I laughed, though part of me was curious about the Blue Angels I was hearing so much about. I’d only interacted with Zip and Cheese. “Okay, well, what can I bring?”
“Nothing.”
“I have to bring something. What will these people think of me?”
“They know you’re a bit of an invalid and cooking and or stirring things is difficult.”
“I’m not showing up to a potluck without beer or chips. I’m not a moocher.”
“Fine, we’ll stop by the grocery store on the way.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Can you be ready in an hour?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, see you soon.”
She hung up, and I shook my head. Before I could dial Colt to confirm the potluck, my phone buzzed again.
Colt.
“Are you calling to tell me about the barbecue at the clubhouse?” I asked.
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Your sister. She’s coming to pick me up. I need to hit the store and get some stuff.”
“No,” Colt commanded. “Zip will drive you.”
“But Cheese—”
“As soon as Zip gets to you, Cheese is on party duty.”
“Do I even want to know what that means?” I asked.
“No.” I heard the smile in his voice.
“Why can’t you drive me?” I demanded.
“Do you miss me?”
“No,” I lied. “You’re just a control freak, so I’m surprised you’re letting Zip drive me.”
“I’m in town. I’ll be at the clubhouse later.”
“Okay,” I said, giving in.
“And no grocery store.”
“But I want to bring things.
“I’ll swing by and get some stuff.”
“Get beer, chips, and a premade salad. Or a fruit tray.”
“Yes, dear,” Colt chimed like a chastised husband. “There’s a spare set of house keys in the drawer next to the fridge. Use those to lock up the house.”