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“I made you breakfast,” I chirped.
That was understating it. I had fried every damn thing that it was possible to fry.
There was fried bread, okra, beans, tomatoes, banana peppers, eggs, bacon, potatoes, and sausage. I’d also set out a jar of blackberry preserves that looked like they’d been sitting in the pantry since Eisenhower was in office. There was no real coffee, but apparently in some spurt of historical accuracy, fanboying Hunter had bought a bunch of chicory coffee, not realizing or not caring that the entire reason Confederate soldiers drank that shit was because real coffee was hard to come by. That, or, God forbid, he actually liked the taste.
Hunter leaned over the table as if uncertain whether to risk sitting down, picked up a fork, and poked at a piece of sausage like it was a land mine he was afraid would go off. He brought it to his mouth, took a minuscule bite, and chewed carefully.
What, does he think I’m going to poison him or something?
His eyes closed for a moment and he grunted in an appreciatory manner before slumping into the chair and spearing a bit of deep-fried okra.
It wasn’t exactly Shakespeare, but I’d take it.
“I can see that you made breakfast,” he mumbled in a belated response to my earlier statement. “I just can’t see why.”
“Well, if you’re not going to take care of yourself, someone has to. And I didn’t know what you were in the mood for. Hopefully some of this will suit?”
I smiled as innocently as I was able, my butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth face concealing my secret plan. Okay, maybe ‘secret plan’ was a little melodramatic a term for what I was doing, but that’s basically what it was. After all, being conciliatory and up-front about my feelings hadn’t worked. Maybe I needed to be sneaky. Maybe I needed to shock him to get him out of his slump. Maybe I needed to get him really angry.
I nibbled at some fried tomatoes and sipped my chicory coffee—God, but this stuff was terrible, this was probably the real reason we lost the War of Northern Aggression—and kept careful track of the ratio of Hunter’s trepidation-filled food prodding to his blissful food consumption. When the ratio finally started to swing in my favor and it seemed like he’d sufficiently softened up, I struck.
I waited until he was chewing a large mouthful of bacon and potato, incapacitated and incapable of immediately striking back.
“Maybe this is all for the best,” I said philosophically, smiling so brightly at him I was surprised not to see a spotlight on his face. “After all, Chuck has so much more business experience. He probably has a much better handle on what he’s doing anyway, don’t you agree?”
Hunter just stared at me coldly before swallowing. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Doing?” I asked. My smile became slightly strained.
“Oh, please, Ally,” he sighed, pushing his mostly-empty plate away. He shook his head. “You’re good at lying on paper, but in person your face gives everything away.”
“Excuse me?” I said. But it was all falling apart. I could hear it in the way my voice wavered, that slightly shrill desperate note weaving its way in. Even if he hadn’t had suspicions before, that would have convinced him.
He wiped his face with his napkin and then stood to take his dishes to the sink to wash them, his every movement as slow and careful as if he were dragging a body made of stone, as if he were dragging the accumulated weight of every disappointment and frustration he had experienced in the past two weeks.
“You’re trying to get me all fired up about the company so I’ll ride in and save the day, and you can stop feeling guilty,” he said, his back turned to me, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the running water. “Well, your guilt is not my concern, and my loss isn’t yours. I’ve spent two weeks wrestling with these feelings, and I’m done with them. You can’t get to me. I won’t rise to the bait.”
Was that honestly all he thought of me?
Frustration rose in me like a tidal wave. “Yes, I feel guilty, but that’s not why I’m here!”
“Oh?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. “So then why are you here, Ally? What possible other reason could drive you out here to disturb my peace?”
Because I love you, you as**shole! I nearly blurted, the grief and the rage loosening the leash I had been keeping on my tongue. I bit it just in time; Hunter needed me to help him out of his funk, not tie him up in more emotional knots. “I came because you have something great here, and I’m not about to watch you throw it all away.”
“What do you care?” Hunter snapped, whirling to face me. His golden-brown eyes were flashing, and his breath came hard and fast, as if he were running a race. “You betrayed me. I trusted you, I thought we were a team, I—I cared.”
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