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“Seriously?”
“Not familiar with home remedies, I see. We’re about to change all that.”
“With cayenne pepper? Don’t bet on it.”
“Then I probably shouldn’t bet on this, either, huh?” He pulled out a small bottle of liquor along with a bottle of maple syrup.
“Now you’ve totally lost me.”
“Never heard of a hot toddy?”
“Yes.”
“Ever had one?”
“No.”
“I’ll make you one. It will help you feel better.”
“Being as I’m not much of a drinker, I’ll probably feel worse.”
“You won’t even taste the liquor. I promise you.” He adopted a Southern accent. “It’s good for what ails you.”
“Ha! Don’t even try it. Cowboy boots and your love of fishing aside, I don’t think there’s a country bone in your body.”
“You’d be wrong.” He pulled out the rest of what he’d brought over, including over-the-counter medical aids for cold and flu, then folded the paper bag and sat on the bar stool at the counter separating the kitchen and living space. “On summers, when we visited the grandparents in New Orleans, my grandfather would have us doing all sorts of things that would get us thrown out of the cool club with our friends back here. He made sure we could shoot, fish, ride horses…”
“And make hot toddies?”
“No, that comes courtesy of the family patriarch, Papa Dee.”
“Another grandfather?”
“He’s my great-grandfather. Still alive and happily kicking at one hundred and one.”
“Wow! That’s amazing.”
“It really is. We had a scare on his one hundredth birthday. The Southern Cal cousins threw him a big party. We all were there along with about a hundred others. I think he got overly excited. Thankfully there was a doctor among us. He’s fully recovered.”
“Thank goodness.”
“No doubt. That doctor, she—”
He was interrupted by Monique’s rumbling stomach, evidence that she’d done nothing but drink tea all morning.
“Someone’s hungry.”
“Thanks to smelling that soup, I might finally have an appetite.” She walked over to the cabinet and pulled down a bowl. “Want some?” she asked over her shoulder.
“No, I’ve already eaten, thank you. That’s all yours.”
“What about something to drink?”
“Orange juice sounds good.”
While pouring his orange juice and then heating the soup, Monique couldn’t help but think about Rob’s recent visit and how much different it felt to have Niko here. There was no tension, at least none of the negative kind. Conversation flowed, and it felt, well, comfortable. As though his being in her home was the most natural thing in the world.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” Monique asked, as she prepared to join him at the counter.
He looked at her pointedly. “Not right now.”
Instead of responding, Monique set down the bowl before walking over to a box of tissues on a living-room table. She took one out, blew her nose and returned to the counter, immediately digging into the steaming bowl of soup. “This is delicious,” she said after several spoonfuls.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He stood and looked around the room. “I like your place.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey, how’s Devante, and what is he doing for work with the school burned down?”
“He went back to L.A.”
“He can move around like that?”
“He wasn’t supposed to. He got mad and left.”
“Why?”
“They questioned him about the fire.”
“According to Lawrence, they questioned several people.”
“Not the same as him.” She recounted what had happened. “I think someone genuinely believed he did it. I hate that he went back to the city. So many temptations. I hope he’ll be all right.”
She finished the bowl and turned it up to drain the broth. He smiled and walked over for his juice. She slid off the stool, placed the bowl in the sink, poured a glass of water and walked into the living room. He followed. She sat on the couch and pulled the afghan over her, feeling cold even though she was dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans. Niko sat on the love seat nearby.
