Page 17 of Tangled
Scarlett started to shake her head, then stopped. “For some reason, Gracie had gone to a lawyer in her neighborhood—you know, the kind of lawyer who was probably shocked to do something as mundane as the will Gracie asked him to draw up? Anyway, she left everything to me. I donated her clothes and those sorts of things, but I have her phone and all her notebooks and diaries. I’ve gone through everything, of course, and didn’t find anything, but I’m not that savvy. From what Kara has said about her sister, maybe Sabina could? You’re welcome to it all.”
Ryan glanced at Mari. “Do you have a copy of the will, too?” she asked. “She might have said something to the lawyer that would explain her change in behavior.”
“I doubt it. Gracie was tight-lipped. Even with me, and we’d known each other for nearly our entire lives. But you’ll find the will in one of the two boxes of her stuff. Both are under my bed.”
Scarlett started to rise to grab her purse and keys, but Brad tugged her back down. “I’ll get it,” he said.
Five minutes later, Ryan and Mari were gone, and she was eyeing the crackers, debating whether to try one.
“What about some chicken noodle soup?” Brad asked, then cringed. “I should ask if you even eat meat,” he added with a rueful smile. “Kind of weird that we’re having a baby together and I don’t know what you like to eat or if you have any allergies or anything like that.”
It was, she agreed. She had the benefit of having heard from Kara over the past few years about the Warwick family. Andwhile she might not know things like Brad’s favorite food or what kind of movies he liked, she at least knew he was a man of integrity.
He didn’t have such a luxury.
Sure, as Kara’s best friend, that meant something. But she doubted Brad had heard as much from Kara about her as she’d heard about the Warwicks.
She smiled, grateful for his efforts to ease the awkward reality they both found themselves in. “For the record, I eat everything,” she said. “I grew up too poor to be picky. And when I started working, well, some of the places we traveled to, the places we worked in, we were simply lucky to have food. Any food. Chicken soup sounds good.” She paused, then smiled again. “And I mean that. I think I’m hungry for the first time in weeks.”
Brad didn’t hesitate. Picking up his phone, he called down to the lodge kitchen and ordered two soups, two helpings of mashed potatoes, and two slices of apple pie with ice cream. When he hung up, he flashed her a sheepish smile. “I did a little reading while you were asleep and while every woman is different, the articles said that bland things, like potatoes, were often tolerated. Now the lodge’s mashed potatoes aren’t exactly bland, but I figured it’s worth a try. If you don’t like them, I’ll eat them later.”
“Deal,” she said before an uncomfortable silence fell between them. Not a bad silence, but an awkward one.
“This is a little weird, isn’t it?” Brad asked.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, it is.” She hesitated. “Look, I know that night I said that winging it is kind of my MO, and it is. But that doesn’t mean it’s yours. I’m grateful for all this”—she gestured to his apartment—“because I’m smart enough to know that Alexei was likely here for meandthat you and your family are uniquely positioned to help protect both me and the baby.Once we’re both safe, though, I don’t expect you to keep housing me. I can get a job at the hospital here in town and find a place to rent. Kara’s been trying to get me up here for over a year anyway.”
Brad leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on his stomach and his eyes glittering in the soft glow of the lamps. “You want to stay here in Mystery Lake?”
She looked down at the mug she still held and wished it were wine. A wave of nausea instantly followed, making her regret even thinking about it.
“What do you need?” Brad asked, leaning forward.
She grimaced. “A few seconds to breathe through it. And some ice water?” It was below freezing outside, but ice water tended to relieve her nausea a tiny bit.
A minute later, Brad handed her a tall glass. “Thank you,” she replied as he sat back down. After taking a sip, she let the cool liquid settle her stomach, then returned to the conversation. “I only stayed in LA because it has an international airport and it’s all I’ve known. But as I said, Kara is really the closest thing to family that I have. If she’s here and you’re here and I can get a job here, it’s the right thing to do.”
“Your parents?”
She shook her head. “They were caught in the middle of a gang confrontation when I was eighteen. A month before high school graduation. They were both killed.”
He stared at her. “I’m sorry. Were you close?”
She smiled. “In some ways, yes. In others, no. They both emigrated from Ethiopia when they were seventeen with barely a high school level education. They landed in South Central LA and somehow were able to make a place for themselves. Not a big place,they ran a small international foods store and we lived in the apartment above.” An apartment a quarter the size of the one she currently sat in. “We had a lot of the usual issuesthat immigrant parents and first-generation kids have. But even when they didn’t understand me, they loved me. And even when they drove me crazy, I respected them. I respected their bravery and the life they’d built when so much had been stacked against them. So we loved each other and were close in that sense. But I’m not sure we ever really knew each other that well.”
A knock at the door sounded, and Brad swiveled his head around, then looked back at her. “I don’t think we should let it be known you’re here,” he said. She’d been thinking along the same lines and had already started to rise. “Pop into the hall, no one will see you.”
Without a word, she did. Leaning against the wall, she listened as Brad let the delivery man in—one of the perks of living in a hotel, she presumed. Dishes clinked as they were set on the table. A few minutes later, Brad thanked the man and closed the door.
“You still hungry?” he asked.
Despite her recent bout of nausea, the thought of chicken soup had her stomach gurgling, in the good way. Stepping out of the hall, she joined him in the breakfast nook. His apartment was one large rectangle, divided in half, lengthwise, with the bedrooms off a hall on one side and a formal dining room, kitchen with nook, and living room on the other. The dining room had views of the mountain while the living room had views of the lake. It sounded utilitarian, but in truth, it was homey. Decorated in warm colors and materials, with family pictures all over the place, it was hard to believe they were in the middle of a resort.
“Water still good?” he asked. She nodded, and he took a seat. She inhaled the steam rising from the soup and for the first time in a very long time—or what felt like a long time—her mouth watered in anticipation.
She closed her eyes as she took her first spoonful, the salty broth hitting her tongue. “So good,” she said after swallowing.
Brad grinned, and her heart tripped a little. They had far more at stake now than they had the night they’d met. And she’d have to remind herself to be more cautious in how they moved forward. But damn the man was handsome.
