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“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” She closes the notebook and shoves it into the middle desk drawer.
“What’s your play?”
She crosses her arms. “My play?”
“Yeah. You’ve been entirely too agreeable about all of this. You’re asking about hidden spots in the house. My great grandfather’s name is in your notebook. You’ve been relentlessly flirting with me. You’re obviously confused about the history of this house. I’ve seen you naked, which makes me think we might have sex. But now I think we might be related, so my mind is thoroughly fucked at the moment.” My thoughts don’t come out in order. I must have hit the shuffle button on my brain before I spoke.
Filter off.
Play shuffle.
Serena scoffs. “We’re not having sex, Henry.” She blushes and averts her gaze when she says it. “Your family has spent generations memorializing a house and the man who built it when it’s all been nothing but a glimpse of a tragic love story.” Her dark eyes meet mine again, but the blush remains. “Why do you think it’s called the Afina house?”
I blink several times. My dick has entered the conversation making it hard (pun a little intended) for me to focus on anything but her pink cheeks and the way she keeps wetting her lips. “The house is blue. Afina is blue in Romanian.”
“Albastru is blue.”
“How do you know?”
She rolls her eyes. “I have family from Romania.”
“So you’re asking me to believe that this house was named after your great grandmother who was not my great grandmother?”
“I’m not asking you to believe anything. I’m just stating facts.”
“Henry? Can you help me with dinner?” Mom calls from the main level.
“Yeah. Just a sec.” My lips twist, eyes narrowed at Serena.
“You can’t look at me like that. That’s not how a boyfriend looks at his girlfriend.” She winks and blows me a kiss before turning and plopping into her chair. “Shoo …” Her wrist flicks over her shoulder. “I have work to do.”
“If you say anything to my mom about your ridiculous theory—”
“It’s not ridiculous. It’s the truth. But don’t worry, I’m not going to ruin anyone’s Christmas. You’re going to do that all on your own.”
“Because I said you’re my girlfriend?”
She twists, glancing at me over her shoulder. “The house, Henry. She’s going to be crushed that you lost the precious family home.” Her full lips twitch into a tiny grin. “But I’m flattered that you think she’ll be sad when she finds out I’m not your girlfriend.” On a shrug, she returns her attention to the computer. “Iamquite the catch.”
I grunt and head toward the stairs. “I bet you fall asleep during sex. You and your narco … whatever. I’d hardly call that quite the catch.”
SERENA
After careful consideration, I’ve decided I can be Henry’s girlfriend for two weeks if it gets me full access to his mom who probably knows a lot more about his great grandfather than he does. I bet she knows every crook and cranny of this house as well.
“How do you feel about oyster stew?” Martha asks, her hands busily chopping an onion.
“I feel like your son didn’t mention my shellfish allergy.” I smile.
Henry shifts his gaze after retrieving a pot from the hanging rack above the stove. His lips part to speak, but he says nothing.
“Oh dear …” Martha frowns at him.
“However, I’m usually fine with oysters, clams, and scallops.” I wink at Henry whose blank expression morphs into a tiny scowl.
“Thank goodness. This recipe was passed down from Henry’s great grandma Bechtel.”
“So she made it in this very kitchen?” I ask before opening the fridge to see how well he stocked it.
