Splash

Splash - the dog

 Winslow's apartment. Friday evening. November 11, 2005.

As much as Neal Caffrey liked his loft's vintage kitchen, he had to admire the modern appliances in his cousin's apartment. On a crisp autumn evening it had been a pleasure to hang out there and prepare dinner.

Even more fun had been bossing around his cousin, treating Henry as his sous chef. Although he grumbled, Henry had paid close attention. He was finally coming to the realization that he needed more than pizza delivery and Indian takeout in his diet.

"Not bad," Henry admitted, leaning back from the table and pushing aside his empty plate. "I get to keep the leftovers, right?"

"They're all yours, and they reheat easily. Think you could make cottage pie on your own next time?"

"You know, I'm still disappointed that something with pie in the name isn't a dessert."

"Once you can handle this dish, I'll think about teaching you how to make a dessert pie. So back to my question. Do you think you can prepare it without my help?"

"Yeah, probably, if you leave the instructions."

"It's called a recipe."

"Whatever."

"And you can't leave out the vegetables. They add to the flavor, and they're good for you."

Henry looked ready to argue that point, but paused when they heard a muffled tune. He stood and started patting his pockets. "Where is it?" he muttered.

"Since when is your ringtone the Macarena?"

"Since I lost the company pool tournament this afternoon and the winner got to pick ringtones for the rest of us." Henry looked around the apartment. "Have you seen my phone?"

Neal took another bite of cottage pie and shrugged.

Henry's eyes narrowed. "You bumped into me when you took off your coat." He dashed to the row of hooks next to the front door and dug a phone out of Neal's coat. "Hello?" he answered. He listened a minute and said, "Right. Sunday would work." He scribbled a note on a message board beside the door, and then read a time and address back, waiting for confirmation that it was correct. "See you then."

Neal carried their plates to the dishwasher while Henry was on the phone, and he turned around to see a stern expression on his cousin's face.

"You picked my pocket," Henry said.

"Well, yeah. Gotta stay in practice." Neal grinned. "You should have seen yourself, checking all your pockets." He did an exaggerated imitation. "It did look like you were trying to do the Macarena."

The stern expression vanished into laughter. "You've got such a splash-happy look right now."

"That's something I haven't heard in years." Splash-happy was a phrase they'd invented when Neal turned eighteen, and it brought back good memories. "You ever think about that place? I wonder if they're still open."

"We can look it up later. That call was from the rescue organization I told you about. I'm finally at the top of their waiting list."

Neal looked around the apartment. "Are you ready?"

"I thought so, but maybe I should try a test. Think we could borrow Satchmo?"

"Probably. Peter didn't mention any plans, so I don't think we'd be interrupting a date night. Let's give them a call."

"Warn them?" Henry complained. "Where's the fun in that?"

"If we don't call, we risk driving to Brooklyn to find they aren't home."