Page 32 of The Holy Grail
The picture was coming into focus a little bit, and the urge to ask a bunch of questions about his ex-wife was very real, but Jules held her tongue; it would probably be better to wait until at least the third date to really dig into that subject. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I didn’t really like the house or anything in it. She liked everything to be really modern, so the house looked like something out ofArchitectural Digest, resembling an office building more than anything, and all the furniture she bought had sharp edges and was really uncomfortable.” He gave a quick shake of his head. “All the artwork was abstract bullshit, resembling paint spills, so I was glad to say goodbye to it all. As you can see—” he motioned around the living room, “—since moving in, I’ve only done the bare minimum in furnishing the place.”
“I noticed.”
He shrugged. “To be honest, I haven’t been motivated to do more.”
“Well, hopefully your kitchen is adequately equipped, because you did promise me dinner.”
As he put his hand to the small of her back and started to turn her toward the kitchen, she gave the movie poster one more glance, and something in her expression prompted him to ask, “Are you laughing at my one piece of ‘artwork’?”
Thankfully, he sounded more amused than offended, and she teasingly bumped his shoulder with her own. “No, I’m admiring it, because I have a framed poster ofThe Godfatherhanging in my place, too—the one with Marlon Brando wearing a tux in his office, on Connie’s wedding day.”
He bumped her back. “Really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel good?”
“I would never,” she insisted. “I actually have several framed movie posters.”
“Oh? Which ones?”
“The Shining, the originalAmityville Horror,Cat on a Hot Tin Roof… because Paul Newman. I also haveBreakfast at Tiffany’sand …Pulp Fiction.”
“That’s pretty diverse.”
“I know. Now let’s see your kitchen, because I’m hungry.”
With a bit of a flourish, he led her into the kitchen, which was to the left of the living room. It was probably the best room in the house, in terms of it being a colorful, inviting, and much-used space. It was equipped with what looked like professional grade appliances (the gas stove was a marvel, with six burners and a separate griddle), and anisland that dominated the space with a beautiful, snowy-white granite countertop inlaid with shiny flecks of silver, gray, sky blue, and black. The cabinets were a distressed, slate gray, and the farmhouse sink was a spectacular, hammered copper piece of art.
There was even a beautiful, rustic kitchen table and chairs.
“Oh, my God. This is … amazing,” Jules said.
“Thanks. It’s actually the reason I bought this house. I spend a lot of time in here.”
“I hardly spend any time in my kitchen.”
“You don’t cook a lot?”
“Not a lot, no.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Is that a deal breaker?”
“Are you one of those people who eats cereal for dinner?”
Jules chuckled. “No, but I do eat a lot of waffles. Nothing beats a waffle sandwich, you know.”
“Are we talking Eggos or real waffles?”
“Real waffles, of course. I do have some standards.”
He tilted his head. “Have you ever had chicken and waffles?”
“No. I’ve always thought that sounded a little weird.”
“It’s not weird, it’s delicious.”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to make it for me sometime.”
“I will.”
She probably should have been a little uncomfortable, given they were both talking about things happening weeks—and maybe even months—in the future between them, but it was oddly reassuring. She’d never experienced anything like it before.
