She has to stir the food before it burns, and she does that, barely taking her eyes off him for more than a glance.

"But you are taking me to a show?" she asks, with a little quirk of her eyebrows and a broad grin.

He's going to be plastered before long, and Tess will take her time catching up, at least until dinner's done. When the stove is off, so are the last vestiges of responsibility before caving into pure hedonism. She imagines them drinking everything they could sell, stumbling into bed too drunk to fuck, and spending all that time grinding on each other anyway. Whatever. They've earned it. They can always make more deals. Let this day die.

She dumps the turkey onto the plates.