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“Good, dinner will be ready in another 10 minutes or so.”
“That comic book is epic, Mom. Do you think Mr. Terry has any more?”
“Oh, I’m sure he does. Did you read it that fast already?”
“No, I made myself slow down so I can savor it.”
“Who is Mr. Terry?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Just a friend,” Juliette answers me quickly. “Can you set the table, Chloe?”
I ignore that niggling feeling in my stomach. I have no idea if she’s seeing someone else. I guess I’d like to think I’d be aware since I’m always around her, but maybe it’s someone from her past. I swallow down the jealousy that’s beginning to rear its ugly head, wondering if it would bother her if I were sleeping with someone else.
You chose this life,I remind myself.
It’s times like this I wish my older brother Zane were still alive. He’d know exactly what to say to get me out of this funk, even if it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Hell, I probably wouldn’t be this way if he were still alive.
“Hey, you okay?” I glance up at Juliette, who’s staring at me. Chloe is humming to herself as she sets the table.
“Yeah, great.” I smile, rubbing my hands together. “Ready to dig into this homemade meal. Been a minute since a woman has cooked for me.”
She gives me a sarcastic look, pointing the knife at me limply. “You just happened to be here while I was cooking. I’m not cookingfor you.”
“Of course.” I lean over and grab the dish towel hanging off the handle of the stove. “I wouldn’t dare suggest that you were doing something nice for a man.” I snap the towel at her ass.
“Ow! You di—” She catches herself, Chloe spinning around to see me doubled over with laughter as Juliette shakes her head.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” she murmurs, rubbing her sore behind.
“How’d you do that? Can you show me?” Chloe walks over to where I’m standing in the kitchen.
“Of course, as long as you don’t get your mom with it.” I laugh. “Okay, so first you grab it by these two far corners, then you twist it around itself like this.” I flick my wrists in circles, the towel winding around itself. “Then you hold it and flick your wrist, like this.” The towel snaps and her eyes light up.
“Let me try.” She takes the towel and repeats the process, satisfied with the snapping sound echoing through the room. “That is awesome.” She walks away from us, snapping the towel over and over. I can’t help myself. I’m feeling something . . . perhaps a sense of what I’m missing, or maybe it’s nostalgia from my own childhood. Zane and I often got in trouble for playing in the kitchen while my mom cooked.
I look up to see Juliette watching me. I try to get a read on her expression, but I can’t figure it out. I have the sudden urge to walk over to her, kiss her passionately, and tell her to give this a chance—to see where it takes us—but I know it’s all a delusion.
“So, are we ready to eat or what?” Chloe asks.
“We’re ready,” Juliette says, pulling the chicken out of the oven.
“Do you have kids?” Chloe asks, staring at me intently.
“Chloe.”Juliette is probably about to tell her that’s not appropriate to ask, but I don’t mind.
“It’s okay,” I say, wiping my mouth with my napkin. “I don’t.”
“Why not? Do you want kids?”
“I guess I just got busy with work and the military . . . next thing you know, I was an old man.” I wink at her and she giggles.
“You’re notthatold. I wish my mom would have more kids so I could have a brother or sister.”
I glance up at Juliette and her eyes grow wide, making me smile.
“And what does your mom say about that?”
“She says it’s not something I want to talk about,” Juliette interrupts us.
