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James’s eyes widen, amused, as Čedomir holds me by both cheeks and I have no doubt I look like a codfish. “And it’s white pepper. Not black,” I tell him.
I probably shouldn’t have announced that, because his squeeze on my cheeks tightens in his enthusiasm, and now I am most definitely a codfish. I could literally close my lips right now and look like a puckering fish. “White pepper,” Čedomir cries, “but of course! Gentle heat. Floral. A touch of perfection.”
He kisses me on both of my codfish cheeks like I’ve really changed his life.
And as long as we’re in his good graces . . . and as it feels like the right time to come clean . . . “Čedomir?” I say (like a codfish).
“Yes, darling.”
“It was me who added to your beurre manié.”
“I know,” he says, and kisses me on both cheeks again.
And after a long moment of looking off ethereally over the mystery dish that was solved, he abruptly lets go and once again clutches us both by the shoulders. “This was a good night,” he announces. “Bonding.”
I mean, what could James and I do? We were like children clutched by the collars by an old principal. We nod.
“We will feast on this tomorrow. At the farmhouse.”
Chapter 10
The nightmare continues.
“Farmhouse?” James says.
No no no no no.
“Yes, of course, Nana’s Christmas at the farmhouse. You’ll come, surely.” Čedomir’s big, meaty head swivels from James to me, as though this were the obvious answer.
When it becomes apparent to him that I haven’t mentioned Nana’s family gatherings, Čedomir looks at me almost accusingly. As though I had one job if I was going to get this dating thing right and that one job was obviously to bring eligible dates to intimate family gatherings and Oh dear, now this explains why little Chloe is still single at her sad, elderly age of twenty-five, and obviously I will have to step in and do this myself. A chef, a restaurant owner, and a matchmaker. Running the world one hour at a time.
He lets go of my back and faces James fully. Apparently there’s no need to include me in this part of the conversation.
“You must come. You will love it. Big house. At least a hundred people!” he roars. “Good food. Activities. You—a man who buys rounds and good cheer for the house—you will love it.”
I have no doubt that sounds like the opposite of what James would love.
It sounds like the opposite of what most people would love. Crowds of total strangers trying to hug you. Forty-eight hours of being the outsider at a gigantic family reunion. Forced icebreaker games. A revolving door of days of small talk. Nobody in their right mind would say yes.
In fact, what am I even fearing here? There is no way he would say yes. Not even for the game.
Even so, I put in, “Čedomir, the man is here visiting with family. He’s far too busy with them to have time to go up to Nana’s farmhouse for multiple days.”
It’s a convincing argument, really. I’ve given James an out and of course he will take it.
But when I glance over, James has a curious look on his face. A seriousness in his eyes. He’s analyzing me, just like I’m sure he analyzes people and situations in his office job. It’s unnerving, actually. I feel like a locked-up diary being pried open against my will.
I have the urge to demand What?
“You can visit family anytime,” Čedomir continues, like Who cares about this other family? Let’s focus here on ours. “But you can never replace a family reunion at Sylvia’s. They are once-in-a-lifetime opportunities! Tell him, Chloe!”
Well, that’s a stretch.
I mean, the reunions are what you could qualify as “fun,” but let’s not go overboard here. There’s food. And people. In the woods.
Anyway, I know what he’s doing, and it’s not going to work.
I smile at James, if anything to placate my uncle’s twice-removed cousin’s slightly crazy husband. “It’s a nice time. But of course, you are busy”—and we’re never going to see each other again—“and you have your nieces to spend quality time with”—if any of that was real and not just AI to deceive me further—“and of course, it’s through Christmas Eve, which would be a crazy ask—”
