Chapter 43
“Ok, will need those same colors, but double the number so the sizes are varied…Oh, except the burnt umber; too much of an accent is no longer an accent. And we’ll do the ones with the removable covers, if you don’t mind.
Also…give me two blankets each in the not umber colors, in a nest size.
Please.” The please is an afterthought as the beta clerk looks at me with a hangdog expression and gathers up the pillows that are on the counter to take back and un-fill, most likely.
Paul is standing behind me, a puzzled look on his face.
His hand comes up, a point-of-order motion, and I cut him off before he can start.
“If you didn’t notice, Spencer paid for all the paints and tools out of his own pocket.
We still have money in the house fund for repairs, so why not do something nice for him?
Besides, I’m fairly certain he wasn’t planning to purchase anything here today, but he seems to have gotten overly excited at the options. ”
A soft grunt as his hand lowers is my only reply, and he looks thoughtful for a few moments before his hand comes back up, but I’m already answering.
“It’s the Vimes Boot Theory. If we spend three times as much now on higher-quality items, they will last longer and we won’t have to replace them nearly as soon.
Good quality pillows can last a long time if taken care of appropriately, but one heat with that many fluids and no protective cover, you’re just asking for a mildew issue unless you have them cleaned immediately.
It’s cheaper in the long run this way.” His hand drops again; the thoughtful look continues.
His next question isn’t one I anticipated. “Who the fuck is Vimes, and what’s the boot theory?” I shake my head, but I’m not overly surprised; it’s an acquired taste, one he may enjoy if he tries—he is into cop dramas after all. I guess it comes with the job.
“Commander Samuel Vimes of the Night Watch is a police officer in the fabled city of Ahnk Morpork.” He shakes his head at me, so I continue.
“Dear lord. Sir Terry Pratchett wrote over forty books, and you haven’t read one?
They have an entire series of books regarding the Night Watch?
None of this is familiar? Ok, there’s a series of science-fantasy books written by an author, Sir Terry Pratchett—yes, he was knighted—regarding a fictional planet called the Diskworld.
Which, coincidentally, is also the name of the series.
Anyway, Commander Vimes has a theory called the Boots Theory of Socio-Economic Unfairness, whereas if you are able to spend more, then your items—in his case, boots—last for much longer than what most people can afford regularly, so they break down.
Basically, it’s a rich-get-richer ideal in which the underclass are kept that way by only being able to afford sub quality goods…
You know, I’ll just loan you the book when we get home. ”
Paul is staring at me as if I’ve grown a second head; his voice is quiet. “Wait, you read science fiction? I thought you were purely into history; how did I not know this?”
“Well, to be fair, most of my collection has been in storage since we met. I only just unpacked them last night. Also, it’s not science fiction, it’s science-fantasy.
I enjoy academic humor, and there’s an entire school of wizards known as the Unseen University.
They’re mostly stuffy old bastards, but it’s quite funny.
Also, I do enjoy history immensely…however it’s often depressing as fuck, so something lighthearted makes a good pallet cleanser. ”
His eyebrows are nearly at his hairline. “Hold on, you like comedy? Ok, who are you, and what have you done with Alistair?” A small smile plays across his lips at this question.
“Har, har. Yes, very funny. I enjoy some comedy. Mostly British humor. Something about the dry delivery. Though I believe I have some Monty Python DVDs somewhere in my room, if you’d like to set those as movie night in the near future.
Really blow Spencer’s mind.” My packmate is shaking his head and it’s a stark reminder that despite the fact we’ve been together for a couple of years, we still don’t know much about each other.
Our discussion is put on hold as Greg and Spencer come shuffling towards the checkout desk, the small omega still wedged firmly between them and snoring softly.
Sam and Teddy are a few paces behind, and the big omega is grinning like the cat who got the cream.
Sam addresses us, and his voice is authoritative enough that even I don’t want to argue with him, and I enjoy arguing with everyone.
“We’re gonna take these three home since we brought their rented minivan.
They can squeeze into the middle seat while Sarah gets some rest. You wanna follow us back to the house to get Spence or…
?” His voice trails off in a question, and since I have to argue, I throw out an alternative.
“We could do that; we’re waiting on some purchases.
This works well, since I’m not sure it’ll all fit in Nadine’s frunk.
How about you follow us back to our new place?
We haven’t had company yet, and it means we won’t have to try to bury Spencer in pillows when we pick him up?
” Sam nods in agreement because it is a logical request.
“Lemme just get these guys fed first. It’s about lunchtime, and I’m not real comfortable with anybody getting hungry on my watch. You want to grab something out, or pick something up to fix at home?” My gaze travels to Paul, since the kitchen is his purview, but he’s just grinning at Spencer.
The big alpha is staring down at Sarah as she snores and tries to cuddle closer to him in her sleep.
He looks gobsmacked at the situation, and Paul just shakes his head.
Will Spence even fit in a minivan? And how do they plan on getting in without separating and waking her up?
Not my problem; the other request is my issue, and I nudge Paul lightly with my elbow, bringing him back to the here and now.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Sure, we got the grill set up, or if you want to stop and grab sandwich stuff or something, we can meet you closer to home after we get all this taken care of. Then head back to the house, sound good?”
Spencer doesn’t even register the conversation happening around him; he’s so focused on the omega pressing herself against his still purring chest. Greg elbows him, jostling her slightly, and she lets out a sleepy sigh while he just nods like his chin is spring-loaded. Poor sap.