Revealing Annie - Freya Barker Page 0,20
herself to me, and I’ll be damned if that doesn’t make me feel great.
“There you are.”
She gives me a little smile in response and I quickly step aside, inviting her in.
“I brought dessert.” She hands me the familiar bakery box. “I know you said not to, but I couldn’t show up empty-handed.”
“You keep this up and I’m gonna have to double my workouts before I double in size.”
I catch her quickly checking me out before her gaze meets mine.
“Doubt there’s much of a chance of that happening.”
I shrug with a smile, and with the box in one hand, I place the other in the small of her back and guide her through to the kitchen.
“Have a seat.”
I point at the stools on the other side of the counter, separating the kitchen from the dining room, but she walks right by them, heading for the wok on the stove.
“That smells amazing.” She lifts the lid I covered it with to keep it warm and peeks inside. “What is it?”
“Just a chicken stir-fry in some coconut cashew sauce.”
“And here I thought we’d be having burgers or steak, or something you can toss on a grill.”
“If you’d prefer that, it’s not too late to make it happen.”
Wide-eyed, she shakes her head vehemently. “Don’t you dare. I can’t wait to taste it.”
I admit, feels good to have her excited to try my food. Hope it lives up to expectations.
“I just need to steam the rice, but why don’t I grab us something to drink and we can sit outside?”
“Okay. I’d love some water.”
“As long as you don’t mind if I grab myself a beer.”
“Not at all.”
I watch as she opens the sliding door and heads outside. I quickly hit the on button on the steamer, fill a glass with ice and water, and grab myself a beer from the fridge, before joining her.
“Are you gonna take off if I ask why you hide those stunning eyes behind plain brown contacts?” I ask gently, watching for her reaction.
She tenses slightly, but seems to square her shoulders before facing me.
“Because they’re easy to recognize.”
That’s for damn sure, the unusual blue color would be hard to miss. Her answer also confirms that she is hiding from something, or someone.
“And you don’t want that,” I prompt.
“I don’t want that,” she repeats. “Let’s just say, I’ve come to love my quiet life here in Durango. I don’t have to be anything other than who I am. Unfortunately for me, that’s only possible if I’m not recognized.”
I’m about to question her on why she feels she needs to be anyone else, but at the last second I realize how hypocritical that would be. We all have our masks—I do as well—each for our own reasons.
“Makes me feel twice as fortunate you’re willing to show me.”
She tilts her head at my words, studying me closely.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?”
“Should I?” I counter right away and she smiles.
“No. I guess not. I’m glad you don’t, actually.”
I could ask her what she means, but I’m content letting her decide what and when she wants to share.
We sit quietly for a few minutes before she breaks the silence.
“You know, I grew up in a house much like this. Same layout, also on a corner lot, but we didn’t have quite this view.”
Her comment leads to a sharing of backgrounds over dinner. I learn she grew up in the Midwest and was the only child of older parents, who had given up hope of ever having children. A good childhood, from what she tells me, but she lost her parents when she was only in her twenties.
I give her an overview of my background, including a description of our family dog, Kiko, who was the bane of my mother’s existence, but my father’s shadow.
“You gave me the impression you didn’t know much about dogs,” she says, an accusation in her voice, but humor in her eyes.
“I never claimed that. You offered to help with Daisy and I couldn’t let the opportunity slide.”
Her eyebrows lift high. “Opportunity?”
“To invite you over for dinner.”
“And a lovely dinner it was,” she says, pushing back from the table. “But I should really get going. I have to get up early.”
“Leave those,” I tell her when she gets up and starts collecting dishes. “I’ll grab them later.”
She sets them down on the counter and turns to me, a tight smile on her face.
“I mean it, dinner was amazing, thank you so much,” she says, looking a little unsure.
“Dessert was better.”