Page 64 of Van Cort
“That does not look like the meal I diligently helped to prepare.”
My eyes snap up to Everett leaning on the door jamb of the kitchen. “No, it’s not. I improvised as the rest of the dinner is now roasted to your lovely cookware. A picnic in front of the fire will have to do.” He raises a brow at me as if questioning my decision. I point my knife. “You were the one who distracted us in the music room. You should just be grateful I was able to do anything with this. I hope you like your meat well done.” I lift the plate up to him. “Wine? Although I’m not sure where your glass got to.”
He steps around me to take another glass from the cabinet and pours himself a glass from the open bottle on the side.
“Wine and sandwiches,” he states. “Can’t say that’s one I’ve had before in this place.”
“Come on.” I scoff, leading the way back out and into the living room. The fire’s in need of attention, so I encourage it with the metal poker in the ornate rack, adding two more logs from the pile, and sit back on the puffed sofa to admire my handiwork.
“If you’d asked me a couple of days ago if this is what I’d be doing over the weekend, I’d never have guessed,” I muse.
Everett takes a seat next to me and throws one of his arms over the back of the seat before crossing his leg at the knee, content to watch me, apparently. The food forgotten for now.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice a little softer, wondering if he’ll share.
“Yes.”
“Can I ask you another question?”
“You can always ask. It’s whether I’ll answer or not that’s the fun bit.” He looks over and grins at me.
“Fun or frustrating, maybe. You said you wanted to talk. Did you mean that?” I hold my breath waiting for what answer I’ll get. I’m giving him an out but hoping he won’t take it.
“I did. This place has a certain… effect on me.”
“Then why did you bring me here? And I know what we said about compatibility, but we could have done that anywhere.”
He takes a breath. And for a moment, I don’t think he’s going to answer. “You asked if I had good memories here? If I was happy?”
“Yes.”
“There were times that were good. Happy memories. But they were only a small part of my childhood here.”
The confession has my heart squeezing in my chest.
“I’m so sorry. My childhood might have been less, compared to all of this, but I have nothing but fond memories.”
“You’re lucky, then. Doesn’t explain everything about you, though.”
“What do you mean?” My brows furrow a little, and I turn to take the plate and pick up the sandwich, hunger winning out.
“So many of our behaviours and attachments, how we even view the world, are formed in childhood. Experiences when we are little ripple out and influence everything in our adult life.” His words are careful, almost testing, as if he’s coaxing me to say something when I thought this was about him telling me about his life here.
“Are you asking me a question or explaining something to me?”
“Both.”
“What happened to open and honest communication? Or does that only apply to when you’re instructing me to fuck you with my mouth or touch myself for your pleasure?” I challenge.
But all it does is cause him to grin a wicked smile at me.
“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t just for my pleasure, darlin’,”I hold his gaze, refusing to melt at the name. “Have I told you how much it turns me on when you turn a little feisty?”
“Stop flirting.” Don’t crack. Don’t crack.
“You make it too easy, Andie.” Another smile.
I shake my head in frustration, my appetite gone. It wasn’t that good, anyway. Standing, I take my plate, fetch his and head back to the kitchen.
