Page 66 of The Season
This last bit is said so softly, I barely hear it over the rustle of paper bags. The second her words register, my chest constricts almost painfully, a rush of warmth coursing through me that has me wanting to take her up in my arms, hold her close to me, press my face against her hair.
“Oh, hon,” I drop the cans of tomato on the counter with a thud and spin to face her. She’s so damn cute, with her wet hair tucked behind her ears, wearing that little top, and there’s a soft, almost shy smile curving her lips. “Shit, Lil. You can’t just say stuff like that.”
I close the distance between us, wrapping my arms around her, squeezing her tight enough that she gives an undignified squawk, her arms pinned to her sides beneath my embrace.
“Why not?” she asks, her voice muffled against my chest.
I chuckle. “Because. It makes me want to keep you.” I say it like a joke, but the truth of that statement sends a pang of longing through me.
Idowant to keep her. I’ve wanted to keep her ever since that first night she curled up between me and Antoine. Maybe before that.
I release my hold on her and she huffs out a laugh, shaking her head and giving me the first real smile I’ve seen from her in days. “What are we making, chef?”
“Spaghetti bolognaise.” I turn back to sorting through the bags, pulling out the ingredients. A simple dish that will feed six hungry people. Seven, if Tom comes back tonight. “You could start by chopping the onions,” I say, handing her a bag of onions. “One should be enough, actually.”
One thing I’m good at is making ingredients last. That, and bringing people together. Smoothing over differences.
A people pleaser.
That was what the last girl I dated had called me. She hadn’t meant it as a compliment—but she also hadn’t understood why my people-pleasing tendencies wouldn’t extend to giving her what she wanted.
It’s not like you can’t get it up,she’d said.You like watching porn, what’s the difference?
“Pleure pas, ma puce.” Antoine’s voice jolts me from those less-than-pleasant memories, and I turn with a smile to see him bending over Lily, amusement and concern written on his features.
“It’s the onions!” Lily sniffles, waving one hand—the one not holding the knife, thankfully—turning to wipe her tear-stained cheek with her shoulder.
Antoine chuckles, then reaches across to swipe at her eyes with the pad of his thumb. Lily’s cheeks flush in response, and she bites her lower lip before staring down at the pile of chopped onions.
“That should be good,” I tell her. “Any more and it’ll be onion paste.”
“Anything I can do?” Antoine asks.
I shoot him a grateful smile, but shake my head. It’s a pretty easy dish—I could probably make it alone, to be honest. But it’s also nice having the three of us together in the kitchen. “Actually, there’s a bottle of wine hidden behind my cereal on the shelf above the fridge.”
I’d bought it a few days ago, when Antoine had been complaining about everyone drinking beer and bourbon. The guy at the liquor store assured me it was good for the price. Which means it might almost be drinkable.
“Oh,mon dieu, I think I love you,” Antoine exclaims when he finds the bottle. A wide smile lights up his face, making his eyes turn up playfully at the corners. “Thank you.”
I think I love you.
I look down at the saucepan to hide how much those words affect me. “No biggie,” I tell him. “Help yourself, and pour me a glass too, please.”
Before long, the sauce is simmering, the water heating, a loaf of garlic bread is in the oven and the three of us are seated around the table, sipping the decidedly average California cabernet I bought, and speaking in French.
It’s almost like things were a few days ago, except Lily seems more reserved, less affectionate, and Antoine seems more subdued.
“You’re not still feeling upset about what happened with Eddie?” I ask her, lowering my voice, even though we’re the only ones in the kitchen, and no one besides the three of us speaks French.
Lily’s face flames red and she lets out an exasperated sigh before throwing back her head to take a long sip of her wine.“Why are we bringing that up? I thought we were just going to forget about it, pretend it never happened?”she whines.
“So, yes then?”I pry, relentless.
I know I’m being nosy, possibly overstepping the bounds of our newly forged… friendship. But sometimes you have to push people into uncomfortable conversations for their own good.
Lily presses her face into the palms of her hands, her elbows on the table, and groans. Beside her, Antoine chuckles, but it’s hollow sounding, his smile brittle.
“And Matty?” I say. “It sounded like he’s pretty interested in you.”
