Page 54 of Resting Grump Face
We exit the room into a hallway and walk straight to the kitchen where he has laid out a bunch of vegetables and everything needed to cook dinner.
“Don’t worry,” he mumbles as he begins chopping faster than Gordon Ramsey can spew insults… or chop vegetables, for that matter. “You’re not on the menu today.” His eyes look over to me while his knife keeps cutting spring onions in a quick rolling motion.
I hate that anything he says is so goddamn sexy. He doesn’t even need to try. I just get naturally turned on. It’s like his annoying cockiness is the lube that allows him to slide right into my mind.
“I love your house,” I say after watching him work for a while. “It’s quite something.”
“My grandma designed it.” His answer is brief.
I can’t help but probe a little. “Were you two close?”
“Yes.”
“When did she pass?”
“Two years ago.”
“Hm, mine too.” I take a seat on the stool in front of the kitchen island. “What do you miss most about her?”
Ryker stops working for a moment, readjusts his grip and continues. “Her existence, I suppose. You?”
“Same,” I say, and know exactly what he means. They were people so complex that reducing them to just one trait doesn’t feel right. I steal a piece of bell pepper from the cutting board and start nibbling on it. “Do you have a favorite memory of her?”
Ryker nods slowly. “I do actually.” He turns on the burner and starts heating a pan. “When I was younger and visiting here, I’d play outside all day long and sometimes in the evening, I’d run inside to find Oma in her rocking chair in front of the fireplace reading or knitting something. I’d lay on her lap while the warmth of the fire would lull me to sleep. At some point, she would wake me and tell me it was time for dinner. So she’d put me down, I’d try to run for the kitchen and then I’d immediately stumble and fall down on the fluffy rug on the floor.” Rykerlets his fingers glide through his hair and sighs with the pain of fond memories. “She had tied up my shoestrings because I was running through the house with shoes on. You wouldn’t believe how loud she would crack up. There was nothing she loved more than kids falling and hurting themselves.” Ryker laughs and for a moment I think his eyes are watering, but it’s probably just the onions. “I wasn’t actually hurt, but I remember being so confused when she did that the first time. After the third or fourth time, I caught on and it became like a game between us. I would pretend to be asleep, and then I’d fall onto the rug just to hear her laugh.”
“That’s adorable.” I sigh. “I would have loved to see you face-plant too.”
Ryker’s ensuing laugh instinctually makes me cross my legs. It’s ridiculous, the effect he has on me.
Who gets wet from a fucking laugh?
Someone is charismatic, you chuckle or smile. You don’t fantasize about them screwing your brains out!
“How about you? Got any good stories about your grandma?”
“Lots,” I answer. “I grew up with my grandma, so she was always more like a mother to me, I suppose. She missed out on a lot of things to take care of me. So once I got older and went to college, she used that as an opportunity to have a bit of a wild phase herself. I remember once there was an earthquake here and so, naturally, I called to make sure she was alright. After the second or third ring, a man with a deep voice picked up the phone, so I was like ‘Oh, my god. Is this the firefighters? Is my grandma alright?’ The guy laughed and handed the phone to my granny. Turns out she did experience a bit of an earthquake that day, but not the one I was worried about.”
“Go, granny,” Ryker says with a smile as he flips the food in the pan with a quick flick of the wrist.
“So I already know you had to go to law school to please your father, but who made you go to culinary school?”
“When I grew up, my parents weren’t around a lot. They had to take care of business, as you can imagine. We had a bunch of nannies and cooks and tutors and tennis coaches who’d take care of the three of us, Bruce, Roman and me. I just always thought that was kind of weird. I wasn’t the biggest fan of having people do everything for me, so at some point, I started helping in the kitchen. Our chef taught me everything I know.” Ryker pours a liquid into the pan and sets it on fire, then tosses everything into the air. “I am just doing this to show off, by the way.” He smiles as the flames extinguish slowly. “There is no need to flambé this dish. For all I know, I just made it worse than it could be.”
Half an hour later, I’m pretty sure he was lying because whatever he flambéed tastes phenomenal. I take a second helping and wish I could bath in the sauce.
Having dinner with Ryker Grayson at his home is weird.
It’s weird in that it isn’t.
We talk about our families, we share stories from our past, we laugh and bicker and do all the things normal people, who don’t hate each other, would do. It’s like we have reached a ceasefire for the night.
Of course, with every ceasefire comes the anticipation of the next shot fired. So I’m expecting the worst when I finally ask why he brought me here in the first place. It’s probably something evil. Something I am not expecting. Something very Rykersome.
20
RYKER
Idon’t even know what I am doing anymore.
