Page 48 of Small Town Firsts
“Problem sharing food?”
“No.” To prove her point, she cut into the eggs and stabbed a fluffy bit oozing with cheese. “It’s not that, just…” she trailed off as she sampled a bite. “Oh, wow.”
I waggled my eyebrows. “I know.” I cut off a hunk and speared a tomato with it. “Mom made sure all of us could cook. I found out I liked it.” I hummed a little as I chewed. “Got any wine?”
She moved to get up, but I waved her back. “Where?”
“I hide it from myself in the fridge.”
I looked over my shoulder with a raised brow. “Why?”
“Because I usually only get two sips into me before I pass out, then I just waste it.”
“Well, no wasting it tonight. I’ll finish it off if you pass out.”
“Gee, thanks.”
I laughed and found the bottle of local Riesling in the deli crisper, behind a package of shredded taco cheese and pepperoni that I’d missed on the first perusal. I grabbed that and the wine.
She was quiet as I opened the bottle and finally found glasses in the fourth cupboard I’d opened. I could tell she was barely holding her tongue. I also had a feeling I screwed up her very carefully organized space, but she was too polite to tell me.
Or too tired.
That was probably the actual answer. She had no problem bossing me around any other time. I finally found a few aluminum stemless cups with Wine Down and Wine Time scrawled over the glittery sides with ridiculous sippy cup tops. Itossed the tops back into the cupboard and poured the wine into both. At least they’d keep the wine cool.
By the time I cut up the pepperoni and brought everything over she was more than half way through the frittata.
I set the bowl and cups on the table.
“It’s really good.”
“I’ll let my sister know you like her recipe.”
“You have two, right?”
I nodded. “And two brothers. You?”
She looked down at the plate and chased a tomato that tried to roll across the plate. She finally stabbed it with a bit more force than needed.
“That good, huh? Family can be hard.”
“Sounds like you love yours.”
And she didn’t? The idea of it filled in some gaps. She didn’t really have a lot of photos in her place—it seemed as if greenery had replaced any bit of familial space on the walls. Not that it told the tale for everyone. Some people weren’t big on keepsakes and photos, but the few I noticed were of the Mannings, especially her and Beckett mugging for the camera.
“My family is noisy and chaotic, but yeah.” I snagged a piece of pepperoni. “What about you?” I prompted again.
She lifted her shoulder. “Sister and mother.” She lifted her wine and took two long gulps.
Must be really good on that front. I laid my hand on hers until she gentled the grip on her fork. “You don’t need to talk about them.”
She sighed. “It’s fine. You’ll probably hear about it sooner or later.” She drained the glass and stood. There wasn’t much ground to cover in the small space. “Want more? I definitely want more before I tell you about Kaylee.”
“Hey.” I caught her wrist and dragged her back.
She curled her fingers into a fist, the tension pinging off her like a live wire. Her hair fell forward, and that intoxicating blend of clean and moonflower drifted my way. A fat, still damp curl hid half her face, but one burnished gold eye peeked out and was flecked with angry amber.
“It’s okay. You don’t need to talk about them—her—if you don’t want to.”
