"We're west of green tea ice cream and south of tiramisu." It was true. The first restaurant we passed was a tiny bistro tucked between an art gallery and a flat-tire fix-it place. Checking the menu, we saw that they indeed served crème brûlée, which is a small bowl of custard, the top layer cooked crunchy with a blowtorch. Pyromania is so often the handmaiden of innovation. "How is your sister?" "Less annoyed with me now that the borrowed dress has passed inspection and been found to have no rips or tears." I may have flinched. "Oh, sorry, Hunter. Forgot about your jacket for a second." She pulled me to a stop. "Listen, given that the whole disguise thing was my idea, I should go halfway with you on the refund disaster." "You don't have to do that, Jen." "You can't stop me." I laughed. "Actually, I can. Where are you going to do, tie me up and pay my credit-card bill?" "Only half of it." "Still, that's five hundred bucks." I shook my head. "Forget it. I'll just make the minimum payment until I come up with something.
