RORY
“What are you doing?” Carter asks, a note of surprise evident in his voice. I don’t have to turn around to know he’s staring at me with that look again—the one that suggests I’ve got more than a few loose screws in my head that I need to get checked.
“Arming us with supplies, obviously.”
He even had to ask? Anyone with a working pair of eyes would take one look at the packed island and know.
I strategically place the only one tub of ice cream closest to my stool before I take a few steps back with my hands braced on my hip, admiring my work. It’s not until Carter responds, being his usual pessimistic self that I turn around to glare at him.
He’s staring at the island top rather dubiously, eyes moving over the drinks, different brands of chocolate, before resting on the giant
