Page 29 of Midnight Enemy

“We had some Brie delivered with the groceries earlier, and some fresh cranberries, so Julie’s made some cranberry sauce. That would make a nice sandwich.”

“Ooh,” Bella says, “yum.”

“This is Orson,” Scarlett says, resting a hand on my arm. “He’s a friend of mine. He lives nearby, and he’s visiting the commune. I’m betting he’d add chips to his sandwich. Am I right?”

“A sandwich isn’t a sandwich without at least six ingredients,” I reply.

Scarlett rolls her eyes. “I knew it.” The other two chuckle.

The girl looks down at Scarlett’s wet dress and my wet pants and whispers something to her mum.

“Scarlett fell in the Waiora,” I tell them. “And I tried to be the white knight and jumped in to save her, then fell over myself.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Scarlett says. “He was very heroic.” She smiles. “Come on, I’ll take you around the rest of the commune now.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say to Tina and her daughter, and they both wave goodbye as Scarlett and I head downstairs.

“You think I was heroic?” I say as we go outside.

“I was playing to the crowd.”

I snort, and her lips twist. She steers me to the next building, which turns out to be a large communal kitchen and dining hall.

I look briefly inside. “You all eat together?”

She nods. “It’s a major part of being in the commune. We take turns preparing the food and clearing up afterward.”

“Not sure how I’d feel about that,” I say, letting the door close. “I like cooking my own food.”

“You cook?” she asks as we continue on.

“Sometimes. Why are you smiling?”

“I thought you’d have had your own personal French chef bringing you your every whim.”

“I do sometimes,” I admit. “If I’m entertaining. But mostly I cook for myself.”

“Where do you live?”

“In an apartment in the city. And I have a suite at the Midnight Club too. I divide my time between the two.”

“I thought you’d have had a mansion somewhere with tennis courts and swimming pools and a staff of thirty to wait on you hand and foot.”

“I don’t live in Downton Abbey,” I point out.

“I’m going to call you Sir from now on,” she teases.

“Ah, I wouldn’t go down that road,” I advise. “I’m having enough trouble keeping myself restrained as it is.”

She blinks and stares at me, obviously bemused.

“Never mind,” I say, stifling a laugh. “But yeah, I don’t think I’d like to eat communally. What if you fancy something different from the day’s meal?”

“Well, you can prepare your own food, of course. But most people find it easy to just have what everyone else is having—pasta, casserole, whatever.”

“How often do you go to a restaurant?”

“I’ve never been to one.”

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