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Chapter Ten
Andi led Hill into her kitchen, and he set the container and bag he’d brought on her counter. The spiced scent of pad thai filled the room, and her stomach growled. “God, I’m starving.”
“Yeah, lunch seems like a long time ago.” Hill pulled out a bottle of good tequila, limes, agave nectar, and something called citrus jalapeño salt, setting it all on her little rollaway kitchen island.
Andi eyed his offerings. “Well, la-di-da, neighbor. Those are fancy fixings. No cheap margarita mix for you?”
His lips hitched up at one corner. “I did a bartending stint at a high-end Mexican restaurant before I became a firefighter. Once I had this kind of margarita, I couldn’t go back to the other stuff. I hope you’re okay with on the rocks.”
“Hey, that’s where my writing is right now, so it’s fitting,” she said with chagrin.
His gaze flicked up to her as he arranged his ingredients. “That bad, huh?”
“Hasn’t been great.” She grabbed glasses and a measuring jigger and set them in front of him. Then she took out some dishes to plate the pad thai. “The word factory is very unreliable. You put in an order and have no idea if and when those words are going to show up and if they’re going to be any good or not. Yet you have to keep showing up at your doorstep every day, hoping for their arrival.”
He opened the bottle of tequila and poured some into the jigger. “What’s your current story about?”
“Slasher genre, meaning some type of crazed killer. Summer-camp setting à laFriday the 13th. I’m trying to take the cliché of that and twist it into something new, but I haven’t found the right direction yet. Honestly, I don’t even know if it’s the right concept to start with.” She watched him measure out the alcohol. “I’m hoping our movie watching will fill the creative tank with some fresh inspiration.”
“Are we watching a summer-camp slasher?” He lifted a lime. “Knife?”
She stepped around him, opened a drawer, and handed him a paring knife. She had the brief thought that this could be the opening to a horror scene. She frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Hill asked, ever observant, as he took the knife and sliced into a lime.
“Huh?”
He drew a circle in the air around her face with his finger. “You look concerned.”
She blinked and waved a dismissive hand. “Sorry. My mind goes to weird places sometimes. Don’t mind me. No, we’re not watching a summer-camp movie, but we are watching a foundational slasher classic.Halloween.”
He eyed her as he adeptly made their drinks, his hands moving in a dance he’d clearly done many times before. “Tell me where your mind went. I’m curious.”
She shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”
“Now Ireallywant to know,” he said with a little laugh. “Come on. Lay it on me.”
She sighed and leaned back against the counter. “You know, I had trouble imagining you as a bartender because you’re kind of quiet, but now I see it. Bartenders get people’s stories without them realizing it by being friendly yet chill enough to coax it out of them.”
He smirked. “Easier to get people’s stories as a bartender. Alcohol makes for a loose-lipped interviewee.” He rubbed the lime around the rim of the glass. “Should I wait until you’ve had a drink before asking again?”
She sniffed. “No, it’s fine. You want a peek inside my brain? Well, here you go. I handed you the knife, and I had this vision of a horror scene. Guy is making a girl’s drink, asks for a knife, and when she turns her back, he slips something into her drink. She then turns and hands him the weapon he’s going to torture her with later when she’s too drugged to fight back. Then I got the image of a margarita glass rimmed with blood instead of salt, the villain drinking from it with a smile on his face.”
Hill had stopped mixing the drinks and was staring. “Wow.”
“Yep,” she replied, emphasizing thepat the end of the word. “I can pretty much turn anything into something sinister. It’s like my personal Instagram filter—one I can’t always turn off. Aren’t you sorry you asked?”
“No. I find it fascinating,” he said, no jest in his voice. “I’m sure that kind of brain helps you write great books. But I also could see how it’d be a hard thing in other situations.” He set down the knife, concern in his eyes. “Are you worried I’m going to do something to your drink?”
“Logically, no.” She shrugged. “But also, I didn’t turn my back while you poured. I made sure the tequila bottle had a seal on it when you opened it. Not because I’m suspicious of you personally but because I’ve done theWhat Can We Learn from This?podcast long enough that those habits are ingrained.”
He nodded. “Smart. I’m sorry that we live in a world where you have to worry about things like that.”
The words were simple but helped something unwind inside her. “Thanks.”
“And truly, I won’t be offended by any safety precautions you take, even if it means being suspicious of me,” he said, going back to the drinks. “I know women have a lot more to worry about than guys even consider.” He looked over at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re safe with me, but feel free to test me on that.”
She smiled, the offer warming her from the inside out. “How do you knowyou’resafewith me? I’m the one picturing blood-rimmed margarita glasses.”
