Bulletproof - Xavier Neal Page 0,36
it’s easier to hide spills and stains and keeps the attention on your work rather than you, but you look beautiful in colors, Blake. Don’t overthink it.”
Redness paints her low cheekbones prompting my smile to unconsciously grow wider.
“Good to know you have the newly-engaged thing down,” Carl not so quietly proclaims. “Other than your distaste for your wardrobe,” he lightly laughs as he turns to face her, “are you settling in, okay?”
Blake offers him a sheepish nod.
“Anything you need?”
Her eyes widen in excitement, yet I quickly shake my head. “No.”
“But-”
“No.”
“I-”
“No.”
“What is the end of this sentence?” Carl cautiously questions.
“She wants a laptop to work on,” I answer at the same time I resume cutting up a side portion to our meal. “And she is not getting one because she is not permitted to work while we’re here.”
“But you’re working!”
My gaze momentarily darts up to meet her. “My job is to keep you alive, Blake, so yeah. You could say I’m always working.”
“And I wanna be always working. I have things that need to be done like-”
“No.”
“Oh, and like-”
“And I’ve got a projection date for-”
“No.”
“Ugh. How is this shit fucking livable?! Or fair?!”
“La vida no es justa.”
Her eyes roll out of continued annoyance. “Don’t give me that cliché shit.”
“Don’t need to be given that cliché shit.”
“For two people pretending to be a couple, you sure have a bunch of the shit down already,” Carl states in such a nature it gathers both of our stares. Once he has them, he sighs, “Your brother was very adamant about neither of you have that sort of device whatsoever. You’re lucky the streaming accounts are tied to the house otherwise you’d be without that, too. Hell, even the cellphone that Bronx has is extremely limited in its capabilities past calls and texting.”
Something that will bother me a lot less than she’s probably thinking.
“You’re off the grid for a few months,” Carl says almost too cheerfully. “Enjoy being unplugged.”
The horror that immediately appears on Blake’s face is so painfully palpable that I have to death grip the knife in my possession to stop myself from rushing over there to hug it away.
This isn’t going to be easy on her.
I know that.
And in knowing that I am committed to doing everything possible to keep her as happy as I can.
Which isn’t technically part of the job I’m being paid to do.
Just part of the one I want to be doing.
“Applecourt’s a beautiful place with a lot to do. Take advantage of it. Try to get out and about every couple of days or so. Staying couped up too long around here will look more suspicious than you want, even for a newly engaged couple.”
He’s given a single nod from me. “Noted.”
Without further objections or questions from the two of us, Carl exits the cabin, with Blake locking the door behind him. Afterward, she returns to the kitchen area and plops down on the barstool closest to where I’m almost done cutting the bite-sized veggies.
“Need help with anything?”
I swiftly shake my head.
“I know I said I can’t really cook but-”
“No, you said you have mastered the art of microwaving.” My humor-filled gaze shifts to hers. “And then explained how Percy Spencer came about inventing it, which included an interesting yet odd range of foods that were used in his early experiments. And then you proceeded to tell me about some of your favorite experiments that have used food including a killer mint, something I can honestly say has convinced me to never take one from a stranger again.”
“You shouldn’t take candy from strangers, anyway,” Blake teasingly taunts. “That’s Stranger Danger shit 1-0-1.” As soon as a small laugh from me hits the air, she offers to help again. “Cooking may not be my specialty, but I can at least cut up the limes.”
Sensing her need to be useful – something that makes her extra anxious when she can’t be – I surrender to the request. I place a new knife and a couple of limes on a different cutting board in front of her. The second they’re there, excitement darts into her eyes. “Do you know the reason lemons and limes are squeezed on top of food has to do with the citric acid they contain?”
“I did.” Moving the tomatoes to their own dish, I casually announce, “The acid from them is what changes the structure of the proteins in fish, ‘cooking them’ without really cooking them.”
An unfamiliar hum from her grabs my attention.
There’s no stopping my