Page 18 of First Date: Divorce
He pulled out eggs, bagels, butter, and other ingredients, setting to work with confidence.
“Is this what’s known as a chef’s kitchen?”she asked.
“No idea.Pauline was in charge of what had to be in this kitchen.I think hers downstairs is considered even better.As long as the kitchen has the necessities for scrambled eggs and toasting bagels, I’m good.The reason I’m so good at scrambled eggs is it’s the only thing I cook.That’s the trick.Don’t spread your skills too thin.”
“Ah.That makes sense.Did you hire out the remodeling?”
“No way.Not all of it anyway.Experts did the plumbing, backstopped me on electrical.But when I moved here, I wanted someplace I could dig into, make my own.”
“Moved from Chicago,” she said.“I’ve heard it’s a great city.”
Almost as if he’d heard her remembered amusement at using a similar line with Cully and Tal, he turned toward her.
But he couldn’t have picked that up in her flat tone.
“It is.”
Then why leave?He’d divorced, sure but lots of divorced people stayed in the same city, especially one as large as Chicago.Why come to Wyoming?
“Fresh start,” he said, as if he’d heard her question.He handed her a plate of toasted bagels, the butter dish, and a kitchen knife.She started buttering.“Loved the city.Didn’t like the high-rise.Or…”
“Or?”The question came as a reflex.No need to push this.His real divorce did not factor into their fictional history, except for any bits and pieces they chose to keep for the reality Tal and Cully touted.
If he sidestepped, she’d drop—
“The homelife.Or lack thereof,” he said.
She blinked, surprised at his openness.
“The condo wasn’t my style.It was what Hilary wanted.”
Although his ex and their marriage weren’t a direct part of their cover story, knowing about it could add to her understanding of him, which should help their role-playing.
Whether K.D.would have asked about it became moot in the next breath, when Pauline arrived.
“Give me your questionnaires.I’ll copy them, and we’ll get started.And don’t drink too much coffee, Eric.”
“Good morning to you, too, Pauline,” he said with a glint in his eyes, dishing up eggs, including a third plate for her.
“You don’t have time for a good morning,” his redoubtable assistant replied.“You’ll run out of time before you know it and regret not using every minute.Eat those eggs fast.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Pauline certainly wasted no time.
Not in eating her eggs and not in putting them to work.
“Let’s go over that again.You need to have this perfect.”
Eric groaned.K.D.stifled an urge to echo him, then because Pauline was correct, she recited, “Eric Joshua Larkin, no food allergies, sleeps on the left side of the bed, mint floss, Merlot not Riesling, football to watch, tennis, racquetball, softball to play, classic rock, country, classical — is there any music you don’t like?”
“Not fond of elevator music.”
“No elevator music.Fruit but not fruit salad.Tomato juice, not orange juice.Believes he makes the best scrambled eggs ever.”
“I do.”
“They really are good.”She held up a hand as if he’d been the one to wander off topic.“Son of James and Serena Larkin, who now live in New Mexico.Close with his sister Mariana, although she lives in Virginia.Mariana and her husband, Dan, have two kids, Seth, 4 and Emma, 8.Loves being an uncle—”
