Page 50 of Soul Sucker

“I know. Sometimes I have to remind myself of that.” His stomach growled again and she looked at him.

“I suppose you’re hungry.”

“I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

“I have chicken nuggets in the freezer.”

He shuddered. “I don’t eat chicken.”

“Why not? I thought everyone in the entire world ate chicken nuggets.”

“I don’t eat any kind of bird.”

“So none of my mom’s famous turkey meatloaf either.” She took a swallow of beer. “There’s a pizza place that does take-out. I have them on speed dial.”

“If we have to go out to pick up the pizza, we could eat out instead. My treat,” Vadim said.

Ella looked away. “I’d rather not. I don’t feel like pretending everything is fine.”

“Of course not. That was stupid of me.” He considered her averted face. “I could cook us something.”

“You cook?”

“I’m no expert, but I like to dabble. Is there a supermarket around here?”

“Yes, it’s about a five minute drive.”

He rose from the couch. “Then I’ll get going. There is no need for both of us to come. Is there anything you don’t like?”

“I’ll eat anything you put in front of me.” She stared up at him and he noticed the tired circles under her eyes and the sheen of tears. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“You’re putting up with me for a whole night. It’s the least I can do.”

She pouted. “I was wondering when you’d get around to asking if you could stay over. But I suppose the food will help.”

“Good, then give me directions to the store and I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

* * *

Ella saton one of the stools at the countertop and watched as Vadim sliced up peppers and onions into neat strips. His knife moved in a blur of speed diagonally, then reversed the motion.

“You’re good at this.”

“I enjoy it.” He didn’t look up as he transferred the diced vegetables to a frying pan and tossed them in the already melted butter.

“You’re very precise.”

His back was still turned to her as he shrugged. “The food cooks more evenly if you slice it like that.”

But he was meticulous about everything, the position of the bowls, knives and pans, the filleting of the fish that was now under the broiler. Ella licked her lips as the tantalizing smell of garlic and parsley infused the small kitchen. Having grown up eating institutionalized meals, she’d never had the opportunity to sit and watch her mother cook like this. For some reason, it was comforting.

“Do you want some wine yet?” she asked. He’d opened the bottle to pour over the fish and then put it straight back into the refrigerator.

“I’ll wait until we eat.” He expertly tossed the frying vegetables and stirred the pot of linguine. “It’s almost ready.”

“Shall I put out some plates?”

“They are already warming in the bottom of the oven.”

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