Mr. Perfect (Sinister in Savannah #2) - Aimee Nicole Walker Page 0,74

of soup,” Jude said.

Felix narrowed his eyes. “You’re in no damn position to negotiate.” Stepping around Jude, Felix intended to walk to the stove to claim a sandwich for himself but stopped when Jude gripped his forearm. He glanced over his shoulder and caught Jude’s worried expression.

“I want to make sure you’re not bleeding again.”

“Maybe I should borrow a shirt so I don’t ruin any of your furniture.”

Jude made an indecipherable noise as he turned to face Felix. “I don’t care about my stuff. I’m more concerned about you getting an infection. Do you promise not to snatch my car keys and leave when I go upstairs?”

“You could take them with you, or you could trust me. After all, you’re asking me to believe you’re not involved in a plot to kill me. Trust your instincts.”

“Fair enough. I’ll be right back,” Jude said.

Felix glanced at the car keys and briefly debated running. Then he saw the grilled cheese sandwiches resting in the cast iron skillet. Just as he suspected. No basic-bitch white bread and Kraft singles. Jude had chosen sourdough bread, ham, and gruyere or another super melty cheese.

“Fuel before fleeing.”

Felix picked up the spatula and put a sandwich on each of the plates Jude had set on the counter. Then he ladled soup into the matching bowls. The smell wafting from the porcelain dishes made his mouth water.

“Minestrone,” Jude said when he returned.

“My favorite.”

Felix turned and found Jude standing at the threshold of the room. Their gazes locked, and neither man so much as blinked until a grandfather clock chimed somewhere in the house.

Jude crossed to him, extending the shirt. “Do you want me to put more ointment on your wounds?”

Felix accepted the soft T-shirt. Jude discovering that he had kept it all these years felt different now. Tuesday night, the gesture came across as sweet and maybe a little like a peace offering. Now, Felix just felt foolish.

“Not right now,” Felix said. His arms and shoulders were stiff as hell, but he managed to pull the shirt on without too much discomfort.

They carried their plates and bowls over to a small table tucked into the nook. Felix only planned to take a few bites of his soup and grilled cheese before interrogating Jude, but he couldn’t stop shoveling food in his mouth once he started. He ate his sandwich, half of Jude’s, and two bowls of minestrone.

“More soup?” Jude asked.

Felix shook his head and set his spoon inside the empty bowl. “No, but it’s the best minestrone I’ve had in ages.”

“I’ve tweaked the recipe a lot over the years, but I still can’t get mine to taste as good as Del Rey’s.”

Felix felt a pang in his heart at hearing the name of the Italian restaurant where they’d had their first date. Felix had never heard of minestrone soup until Jude had taken him there.

“It’s been so long I can’t remember what Del Rey’s soup tastes like, but this was amazing.”

Jude stacked his bowl on top of his plate and started to reach for Felix’s dirty dishes too.

“Huh-uh,” Felix said. “I’m firing on all cylinders now. No more procrastination.”

Jude leaned back in his chair and dropped his hands to his lap. “Jack Mercy killed my father.”

“I thought you said he died of an aneurysm.”

“Because that’s what my mother and everyone else told me. I was a devastated kid, reeling from the sudden loss of my father. They didn’t think it was a great time to tell me my dad’s firm had direct ties to the Southern mafia, and the man I’d called Uncle Jack was the crime boss.”

Jude picked up his glass with a shaking hand and took a long drink of water. He set it down, then picked up the napkin next to his plate. Jude stared off into space with a pained expression on his face while absentmindedly tearing strips of paper. He looked so distant and alone. Felix wanted to comfort him, but he was as immobile as if someone had glued him to the seat.

“Jesus, Jude. I’m sorry,” Felix said.

Jude flinched, and Felix regretted saying anything. Then Jude looked down at the table and tilted his head as he studied the mess he’d made. His expression tightened, and he balled the paper strips in his fist.

“The longer my mom waited to tell me the truth, the easier it became to justify the lie. She needed to keep me alive. She wanted to stay alive to watch me grow. My mother limited my exposure to