along her back. I hold my breath, waiting for Reese to follow in behind, but the seconds tick by…and nothing.
Paige folds over the table and whispers something to Leigh, flicking her head toward the door, probably asking if she wants to leave. Leigh sets her jaw and shakes her head. She folds her arms as Brianne and Callum sit, likely readying her pointy elbows to jab Reese in the jugular. Brianne curls her pink-tipped hair around her finger and smiles at Leigh. As they get caught up, I glance at the door, but still no Reese.
Callum plants the bottles on the table and nods to each of us. “How go the travels?”
Sam grunts. “Unforgettable. You?” He situates himself even closer to me, letting Callum know I’m off limits.
Callum grins lazily, not fazed by Sam’s posture. “Brilliant, thanks.”
I like when Sam gets like this, staking his claim on me. Having been the outcast all my life, I revel in being with him. Being his. Our little gang of two. It makes me feel halfway normal. (If normal is floating in the clouds and being on the verge of an orgasm twenty-four/seven, the softest breeze enough to send me over the edge.) Yep, I’m feeling pretty normal.
I shove him with my hip and finish dishing out dinner. With our table growing, it’s a good thing I made lots. “If you’re hungry,” I call to Callum and Brianne, “I can fix you guys a bowl.”
Before they have a chance to answer, Leigh clears her throat. “Reese with you?”
Callum shakes his head. “She’s out with some bloke. But I’m in, Nina. For the food. Love a good curry.”
Leigh’s shoulders drop a fraction, as do mine. I’m not sure I want to be around when she and Reese see each other for the first time since the altercation that sent Leigh hacking at her own hair. If there’s one thing Leigh isn’t, it’s emotional. Angry, yes. Emotional, no. I can’t imagine what happened to reduce her to that state, what words were thrown around. Her flattened lips and bouncing heel tell me she’ll go full grenade on Reese if she shows up.
For some unknown reason, Brianne giggles. “Me too, Nina. I’m starving.”
Our group grows by a couple more travelers from Israel, my curry gone by the end of the meal. Dinner is followed by dessert. If you want to make friends, throw Smarties, coconut, and caramel bits into a batch of Rice Krispies squares and pass them around. We joke and laugh, sharing stories. Everyone smiles as they munch on my treats. I love how food is a common language that can bring people together, elevate a celebration, or soothe troubled souls.
Warmth spreads through my chest as the last crumbs are devoured, warmth that turns to liquid fire when Sam winks at me. One darn wink and I’m a hot mess. He’s at the head of the table; Paige, Callum, and Brianne down one side; me, Leigh, and Bruno on the other. The Israelis have taken off, leaving our group to pass around the vodka.
Sam leans toward me. “I’ve been thinking.”
Leigh snorts. “I was wondering about that pained expression. You look ready to pass a kidney stone.”
He balls up a napkin and tosses it at her face. “Watch it, Leigh. I still have no problem shaving off your eyebrows.” He plants his elbows on the table. “Anyway, Nina, as I was saying—I’ve been thinking, and you, Canada, rock a stove. You love it. It’s all over your face when you plan a meal and when you watch these idiots devour your food. This is what you should do.”
“What do you mean do?”
“Like do. As in job. Cook for people. If you love it that much, you should think about it as a career.”
Cooking? For a living? I don’t know why I haven’t considered that. The usual suspects such as teacher, doctor, lawyer always top the list when I envision my future. Not because they’re what I’m interested in. Because they’re mainstream. Easy. Front of mind. Although Mom’s writing her endless cookbook, and I cook all the time, I never thought about turning the thing I love into a job. The notion has me picturing a busy restaurant with pots clanking, chefs bellowing, and waiters rushing.
A grin stretches across my face. “Sam, have I told you recently that you’re a genius?”
“Feel free to praise my genius anytime. And if you’re interested…”—he rubs methodically at a stain on the table before glancing back at me—“there’s a culinary