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“She did. She told me that he broke you, that she barely recognizes you.”
I wince. I told her that myself, but having her confirm it’s true – it hurts.
He keeps talking. “She asked me to make sure he doesn’t get a chance to keep doing it. Says she intends to get you put back together. Told me you used to be fun, confident, and light up a room with your smile. She wants that for you again. Says you’re beautiful inside and out, loyal, and that you deserve to be ecstatically happy.”
My chest feels tight. “What did you say?” I hate how hoarse my voice sounds. I clear my throat.
“I told her the business I have with Raymond should take care of everything. He shouldn’t bother you again.”
“She shouldn’t have called you.”
He shouldn’t bother me again? Why? Is Killian going to ‘disappear’ Ray?
He shrugs. “She cares. She wants to make sure you’re not being treated badly. She wants to make sure that I’m a decent guy. I am, by the way.” He smiles over his shoulder and he opens the door to the pantry, tacking on, “Mostly.”
I try to hide my reaction with a snicker as I follow him through a galley-style butler’s kitchen with another fridge, stove, and counters along each side with a double sink.
I guess this is the prep kitchen and the other one is more for show. I’m astounded; it’d be great for dinner parties where you hired a caterer and servers, I guess, but the dinner parties I used to have pre-Ray included my friends mulling around in the kitchen drinking wine or helping while I did the cooking.
Just beyond that, it continues to shelving on either side, stocked with food and kitchen gadgets and then opens up to a modern laundry room. Everything is spotless and well-organized.
“This apartment is a dream,” I say, in wonder.
He looks over his shoulder at me. “Yeah?”
“I wouldn’t change a single thing.”
He smiles and gestures toward the shelf. “Rice. Or pasta. What’s better? Evidently, I have both. Four kinds of rice and three kinds of pasta. Patricia is evidently a doomsday prepper.”
There’s definitely a lot of food here. Enough for a large family to survive a while.
“You’ve got some angel hair pasta here, that’ll work fine in the stir fry. Unless you want rice.”
“Angel hair pasta sounds good. Sure you don’t want wine? I’m having some.”
“Okay, twist my arm.”
***
I’m three quarters through my glass of wine and dinner’s ready. We prepped together, listening to Motown songs on his sound system.
He asked what I wanted to listen to and his face split into a gorgeous smile at my suggestion. This made me feel rather self-conscious. Like I’d just passed a test I didn’t know I was taking.
And then Killian had all the vegetables and a cutting board, and I figured I’d have to give him a bit of guidance, but he started with a red bell pepper and then was chopping it in double-time speed, as if he’s a chef.
I stared, flabbergasted.
“Worked in a pizzeria before I got deep into the bookie business.” He winked.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Choppin’ vegetables? Like ridin’ a bike.”
He’d julienned two peppers in no time flat and then worked on an onion. “Used to take bets from the side door of the pizzeria. Old man Mr. V got pissed, canned me for it. A year later, he’s placin’ fantasy football bets with me.”
I snickered as I put on a pot of water for the pasta and lifted a wok onto the stove. “So I bet you can make a pretty good pizza, then.”
“Best pizza in Portland,” he said with confidence. And I found it incredibly sexy.
I told him, “I’d love to taste it sometime.”
“Then I’ll make it happen. Here, I’ll get the chicken done, too. I’ll chop it all. You just tell me how to spice it up the way you did last time. Sit down and enjoy your wine. And gimme those dimples a few more times, too, will ya? Oh, there they are,” he added, smiling in that boyish way again and then he diced up the zucchini.
I watched, fascinated as he did all the work.
***
By the time the stir fry is done, I feel quite a glow. A glow from the wine mostly. My cheeks are warm and a little sore from all the smiling. He’s been chatty and playful while he cooked dinner, and then as we begin to set the table, he pours me my fourth glass of wine.
“Tell me about your job, Violet. You like it?” He pours himself a glass, too.
“I’m a buyer for an information technology company. Yeah, I like it a lot, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. And I might be getting a promotion soon. They just gave me a raise out of the blue. And a bonus for doing a good job lately. It couldn’t have come at a better time. I needed the lift with all the… Ray stuff.”
