They make their way into the kitchens, ignoring the various looks given to them by the waitrats (and the rats running around the kitchen in aprons and little white chef hats) as they head for the walk-in cooler
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"Maybe you need to take some string with you," she says, helpfully. "Or a rope."
She's briefly distracted by one of the kitchen-rats chittering at her. "What, you are in bare feet. Okay, okay, Jesus." She kisses Carl, briefly. "I'm going to get put on some jeans and shoes before we're kicked out. Meet you back here."
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She's briefly distracted by one of the kitchen-rats chittering at her. "What, you are in bare feet. Okay, okay, Jesus." She kisses Carl, briefly. "I'm going to get put on some jeans and shoes before we're kicked out. Meet you back here."
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He briefly squeezes her shoulder, before turning to go find a sink to wash his hands. Then he'll tackle the contents of the walk-in.
When she returns, he's not back yet.
But there is a perfectly ripe, peak of season, Georgia peach sitting on the counter. Waiting.
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She eyes the peach.
It's a peach.
And gorgeous.
And there.
And she picks it up, but doesn't eat. Because some things are hard to shake off, the idea that fruit is way beyond her paygrade being one of them.
(But it's such a nice peach)
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(With a basket tucked under one arm.)
"Consider that a 'welcome back' present, if you've gotta."
The basket goes on the counter, and he starts unloading the various spoils of the raid onto the surface.
(Apples, squash, an onion, some herbs, two pieces of pork tenderloin, and other things.)
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