Derek was a little startled at the sudden hug and rush of emotion, though he caught her and tentatively patted her back soothingly, still a tad bit stunned at the force of her gratitude but glad he could help and make someone feel so thankful.
She poked her head back in, hands full of dripping plate, and made an expression of listening.
Derek turned to grin at her. “You’re going to meet some of the girls tomorrow. They’ll help with all this,” he said, holding the pad up and then going back to it and pulling his phone out.
Summer stood there, blinking, hands still full of dripping plate. That hadn’t been the plan — there hadn’t /been/ a plan. Some part of her mind, exiled behind walls of forgotten things, had made that list, taking over her hands. It was clearly an organized, disciplined part — but meeting even more people, this soon, had not been part of the plan, such as it was.
After a moment, she finished washing the plates and put them in the dish drainer. When she came back to the table, she tore the top sheet off the pad and wrote on the next page, ‘tell about the girls.’