Learning Curves - By Elyse Mady Page 0,26
face of the hostess’s restraint.
“Lee?” a voice called from the dining room. “Did you find the tongs?”
“I’ll show you through to the kitchen,” Cassandra offered to Brandon. “Lee, why don’t you help Mohammed get the table set? We’ll eat as soon as you’re done.”
Slipping off his shoes before adding his coat to the top-heavy pile of outerwear balanced on a chair near the entranceway, he padded behind Cassandra into a small galley kitchen, feeling adrift and unsure of himself. The walls were bright yellow and the cupboards had been painted in a riotous Van Gogh-like starburst of colors.
“Let me get you a bowl for that salad,” she said, her voice more welcoming than before. But her shoulders remained tight and she stalked around him in the enclosed space. She set down the wine bottle and pulled out a deep ceramic dish. “The corkscrew’s out already. Stephanie and Jamie brought bottles too.”
“Would you like me to wait to open this then?”
Cassandra shrugged. “If you like.”
“Thank you for hosting this,” he said, searching for some way to thaw the ice.
“It’s hardly a big deal.” There was another awkward pause and then, as if she relented a little, Cassandra said, “Everyone contributes something, which makes it easy and no one has to eat my food. It’s a win-win situation.”
He smiled at her joke. “Then my offerings should fit right in. I’m not renowned for my cooking either.”
They exhausted their share of pleasantries and another awkward silence fell. The chatter and music carried in from the living room, where the rest of the group congregated, but in the kitchen, neither he nor Cassandra spoke. He readied his meager offering in the colorful ceramic dish she’d unearthed for him. “You always coordinate your kitchen with your dishes?” he asked as he emptied the plastic tub into the bowl, and Cassandra shrugged.
“My girlfriend’s got a thing against beige. She says it saps creativity and encourages pedestrian thinking.”
“You talking about me again, darling?” A slight woman with wispy honey blond hair in a loose ponytail danced into the kitchen, stopping short at the sight of Brandon and Cassandra working side by side at the counter.
“You must be Brandon,” she said, smiling widely. “I’m Julia. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Clearly, Julia’s character matched her decorating style, because what she lacked in size she made up for with a bubbly and exuberant personality. Brandon smiled back and found himself engulfed in a fierce hug. Startled, he drew back. He wasn’t used to such affection.
“Likewise,” he said, feeling a little foolish at his discomfort.
Squeezing farther into the kitchen, Julia skipped to the fridge and pulled out a huge bowl of Greek salad. Peeling back the plastic wrap, she balled it up and tossed it in the nearby garbage can. Ignoring Brandon, Cassandra leaned across the small space and filched a large black olive. She popped it in her mouth, smiling. Brandon was amazed at the change it brought to her stern, patrician face. He certainly hadn’t seen any evidence of that charm in their brief acquaintance.
“Hey! Those are for dinner, you thief,” Julia chided.
Cassandra dropped a soft kiss on her girlfriend’s lips. “You still love me.”
Julia groaned. “Sure I love you. Just not your olive breath.” Cassandra laughed, the throaty sound filling the room, and kissed her again. The love and attraction between the two was so palpable he felt a spurt of unease at eavesdropping on their conversation. Neither woman appeared uncomfortable sharing such gestures in front of him. It seemed so easy and routine that he felt a deep twinge of envy. He’d never experienced a relationship like that. Not with his family. Not with any of the women in his past. Not even with his grandmother. He’d never doubted her love for him but she’d been raised in a different time, and physical expressions of love had never been something she’d indulged in much.
But before his feelings of discomfort could deepen, Julia recalled his presence. “If you’re done, bring your bowl out into the dining room, Brandon, and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
He followed her and found himself the object of eight pair of eyes. Only Leanne, arranging cutlery at the far end of the table, didn’t look up.
“Everyone, Brandon. Brandon, everyone!” Julia said, placing her salad on the crowded table. A chorus of greetings met the introduction. He searched for a small corner to set his own contribution—every square inch of the table was covered. Another tossed salad, baked chicken, some sort of gooey pasta