AllFreeNovel
Share Us
They bundled their food treasures into the plastic bag, Hartley carrying the knives, and a gentle camaraderie settled between them. They joked about her inability to boil an egg and shared their favorite foods—hers a greasy cheeseburger, his authentic Chinese dim sum.
She made Monty laugh when she reminded him about his one visit to her family’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. Her parents had thought they were meeting her boyfriend, but hid their shock at meeting her husband.
“You didn’t do yourself any favors by criticizing the food,” she noted as they headed out of the Castle’s kitchen.
“I stand by my opinion,” he said staunchly. “Putting marshmallows, already a hideous concoction, onto sweet potatoes is a horrible tragedy for the potato and a potentially serious error for my stomach, which is why I refused to eat them.”
She recalled his look of horror when her brother had described the dish and laughed so hard she had to slow her walk up the stairs. Monty turned to shine the flashlight on her.
“Nobody got sick from eating them,” she argued, still laughing as she continued walking, his light guiding her.
“That’s because Americans have conditioned their stomachs to accept all kinds of travesties,” he replied. “Like, what was that other thing? The green bean thing. It looked like someone tried to make a salad and changed their mind halfway.”
“A casserole. Green bean casserole,” she reminded him. “Those are traditional dishes.”
“What tradition? From this personal chef your mother hired?”
“No, my mother always set the menu,” she replied. She thought for a moment. “I guess from magazines and things.” The image of her mother readingMartha Stewartpopped into her mind, along with the memory of her mom arguing with the chef about what made the perfect holiday meal. That was depressing. What traditions could she pass on to her children? Aside from how to catch a killer at the family sex club?Which you’re also failing at,she thought to herself as they reached the top of the stairs.
“Wait,” Monty whispered, putting out his hand to stop her. He shone his light at the bottom of the door, and she peered around him. He crouched for a closer look, and she leaned over, his cologne rising and taking her thoughts with it. She should’ve been worried about someone tampering with their room, but all she could think of was the fact that they’d be alone. Together. Locked away from the world.
He tugged on the strand of hair that still hung in its original position. “All clear,” he murmured and opened the door. He waited for her to precede him into the room, then closed and locked the door. He dragged a chair over to prop under the doorknob.
“Yikes, locked in a room together,” she teased, turning on a bedside lamp. “It’s funny how you’re easier to be around now that we’re divorced.”
“Almost divorced, but I know what you mean.” He walked over to the window and looked outside. “Let’s not keep the light on too long.”
“Just long enough to prepare dinner,” she agreed, sitting on the edge of the bed and setting the knives down. “Let’s get this feast going, master chef.”
He smiled, and the expression disturbed a flock of butterflies she didn’t know had nested in her stomach. It was such a light-hearted look, and one she hadn’t seen in a very long time.
“Master chef indeed,” he agreed. He set the plastic bag on the bed, holding the edges closed with a mysterious grin. “Behold!”
She lay down on the bed, smiling as he made a show of reaching into the bag.
“First, the cheese,” he declared, raising the chunk of parmesan high before placing it ceremoniously on the bed. He followed this with a flamboyant spin of the cured salami, brandishing it like a trophy. He introduced each jar of pickles and olives with a bow, a royal presentation for their simple feast.
“Last but not least, if milady could oblige with a drumroll,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. She obediently drummed her hands on her leg as he revealed the bottle of white wine. “Voilá!”
“Why didn’t I know you were this funny?” she asked, taking the block of cheese and the cheese knife while he peeled the wrapping off the salami.
“Because only now are you able to see my genius,” he said with a smile. “Why haven’t I heard you laugh like that before?” He shrugged as he used the chef’s knife to saw off a chunk of meat. “I think we spent our marriage focused on other things.”
Hartley wielded her newfound ally, the crazy cheese knife, cutting through the thick plastic before sawing off misshapen slivers of the aged parmesan. “Like sex, you mean,” she said, watching the stack of salami become a tall pile on the bag they were using as a table. She placed her butchered cheese slices beside his evenly thick salami ones.
“That and I probably brought business problems home too often,” he confessed, setting down his knife. He grabbed the jars, opening them one at a time, then looking around for a place to put them.
“Maybe we can put some olives and pickles in the lids and set the jars on the bedside table?” she suggested.
He filled the lids, then passed her the jars.
“Okay to turn off the light now?” She held up the slim flashlight.
“Yup.”
She clicked the button, and they waited as the evening sky filled the room with enough light to see their surroundings.
“This looks pretty good.” He popped an olive in his mouth and lifted one to hers. “Open wide.”
