Page 23 of Faun Over Me

“You haven’t used it this month. Even small purchases you pay off help build your credit, Elizabeth.” He shook his head as if she ought to know better. “And we thought giving women credit cards was a good idea,” he said to Troy. “You should see the bills my wife racks up.”

“My girlfriend is just as bad. Does one woman need that many manicures?”

Avery scrawled her name on the customer copy first. Payne Strategies’ accounting department wouldn’t reimburse for a meal unless you submitted a signed receipt, and her father had already read her the riot act once before for submitting an unsigned copy. The inkball failed to roll, and she scribbled in the margin of the receipt to get the ink flowing, trying again and managing the latter half of her name. Her father glanced over, frowning.

“Pen’s not working,” she explained, pressing hard against the receipt to fill in the first letters of her full name. Nathan nodded, returning to his conversation with Troy.

Unobserved, Avery added a decent tip and signed the merchant copy. Setting it in the billfold, she slid the customer copy across the table. Her father broke away from his conversation long enough to drop his attention to the receipt, nodding at her signature and slipping it into the pocket of his coat. “That’s my good girl.”

11

Cricket

Cricket slammed her tray against the table, ignoring the pang of guilt as Avery startled at the loud slap of plastic against particleboard. “Where were you today?”

Avery narrowed her eyes, knuckles blanching white from her grip on the fork. “Excuse me?”

“You weren’t around this afternoon. Where were you?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and prodded the pile of minced meat and gravy on her plate. The corner of a thick piece of Texas toast peaked out from beneath the slop, and another piece was placed at a perfect ninety-degree angle on her napkin—which was aligned parallel to the table’s edge. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I had lunch with my dad.”

“And his friend?”

“How did you—?”

“I saw them, your dad, you two have the same hair color.” Avery’s open expression shuttered at that comment, and she went back to poking her food but never actually eating it. “His friend, who is he?”

“A business associate.”

“Sure, fine. Don’t tell me.” She stepped over the bench with her injured leg first, leaning on the table’s edge as she put weight on the hoof to bring her other leg over and plopped down.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” Avery said after a moment, her voice low. “My dad took me to lunch in Elkins. He brought a business associate, and they talked business the whole time. Then dropped me off here and drove to Green Bank.”

“You drove down to Elkins?”

Avery’s head snapped up, alarm making her blue eyes bright. “Why are you interrogating me?”

“Oak and ivy, just answer the question.”

“No!” she raised her voice, drawing the attention of campers and counselors at the surrounding tables. Hunching, Avery flushed and whisper-hissed, “When did you see my dad?”

“He came by to talk to Mac.” At Avery’s blank stare, she amended, “Director Murray. That doesn’t matter. You went down to Elkins. Are the roads open?”

“How else do you think my dad got here?” Avery rolled her eyes and shoved a forkful of ground beef into her mouth. Cricket’s stomach twisted. She stuck her tongue out and fake-gagged. “What.”

“How can you eat that?”

“It’s meat.”

“Exactly.” She shuddered. “It’s disgusting. The smell alone makes me nauseous.”

“Then sit somewhere else,” Avery fumed. “I was perfectly fine eating my meal in peace. Alone.” She shoved another forkful of meat into her mouth, chewing noisily before swallowing. “But apparently, I can’t even do that right.” And another.

Cricket took a second to look at the human. Like, really look at her. Purple shadows clung to her eyes, her hair was pulled back tighter than usual, and she looked somehow … diminished. Or stretched too thin. It was one or the other, and Cricket couldn’t quite decide which she thought it was. But whatever it was, it had put Avery in a foul mood, and something about that made her more real.

“Oak and ivy, fine.” She slid on the bench, giving Avery a few more inches of space, and tucked into her salad.

They ate in angry silence, the cafeteria chatter humming like a beehive around them. Cricket was just debating hobbling to the buffet for a second helping when Avery cleared her throat.

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