out." He came and sat next to me, heaving a tremendous sigh.

I glanced over, and my eyes widened. His hand was bandaged.

"What happened there?" I nodded to his hand.

Dick looked at his hand in disgust. "This? This is called stupidity, my friend."

"You didn't get into a fight, did you?"

He glanced at me. "Uh… no."

That was convincing. "Are you sure? I've heard of celebrities beating up the paparazzi. I wouldn't blame you." I instantly blushed. I shouldn't have been so forward.

Dick just chuckled. "No, I… don't get into fights. This is actually thanks to a ceramic mug."

"You broke one of our mugs?"

"No. Somebody else."

"Somebody else broke it, or it was someone else's mug?"

"Both."

"So that's where you all were? Getting you stitches?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Oh." It occurred to me that I was being a little too friendly, so I shut up and turned the tennis game back on. I started battling the next level - a CPU named Phil. Dick didn't say anything else, and however much I tried to stay calm, my insides started to tingle as the silence dragged on.

Phil beat me. I opted to try again. As I prepared to battle once more, I decided I couldn't stand being mute any longer. I dove in.

"I got stitches once."

"Really."

"Yeah. I was jumping on the bed. I fell and hit my head on the headboard. It hurt a lot."

Dick raised his eyebrows. "Wow."

I laughed. "Yeah. That was stupid."

Phil was getting annoying; time to shut him down. I stood up to get a better shot. With a solid whack, I sent the ball over the net; it hit the ground right at the edge of Phil's square and bounced out. That CPU didn't stand a chance.

"Nice," Dick said. "How long have you been playing this?"

"Since about ten fifty."

"Really? Not bad. Maybe you'll finally give Tim some competition for best gamer. He's beaten almost all of these."

"Has he, now?" I looked at the video game racks. "I know how I'm spending my days off now."

"Oh, you're on," Tim said, striding into the room.

My gut twisted up as I looked at that sunny smile. He seemed so at ease, like that little snafu with the eavesdropping never happened. But I knew it had. How was I supposed to act now? How was I supposed to talk to him?

My uncertainty must have caught Tim's notice. The smile dimmed.

"You might not want to make that kind of commitment," Dick said. "She beat Phil, Tim. Phil. She's good."

I flushed. It's not every day you get complimented by an actual celebrity.

A beat passed as Tim and I eyed each other, worrying the silence would stretch out into awkwardness. But then his eyes fell on the space between Dick and me on the couch. A hardness came into his features, as if he had made up his mind to do something crazy.

Then he came around the couch and sat right next to me.

I tensed at the sudden show of familiarity. He just sat there, cool as punch.

"Hey, Dick," he said, "would you mind grabbing a couple more controllers? I think it's time I faced Sam head on."

Dick obliged, tossing one controller to Tim and taking one for himself. Tim nodded to me.

"You've got player one."

I fumbled with the buttons and somehow maneuvered back to the main menu. Tim lounged next to me and gently drummed his controller against his leg. His calm was strangely contagious, and I found myself starting to relax. I suddenly felt like I should say something, to show him I could be cool, too.

I flicked my hair back over my shoulder. "Are you sure you're ready to face me?"

"Are you?"

I grinned and met his eyes. "Ready."

We left Dick in the dust. Tim and I both ended up on our feet, giving that tennis ball the beating of a lifetime. I found myself laughing and chattering like I hadn't in years.

When we left the game room at last, it was well past three in the afternoon. Something had clicked while we played. I wasn't afraid of Tim or Dick anymore; they weren't just celebrities, they were… could I call them friends yet? Whatever they were, it was much more comfortable, and I realized I didn't want to leave their company just yet. So, as we passed the door to the gym, I gathered my courage and spoke.

"You know," I said, "we've been playing fake sports for so long, maybe we should do it for real? You know, get in our exercise for the day. I tried to play some stuff alone, but it's… not that fun."

The boys glanced at each other, and some inside joke seemed to pass between them. They looked back to me, smiling.

"Do you think you can take us?" Dick asked.

"Eh, probably not, but getting beaten by a real person is much better than winning against nobody." I glanced up at the ceiling. "Plus we could probably get Damian to join. Make it a fair fight."

"Two-on-two," Tim said, tapping his chin. "Dick? What do you think?"

Dick leaned on Tim's shoulder. "Yeah, I think we can take her. Pair her with Damian, and it might even be a fair fight."

"I'm not going to get him."

"Then I'll return in a minute! And Sam…" Dick flicked two fingers from his eyes to mine. "You're going down."

A laugh bubbled out of my chest. It felt good to laugh, and these boys seemed to know exactly how to get one out of me. Why had I been so intimidated by them? Dick and Tim were great!

Damian arrived, his face still a mask of superiority, but once we started playing, he seemed to enjoy it. We even managed to be a good team, once he stopped criticizing every move I made. Damian and I won in a landslide, to my great surprise. It helped that the young Wayne had the back legs of a jackrabbit; that kid could dunk like an all-star.

And as I made my third basket, I realized that the knot that had been twisting my heart since before Dad died felt a little less tight.

/

Tim took a long breath of air as he walked off the basketball court. Today had been so good. The morning had been a little iffy, especially when Dick got hurt - though he seemed fine enough when he shot two three-pointers in a row. But as soon as he had sat down next to Sam in the game room, Tim had felt perfectly at ease. He had never realized before that making friends could be so easy.

He glanced over at Sam, who was pacing around the border of the court. She looked more relaxed, too. Had it been only yesterday when she cold-shouldered him? She seemed like a completely different person now.

Suddenly, he noticed the way she was scanning the floor, a single line running across her forehead. Tim frowned.

"Hey, Sam! Are you looking for something?"

Sam threw up her hands. "My locket! I left it with my hoodie over there." She gestured to the bench by the door. "But it's gone. I can't find it. I must have kicked it away or something."

Tim jogged over to the bench, his eyes already searching the floor. He lifted Sam's hoodie, shook it out; nothing. He peered under the bench and even moved it to be absolutely sure. She was right; there was no locket to be found.

He looked back at Sam. Her gaze swept frantically across every inch of the court. The locket must have been really important; her face was red with frustration, and she looked near tears.

Tim shared a look with Dick and Damian; all three boys started scanning the room.

It had been only a minute when a glare of light caught Tim's eye. He turned and peered at the space under the door. Then he rushed over and yanked it open.

"Found it!" Tim yelled. He reached down and picked up the silver chain and pendant, examining it for damage. It looked fine.

Tim squinted and held it closer. There was a bird engraved on the front; he couldn't tell what kind. His detective's instincts took over; he slid a fingernail between the two halves and flicked the locket open.

So that's why she was so frantic.

"You've got it?"

Tim quickly snapped it closed. He turned to see Sam at his side, already holding out her hand.

"Yeah, here." He let the necklace slide from his grasp. It landed safely in her palm, and she closed her fingers around it, relief flooding her eyes.

"Thank you," she said. She lifted the chain and clasped it around her neck with quivering hands. She let out a pent-up breath and wiped her misty eyes.

Tim took a nervous breath. He didn't understand why he felt guilty for opening the locket. But he knew he had to tell her, or risk betraying the fragile trust he had worked so hard to build this afternoon.

"I looked inside," Tim muttered, kicking his shoe into the floor. "Sorry."

Sam met his eyes. Then, slowly, she opened the pendant and looked down at the miniature photographs pasted inside.

On the left was a picture of a man, easy to recognize as Sam's father; they had the same dense chocolate eyes. But his hair was a sandy blonde, and even though the photo centered on his head and shoulders, Tim could tell the man was athletically built and strong. The other side featured the smiling face of a woman, with cascading brown curls and a healthy blush. Both images had to be at least twenty years old; they were already fading a bit, and the hair and fashion styles… well, they weren't recent.

It occurred to Tim that this was how Sam wanted to remember her parents. There was no way they looked this good when they were going through whatever killed them.

Sam swallowed hard, her eyes starting to glisten again. "You know, my parents met at a musical conference. My mother was singing, and my dad liked it so much he tried to meet her backstage." She chuckled. "He almost got arrested, but mom told the cops it was okay. And she liked my dad so much, they went out to dinner together. I asked for that story so many times. I… don't know why I told you that."

Tim glanced at Dick, who stood a few feet away, his brow tightly lined. How exactly was he supposed to deal with this?

"I'm sorry," Sam sniffed. "I don't usually get this emotional."

"It's okay. I'm sorry." Tim beat a hand against his leg. "I shouldn't have brought it up. I wouldn't have, if I knew it would make you sad."

Sam smiled quickly. "I'm not sad." She closed the locket and held it close. "Thanks for finding it."

Tim nodded. "Yeah, no problem."

Sam hesitated, then held out her hand. Tim shook it - gently.

"Good game," she said.

"You, too."

As Sam slipped quickly out of the room, Tim grimaced and knuckled himself in the head. "Dick, I'm such an idiot. I should've just handed her the locket, and it would've been fine."

Dick shrugged. "I thought it was sweet. You're bonding."

"Dick."

"Drake doesn't know how to bond with girls," Damian said. He ducked under a swing from Dick and rushed out the door.

"I'm serious, though," Dick said, glaring after his little brother. "You and Sam seem to be getting along really well. She would never have said what she did if she didn't feel comfortable around you."

"Yeah." Tim gazed at the floor. "I feel bad, though."

"For what?"

"Jason."

Dick snorted. "Yeah. He's going to feel so left out when we tell him how cool Sam is."

"No, I meant about not telling Sam. She has no idea he even exists. And Jason has to keep hiding from her. I'm just… so sick of secrets."

"I'm sorry, pal." Dick ruffled Tim's hair. "It comes with the job. Come on - dinner."

/

Tim was just entering the dining room when he ran into Alfred. He was jolted so suddenly out of his thoughts that he jumped.

"Alfred!" He felt a twinge of guilt. "Hey, you haven't seen Sam, have you?"

"Not recently. Why?"

"I just really want to make sure she's okay."

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "Is she not?"

"Of course!" Tim held up his hands. "She should be fine. I just… may have reminded her of her parents earlier, and she started crying. I didn't mean to, though, I swear."

Alfred sighed. "She's still grieving. Don't worry, Master Timothy; you've done nothing wrong."

"I still feel bad. She's probably still in denial. I shouldn't have brought them up."

"My niece knows how to handle grief by now. She's gone through it twice before."

Tim cocked his head. "Twice?"

Alfred nodded. "She had a twin brother, long ago. He died when they were five." Alfred pursed his lips. "He was killed during a Joker attack."

"My word." Tim put a hand to his head. "How is she… okay?"

Alfred shrugged. "I don't know that she is, Timothy."

"I thought you said she could handle grief."

"I said she knew how to handle it. That doesn't mean she knows how to move on." Alfred patted Tim on the shoulder. "Don't fret over her. She's very independent and hates to be babied. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get the rest of the food."

Tim frowned as Alfred walked away. When he had first met Sam, she had seemed perfectly happy, if a little distant. This was a level of grief he had never expected. From now on, he would do his best never to bring up her parents.

Just as they were sitting down to dinner, Sam entered the room, her hair wet from a shower, but her eyes dry and bright. She looked as happy as ever. She passed Alfred and kissed him on the cheek.

"Hi, uncle! Food smells good!"

Tim shook his head. This girl was an incredible actress.

/

Before bed, I replaced my locket in its proper spot – hanging from my jewelry tree, now set up in my walk-in closet. I watched it sway for a minute; the meadowlark etched into the silver looked like it was flying. My dad loved meadowlarks.

There he was again! Wasn't there something else in my brain that I could think about?

I slammed the closet door closed, crawled into bed, and buried myself under the blankets. I closed my eyes, then blinked them open. A quick glance at the clock said it was a little after ten. I forced my lids shut once more, but I couldn't stop peeking at those glaring red numbers. As I watched, half an hour passed. Then an hour. An hour and a half.

I gave up and sighed. My brain was wide awake, cycling through old memories like a home video sped up to twice the speed. I didn't want to see those memories. There was only one thing for it: I had to tire my brain out.

My footsteps led me straight to the kitchen – the only place I could get to without thinking. The lights were all off, and it was so silent and empty that I started to feel spooked. I flicked on the lights and shook myself. Everything is better in light.

My eyes glanced over the ovens and counters, and my brain formed a ridiculous but satisfactory idea. No better way to wear my mind out than cooking a midnight snack. Maybe some pie and a glass of milk would help me sleep.

I pulled out every cookbook I could find and rummaged through them until I found the hardest pie recipe I could. Being on Bruce Wayne's budget, we had just about every ingredient the supermarket sold, so I found everything I needed. I worked like a madman, baking a crust, mixing a filling, whipping cream. I definitely messed up a few times; pie isn't my strong suit. But I managed to get something that looked like pie into the oven. And then I found another recipe. And another. My hands flowed, dishes piled up, and an incredible smell filled the room. Warmth radiated from three ovens as I simultaneously baked two pies, sweet and savory, and a batch of light and fluffy biscuits. I knew it was a lot, but hey, I like baking.

And baking always makes me smile, without fail.

I didn't notice until I sat down to wait for the timers to go off. I realized my cheeks hurt, and discovered an enormous smile pushing toward my ears. I leaned back and savored it. It felt so good to genuinely smile at something.

My mind drifted back to the memories I had been trying to avoid all night. It finally landed on a good one: a day when Mom and Dad both were off work early. We sat in the kitchen, talking and cooking dinner together. We sat at the kitchen table, all squished into a corner, and we ate by candlelight.

After the meal, as I was clearing the table, I accidentally dropped one of the water glasses, and it shattered into pieces. Mom and Dad scolded me, and I was so embarrassed. I felt as if I had ruined the whole evening. I ran off to my room, but they didn't leave me alone. They came and found me and surrounded me with hugs and kisses. Then Mom spoke, four sentences I will never forget.

"Families aren't built on just the good times," she told me. "We're strongest when we've had our share of bad times. The only thing you ruined was a piece of glass, and glass can be replaced. But you, my darling girl, can never be replaced."

I closed my eyes and lived that moment, feeling her hand on my hair, her kiss on my forehead, the strength of her arms around my shoulders. Her voice echoed in my head like a forgotten tune. She was so alive in my memories. Alive and strong and powerful, back when I was twelve and things were so much better…

The smile was gone. I wanted it back. I jumped to my feet and ran to rescue one of my pies from the oven, desperate to escape my mind.

/

"Aw, come on!"

"No," Batman said. "And that's final. You need to let your hand heal."

"It's not that bad!" Nightwing griped. "You fight with open wounds and broken ribs all the time! This is barely a scratch!"

"And I have three other partners. You can take a night off, Dick."

Nightwing groaned and sat down on a bench. "Man, staying behind stinks."

Alfred smiled. "That's what you get for engaging an armed opponent without taking stock of their weaponry."

"He had a mug. A ceramic mug!"

"I'm sorry to interrupt your moping, Grayson, but we do have to go," Robin said. "We need to be there when the kamikaze kleptomaniac shows."

Nightwing gave a half smile. "Kleptokaze?"

Red Robin winced. "Not your best."

Batman gave Nightwing a clap on the shoulder as the others piled into the Batmobile. "Don't worry. You have the whole rest of your career ahead of you."

With a rumble and a cloud of dust, the Batmobile sped away into the dark night of Gotham City. Alfred smiled secretly as Nightwing huffed and moaned.

"I got suited up and everything." Dick got to his feet. "I guess I'll go catch some z's. Might as well make the most of a night off."

"Just remember to take the suit off before—"

Something pinged on the computer screen. Alfred glanced at it, then did a double take. "That's odd."

"What?"

"This alert. It means one of the ovens has been turned on."

Two more pings. Alfred frowned. "Three ovens on. Who could possibly…?"

Nightwing straightened. "Burglars."

"Burglars that bake? It must be a mistake."

"They could be turning on the gas. No way am I letting anyone blow up Wayne Manor!"

"Wait…"

But Nightwing was gone. Alfred sighed. That boy was much too eager for action.

"I was going to say we should check the security cameras," he said to himself. He pressed a button. "Let's see who's burgling my pots and pans."

He blinked at the screen. Then he shot up.

"Nightwing! Wait!"

/

It wasn't long before the kitchen table was heaped with food. I brushed off my hands and admired my handiwork. The only problem was, I had realized several minutes ago that I wasn't hungry. Who was going to eat all this?

"Hello?"

The voice startled me so badly, I swung out with my fist, and met something that felt suspiciously like a human skull. It took me a moment of panic to realize that it was indeed a human I had punched. A male human wearing a tight suit and a mask.

All the breath left my lungs. Shoot… that was Nightwing. I had just punched Nightwing in the face. Should I be excited? Scared? My face must have been sheet white as I tried to gasp out an apology, or a greeting, or anything at all.

Nightwing ignored me as he massaged his jaw. Then, with a sheepish glance in my direction, he cleared his throat. "Sorry. I thought this place was being robbed."

I finally managed to force some words out of my mouth. "I'm… I'm so, so sorry! You startled me, and I just lashed out. Do you want me to get an ice pack or something?"

"You know what, that sounds good."

Shaking off my shock, I rushed to grab something cold from the freezer. Nightwing winced, moving his jaw tentatively.

"Good right hook."

"Was it?"

"Yeah. Should've seen it coming, though. And I shouldn't have snuck up on you. You know, because… you're a completely ordinary civilian. Whom I have never met."

I handed him a package of frozen peas, and he set it gently against his chin, sighing.

"I really am sorry," I said.

He waved it off. "I've gotten worse. That really was good, though. You should be proud of that."

I blushed. "Th-thanks. That's… really nice, coming from you." Gee, second compliment ever from a celebrity. I didn't realize Gotham made them so gentlemanly.

Nightwing smiled, then looked toward the ceiling, sniffing. "What is that? It smells amazing."

"Oh, um… midnight snack, I guess." A timer went off, and I rushed to pull my first pie from the oven. "I couldn't sleep, so I just sort of… exploded."

Nightwing eyed me. "I was wondering why you were still up."

I bit my lip. "Um… you wouldn't like to take some, would you? I have a lot here, and there's only one of me."

Nightwing blinked at me. Then he glanced at the pie in my hands. His eyes glazed over as he swallowed longingly.

"Maybe just a bite for the road."

I smiled. "Happy to oblige."

As I sliced him some pie, I said, "You know, this isn't my house. It belongs to Bruce Wayne. But if you or Batman ever need anything, I'm here. I'm sure Mr. Wayne won't mind."

Nightwing smiled. "I'm sure he won't. Thank you."

He walked away into the night, closing the door behind him with a snap. I turned back to the kitchen and blew out my breath. My heart was still pounding, but I think it was less because of the unexpected jump scare and more because I had actually talked to a superhero. A real, live superhero. I lived in Gotham, and that had never happened before.

Thinking about it now, though, I should've asked what he was doing all the way out here. The Bat family hardly ever left the city. Why was Nightwing all the way out at Bruce Wayne's manor?

/

Alfred looked away from the computer screen as Nightwing entered the Batcave. His steps were slow and thoughtful. He held a bundle in his hands.

"Thank you for not attacking my niece," Alfred said with no little amusement.

"Nah. She attacked me." Nightwing glanced at his bundle. "She's so nice. Usually, when I swoop in on people, they run away."

"Or attack you. Which, considering, doesn't make tonight all that unusual."

"Ha ha." Nightwing opened the bundle and handed it to Alfred. "It's homemade and fresh. It also smells amazing. Samantha is a wonder of nature."

"I know." Alfred stared at the pie. "Unfortunately, I think the Samantha you've met is little more than a carefully curated mask of quips and smiles."

"Gee, I've never met anyone like that." Nightwing broke off a chunk of pie and stuffed it in his mouth. "Mm. We have to finish this before the others get back."

Alfred shook his head. "I'm quite alright. You have it."

Nightwing shrugged and took another bite. As he swallowed, he winced. "Ow. You know, your niece has got a pretty wicked swing."

"I know. I was watching."

"She also straight-up offered her services to Batman. That's pretty gutsy."

"Hm."

Nightwing licked his fingers. "She's strong, in more ways than one."

"She's been through a lot. It's bound to build character."

Nightwing gave Alfred a furtive look. "Not just character. I'm talking resilience, mental strength…"

"Do you have a point?"

Dick removed his mask. "Look, why don't we just tell her? She could handle it. And she could be really helpful."

"No," Alfred said quickly. "I'm not putting her in danger."

"She wouldn't have to fight with us, she'd just…"

"I'm not putting her in danger by connection to this madness. If anyone, any villain we've ever dealt with, caught wind of her being connected to Batman in any way, she'd be in the line of fire. I'm not doing it."

Dick seemed to want to keep fighting, but after a moment he sighed and shrugged. "I'd rather not have to act a charade around her; she really seems to hate secrets. But if you think keeping her in the dark will keep her safe, then I'm fine with it."

"Thank you." Alfred drummed his fingers on the keyboard. "And while you're free, could you get her to go to bed? It's nearly midnight."

Dick smiled. "As Nightwing or as Dick Grayson?"

"The latter, please."

"Okay." He took a last bite, folded up the napkin, and headed for the door. "By the way, make sure you get some of this pie. It's the epitome of pieness."