First to Fail (Unraveled #3) - Marie Johnston Page 0,40
The weekends by myself were usually the time to make what Jaycee didn’t like, but when just cooking for one, it often seemed like too much trouble.
“Smells delicious,” I called as I looked around.
Tall ceilings, earth-tone walls, and subdued material on the chairs and sofa. The decor came together for a relaxing feel—for a shrink’s office. Candles of various heights dotted the shelves with seashells and a dome filled with succulents.
“Thanks.” She puttered around a dining room table larger than my entire dining room. “I went for the lemon pepper chicken and orzo. Then I wasn’t sure if you were a chicken guy, so I got the sirloin tenderloins and sweet potato. Whatever we don’t eat, I can save for leftovers.” Standing back, she eyed her work. “I don’t cook.”
“You mentioned that.” I scanned the table. A vase of real orchids was perched in the middle and a table runner done in sunset colors that accented the flowers ran down the length. Natalia had dished the food into real serving bowls and arranged them on one end of the table. Plates—not paper ones, and not chipped—rested in the two spots at the corner so at least I wouldn’t have to holler across the table at her like in Michael Keaton’s Batman. Gleaming silverware and wineglasses topped off the look.
Were those… Yep, cloth napkins.
“Is it over the top?” She worried her pouty lower lip between her teeth.
I shook my head. To go through all that work, even after ordering in, and still worry about what I thought? “I’m thinking that maybe I’ve been a little under the top.”
Her hands flared out like she wanted me to stop that train of thought. “No. No, not at all. I… This is my norm. But nothing’s wrong with your norm.”
“You don’t have to go through this effort for me. What do you do when you order in on your own?”
The excitement in her eyes dimmed and her flush from their tryst was all but gone. “I put it on a plate and sit here.” She waved to one of the settings.
All by herself and she still sat at the table? But I was making her nervous and didn’t know why. I also didn’t know why she didn’t just eat from the to-go container while watching Netflix, but that was supposedly a bad habit, albeit what I did when Jaycee was gone. “This one’s my spot then?”
Crossing to the chair she usually sat in, I pulled it out for her.
She shot me a quick smile and let me seat her.
We each picked a little of everything. She asked about my work. I asked about her work. It was…awkward.
“This place came furnished,” she blurted, then tucked her head down and stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork.
“That makes sense. This didn’t seem to be your style.”
She cocked her head, her fork poised in midair. “What’s my style?”
I waved my arm around. “This is Ms. Shaw’s style. I expected your home to have more color. Like maroon.”
A blush tinted her cheeks. “It’s one of my favorites, obviously.”
“Or even a flag from your derby team.”
She didn’t look at me. “Maybe after I play a full season.”
Meekness was a side of Natalia I hadn’t anticipated. Certainly not in her own home. At the con, she’d dished out parenting advice. In her office, she’d punished my daughter with professional disregard of who I was to her and what we’d done together. And on the rink, she’d been unstoppable even after she’d crashed.
“Is this a temporary situation?” My heart constricted when I recalled her mentioning that she was a fixer of sorts for Preston Academies.
She sighed and pushed her plate away, the last piece of chicken still impaled on the fork that rested on her plate. “Yes and no. I have an image to maintain.”
“But it’s your home.”
She smiled sadly. “And if my parents ever visit, I don’t care to explain all my hobbies. They wouldn’t understand. Renting a townhouse gets enough inquiries.”
“What the hell are you supposed to live in?”
She hadn’t mentioned her parents often, and I was getting a sense why. They were loaded, with the attitude of old money. Minneapolis wasn’t an area afflicted with affluent social circles adhering to strict Old-World mores. Rich people yes, but of the modern variety. But having attended Preston myself, I knew they were there. Lower in numbers but represented with all their snooty comments and judgment-filled looks.
“Why rent when you can buy?” Natalia said. She stood, but I leaned over