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Declan waits until I’ve taken the first bite, then he picks up his fork and tastes the snapper.
For some reason, I’m nervous. Cooking is such an intimate thing. I’d like to tell myself it isn’t, but it is. I really shouldn’t have invited him to stay, but he jumped in the water after me, he swam to shore with me, he…
“I still think you’re awful,” I say.
“This is really good,” he says at the same time.
I purse my lips together and try not to react to his censorious look.
“Thank you. It’s my grandma’s recipes.”
“Ah,” he says.
We both start eating again. The snapper is flaky, the coconut shrimp has the perfect crunch, and the Johnny cakes are warm and chewy. I’m so hungry from the long swim that I stop thinking about Declan and just eat and eat until my plate is clean.
When I finish, I lick my fork one last time then look up. Declan’s watching me. He’s leaning back in his chair and his eyes are hooded. It looks like he finished eating a while ago.
“Had enough?” I ask, trying to cover my embarrassment at being completely and totally consumed by my meal.
He considers my question, and for some reason my mind fills with thoughts of what “had enough” could refer to. An image of us on the beach, Declan on top of me saying, “do I look like I’ve had enough?” flickers through my mind. I cough and start wheezing. Declan starts to stand but I wave him back and hit my chest.
“Fish bone,” I say. “I’m fine.” My voice is scratchy. I grab my glass of water and take a long gulp.
“Alright?”
“Fine,” I say again. “Fine.”
Then I stand up and clear the dishes. Declan brings the salad bowls to the sink. I can feel the heat of him behind me. I turn, and since my body is doing things that I don’t like, I decide to remind myself of why Declan isn’t right for me at all.
“Michael told me you and his dad were partners,” I say.
He stiffens, and the warmth is sucked out of the room and replaced by the cold coming off Declan. By the look on his face this isn’t a topic that he wants to discuss.
Oh well.
We don’t always get what we want.
I don’t want to be feeling like he and I are about to have a banana and coconut party in my pants.
“Why did you take his pension? How could you screw him over like that?” Bluntness, that’s one of my most endearing qualities.
If possible, Declan’s face becomes even more glacial. “Pardon?”
I’m no dummy, I can tell that his “pardon” is the polite way of saying “mind your own business.”
But I can’t. I don’t understand how Declan can seem decent one second and then like the most awful jerk the next.
“You shouldn’t take old people’s pensions. It’s despicable.”
Declan’s jaw tightens, which makes me notice how nice his jaw is, which really, really irritates me.
“We entered a partnership,” he says stiffly. He drops the dishes into the sink and they clatter around.
“Partners don’t ruin each other’s lives,” I say.
“I agree.”
He steps back and stares at me. I shiver at the coldness on his face. It reminds me of the look he had at the gala.
“So, you’re saying you made a mistake?”
“I made a terrible mistake.”
“Oh.” My righteous anger sort of fizzles out. “Then you should let him know.” Or, at least, let Michael know.
I move past him and collect the rest of the dirty dishes and carry them to the sink. Then I remember something else.
“And on top of that, you should stop interfering in other people’s relationships.”
His forehead wrinkles. “Why would I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A thousand reasons. The first one being that it’s horrible, second it’s rude, third—”
I walk past him, but cut off when he reaches out and loosely grabs my hand. I stop, stunned at the intimate contact, and turn back around and look up at him. His hand is hot. His fingers squeeze mine, but he’s holding me so loosely that I can pull away if I want.
“Third?” he says.
I blink at him. My mind feels as cloudy as the ocean on a turbid day. I can’t remember what I was going to say. I lick my lips and try to breathe out the tightness in my chest.
“Just…stop…”
He lifts his eyebrows in question.
His hand clasping mine is doing funny things to my insides.
“Leave Percy and Arya be,” I finish lamely.
He gives me a confused look. “Were we talking about Percy and Arya?”
I decide that we were. “Yes. Leave true love alone.”
He raises his eyebrows and lets go of my hand. “Anything else?”
I clench my hand into a fist and try to make it forget the feel of his hand grasping mine.
“No,” I say. Then, “Why were you holding my hand?”
For a second he looks uncomfortable. “I was swept away by the boring normalcy of your kitchen.”
I snort. And I think he’s almost, almost about to smile.
“You’re confusing,” I say.
“I’ll do the dishes,” he says at the same time.
