“Eight.”
“That’s cute.”
“I’ve been told I was a terror.”
“That absolutely checks out.”
I swat at his arm. He dodges me, that infuriatingly handsome grin playing across his features again. I wonder if this is what he’s like out of the kitchen all the time. Loose. Relaxed. Waxing poetic about fish. Like this, he could almost be a friend. Or even...
“We should put a version of this on the menu,” I muse as we finish picking the bones clean. “Maybe it’s served in the foil packet. Then you get to unwrap it yourself.”
He meets my gaze. “That’s a good idea.”
“You didn’t even—wait, really?”
“Interactive food is memorable. It’s a good idea, Poppy. You’re two for two today.”
I press my lips together, so I don’t smile too hard. Warmth spreads throughout my body. “Does this mean I can help with the menu? I know you don’t think so, but I do care about the food. I really do.”
“I know. Let me think about it.” His gaze is sharp again; mindclearly whirring with ideas. He reaches into the bag he brought to shore, pulling out a notebook. “I’ve been looking through my old notes for inspiration.”
I open the worn composition book carefully, tracing my fingers over his messy scrawl. I know it’s just a notebook, but this feels like a piece of Jack’s heart. On the first page, it looks as though he listed a bunch of sauces. Tomato, hollandaise... “What’s velouté?”
His eyes light up. “In French cuisine, there’s the concept of mother sauces...”
This is it. I’m about to be murdered.
Death by cockroaches. Even in my most hideous nightmares, I couldn’t come up with something like this.
I whimper, backing away from the horrible, offending creature that has taken over my bedroom. I came out of my gloriously long everything shower humming, still sun-soaked from the day on the island and ruminating over the unexpected praise from Jack. He dropped me off when we got back to shore, curling his lip when he saw the apartment building. No wonder. The flutter in my chest at the memory of his laughter lasted about three seconds before I noticed the roach. Kiara told me that the roaches in Florida don’t fly, but they must dosomething, because when I tried to snag my phone from the nightstand, it shot up in the air, dive-bombing me like a fighter jet.
My phone is on the floor in the middle of the room. The roach is near the bed. My heart is beating a million miles a minute.
I am totally, completely trapped.
At least I have clothes on. The only thing worse than dying via cockroach swarm would be for someone to discover my naked body in the aftermath. I shudder at the thought of all the places the roaches could invade. They like warm, right? And moist? I’m going to hurl.
I chew the inside of my cheek furiously. I need to get to my phone. Jack will give me hell, but he’ll help me. Probably.
I drop carefully to my hands and knees in the bathroom doorway. The roach twitches. I swallow a scream. I inch forward, as slowlyand quietly as I can. Where there’s one, there has to be more, right? Insects travel in groups. In gangs. A cockroach gang is on its way to burrow under my skin, unless—
My hand curls around the phone. I breathe out shakily. I scoot backward, still eyeing the roach as I scroll for Jack’s number.
He picks up on the first ring.
Chapter 22
A Sharp Knife
Jack
I glare at the ruined attempt at puff-pastry dough littering the table in Fable’s kitchen. Baking is not my strong suit—which I will fully admit to any day of the week—but I understand the technique, so my attempt shouldn’t be so piss-poor. Food is art, but baking is science, or so the saying goes.
This isn’t salvageable. I toss everything into the trash, shaking my head. This is a waste of time, anyway. The restaurant won’t have pop tarts on the menu. Part of me just liked the idea of taking Poppy’s food memory and recreating it, that’s all. If I manage to get it right, she’ll give me one of those surprised little smiles that—god help me—I like collecting.
I grimace at the thought. Our trip to Horseshoe was more fun than it had any right to be. It was hard to drop her off at the end of the day, and not just because she’s staying in a crap apartment building. Part of me wanted to invite her to the houseboat for dinner. I put the brakes on that thought before it gained steam, but it came into my head all the same.
I wash my hands, then dig in my pocket for my phone. I sneak a look at the video of me fishing that Poppy posted after we got back from the island. The most attractive thing about it is hearing her laughter as she films, but most of the comments are about me.Fantastic. It’s what we need for this to work, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
