Is this woman honestly telling me she plans to survive on stale pita and a handful of nuts and raisins all year?
“You have to eat, Evangeline. You deserve a good meal and to nourish your body.”
She goes quiet.
I tear a paper towel from the roll by the sink, then turn to face her.
Her focus is downcast, set on a small pile of beads in front of her.
“I’m sorry if that was harsh,” I say. Dammit. I’m being overbearing. But I can’t rein in this desire to take care of this woman, no matter how illogical or rash it may be.
“How do you feel about sushi?”
Every room in this hotel is equipped with a rice cooker. Leslie’s team put together welcome baskets for each of our employees that included the supplies needed for homemade sushi.
Evangeline scrunches her nose. “Sticky rice and raw fish? Not my vibe.”
I cross my arms and huff out a chuckle. I should have figured as much. “How do you feel about plain white rice?”
Sitting up straighter, she says, “I love rice, especially when it’s loaded up with butter and salt.”
Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. “And how do you feel about cucumbers?” If memory serves, there are a few in the sushi-making kit.
“Oh, I like cucumbers, too,” she assures me.
Two for two.
“All right: time for a trick question.”
Lips twitching, she nods.
“How do you feel about cream cheese?”
While she told me explicitly that she doesn’t like cheese, she did make an exception for Parmesan. Since cream cheese is really more of a spread, I’m hopeful. And it would allow me to incorporate more protein into her meal.
“Cream cheese is fine,” she says with a pleasant smile. “It’s a schmear, not really a cheese, ya know?”
Affection blooms in my chest. My thoughts exactly.
Grinning, I rub my palms together. This is going to work. “Last question, I promise. Thoughts on miso soup?”
I prepared a package of the instant soup in my own room thisevening. It was surprisingly flavorful and, according to the package, full of nutrients.
She scrunches her nose once more. “Is that the one with the little green things floating around in it?”
“I can prepare it sans green things if you’d like that better.”
She nods, then sighs. “Soup sounds good.”
Confident in my plans, I survey the small kitchenette. “If you’re okay with me being here, I’ll have food ready in about thirty minutes.”
“Alaric, really…” she starts again.
While the tone is laced with objection, I believe it has more to do with me going out of my way for her. I don’t think it’s about my presence. In fact, every time I look at her, I get the distinct impression that she wants me here as much as I want to be here.
Boldly, I hit her with my sternest glare, hopeful she’ll give up the fight now that we’ve settled on a menu.
I should have known better when it comes to this woman.
