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The kitchen shelves looked like they'd fallen on hard times and then developed an alcohol habit.
They stood there kind of appalled, while Spencer stood behind them failing to look nonchalant and unapologetic. Looking uptight and embarrassed. Regretting the bottle of Grey Goose that had fallen and rolled into a corner, and the clear, strong-smelling vodka now pooled across the floor. Saturating the ant trap. Spencer colored briefly, but when they turned to look at him, he was pale again. At length, he met their eyes. "…What?"
They were slack-jawed. 'What?', '…What?!' "What have you guys been eating?"
Spencer watched Daichi messing with the Grey Goose bottle, a moment, before Hilary pulled him away.
At length, he met their eyes. "I don't know what the others do. I eat out. Or I order in." But Tala didn't like when they did that. He was scared of being traced by their credit card numbers. They didn't ask who he was afraid would trace them. He'd have said the government, but to Tala, Boris was the government.
Even now.
So they really didn't. Order in. Sometimes they didn't eat out, either. Sometimes they didn't eat.
They were slack-jawed. Hilary burst into tears.