Page 73 of The Secret of the Dashing Detective
“What are you doing here? Why are you out in front of my parents’ house alone?” he asked, his eyes still flitting back and forth from one side to the other as though he still wasn’t prepared to give up on potential danger.
“I-I made something for you,” she said, stepping back away from him, holding her hand out to him. “Come.”
He nodded, his face inscrutable as he followed her through the front door of his parents’ house. Neither Mrs. nor Mr. Archibald was anywhere to be seen, but Juliana’s meal actually smelled half-decent.
“Sit,” she said, pointing to the table, and he did as she said, although she could tell that his body wasn’t entirely ready to relax.
She returned to the kitchen, found the spice that had mercifully survived her encounter, and added it to the soup. She looked at everything before her, and then began plating it for Matthew. If it hadn’t been for the panicked beating of her heart, she thought she actually would have enjoyed herself and the ability to prepare food for the man she loved.
She walked from the kitchen holding their plates, placing one in front of him.
“What would you like to drink?”
He blinked at her, obviously still not understanding what was happening.
“Pardon me?”
“What would you like to drink?”
“Juliana, can we talk—”
“Please,” she said desperately, “do not let him ruin this. We will talk later, I promise. But for now, what would you like to drink?”
“I’ll get it,” he said, and went to the sideboard to pour for himself, bringing them both back a glass of wine. He looked at the table in front of him.
“What is this?”
“You’re the investigator,” she couldn’t help sniping at him. She was beginning to grow rather tired of being the one giving her all, while he continued to make what he considered his own damn sacrifice, but in reality was not her allowing to choose her own destiny. “Why do you not solve the case?”
“It looks like dinner.”
“Yes. I made it for you,” she said.
“Why?”
At that, Juliana had had enough. Between the events of tonight and his unwillingness to accept what she had done, she broke. She pushed away from the table before she had even finished sitting down, placing her fists upon it.
“Why? Because I wanted to show you that I am prepared to learn, to do this for you if it means a life together. That I love you and I don’t care what that means. That I enjoy spending time with your family and would be happy to do so for the rest of our lives. But you, apparently, do not care. What else do I need to do to show you how I feel?”
“Juliana,” he stood and rounded the table. “I know how you feel. I do.”
“If you care so much about how I feel, then you will allow me to make my own decisions.”
He reached out and placed his hands on her arms, his brow furrowed. “I appreciate this more than you know. Truly I do.”
“Do not placate me.”
“I am not.”
“Do you believe it’s any good? I made it all myself.”
She lifted her chin in a challenge to him. He stared at her, meeting her gaze, though knew then he didn’t have faith in her abilities.
He sat down as she knew he would, picking up his fork to stubbornly dig into his food. He stabbed his fork into the potatoes and brought it to his mouth. And she watched his eyes light up.
“This is good,” he said, after he swallowed. She sat back, arms crossed over her chest.
“Surprised?”
