Page 19 of Hard Check
“Then you’re all set.”
Charlotte sat on the couch with her legs straight out in front of her, testing the cushions with both hands. She bounced twice, considered the results, and looked at Leo. “It’s squishy.”
“Yeah?”
“Our couch is too hard.” She bounced again. “This one’s better for naps.”
“Good intel.” Leo glanced at Ford. Ford was putting mugs in the cabinet and didn’t turn around, but his shoulders shifted.
The front door banged open, and Ski backed through it with a floor lamp in each hand, his face red from the stairs.
“How many trips is that?” Leo asked.
“Three. Four, if you count the barstools.” Ski set the lamps down and wiped his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. “Gunnar said he’d come by later with some other stuff. Maybe a rug.”
“A rug.”
“You want to walk on bare floors all winter? Your feet’ll freeze off. This isn’t Florida, Vargas.”
Ski plugged one lamp into the outlet by the couch and the other into the outlet next to the bookshelf. Both worked.
Leo leaned against the table and ran his thumb along a deep scratch near the edge. His mother would’ve had the thing refinished before it made it through the door. He pressed his thumbnail into the groove and left it there.
A bit later, there was a knock on the door. Leo answered, and a woman stood in the doorway, tall, auburn hair pulled back, wearing a flannel that was clearly a man’s and jeans with paint on the knee.
“I come bearing gifts.” She held out a foil pan. “From Riggs’s wife. She couldn’t make it over, but wanted to make sure you guys ate.”
“What is it?” Leo asked.
The woman stared at him. Ski’s head appeared from behind the bookshelf where he’d been adjusting Novo’s shim.
“It’s hotdish,” Ski said.
“Okay.” Leo turned the pan in his hands. “What’s hotdish?”
Ski looked at Ford. Ford looked at the woman. Charlotte stopped bouncing on the couch.
“You don’t know what hotdish is?” Ski asked.
“I’m from Miami.”
“That’s not— Hotdish isn’t regional, it’s—” Ski turned to Novo, who had materialized in the kitchen doorway. “He doesn’t know what hotdish is.”
Novo blinked. “Huh.”
“It’s basically a casserole,” the woman said, taking pity. She stepped into the apartment and leaned against the doorframe. “Ground beef, tater tots, cream of mushroom soup, whatever else you’ve got. Every family makes it different. Riggs’s wife does hers with corn and cheddar.”
“It’s the perfect food,” Ski said.
“It’s a casserole with tots on top,” Novo said.
“You’re disrespecting an entire culture right now.”
“Because you’re talking about it like it’s a five-star meal.”
“You’re underselling it.”
“So,” Leo said. “Ground beef, tater tots, and cream of mushroom soup. This is what professional athletes eat up here?”
