Page 38 of The Bodyguard
“It might possibly be my one skill,” I said, a little cocky. “Well, that and shoes. And I love doing it.”
“This might be the best freaking cookie I’ve ever had.” He reached for another and handed it to me but I shook my head.
“Oh, no. I don’t eat them. I just bake them and watch other people enjoy them. TV thin. Remember?”
“You don’t eat them?” he asked, his voice a little rough.
“No. Sometimes if I’m messing with a new recipe I have to try a bite…you know, just to make sure I got it right. But once I have it down, then I just bake and enjoy the smells. My kitchen right now smells yum!”
He put the cookie down and turned away from me. I had this sense that he wanted to say something but he stopped himself.
“I got two kinds of white wine. I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
“A glass of that one,” I said pointing to the bottle I recognized. “Just a little splash.”
“Right, because you can’t drink either.”
Was he angry about that?
“Uh, hello, sheriff. I’m driving. I would think you might frown upon that.”
He poured the glass and handed it to me. “You’re two and half miles down a road that is deserted most of the time. I’ll let a half of a glass of wine slip in this case.”
“You’re being awfully grumpy,” I said as I sat on one the stools that butted up to a small kitchen island. His kitchen was about of quarter of the size of the one at The King’s Land, but it oddly felt more comfortable. Homey. “Is it still because I was late or is it because you’re just hungry in general?”
He snorted. “I am behaving a little like an ass, I suppose.”
“Good thing this isn’t a date,” I told him. “Otherwise…” I made a motion with my finger indicating a slash and then a one.
“What the hell is that?”
“Wow. You really didn’t watch my show a lot. That was my universal sign when I was on a date that I was subtracting points. I would find ways to do it subtly so that only the audience watching would realize what I was doing. They loved it. Didn’t pull my chair out. Minus one. Didn’t ask me any questions about myself. Minus one. Checked out another woman walking by. Minus one.”
I showed him how I made the various different hand motions. A finger horizontal under my nose, then down my cheek. Against the wine glass, then sliding down the rim.
“I can’t imagine guys lost a lot of points with that last one.”
“You forget it was Los Angeles. Practically everyone is beautiful there.”
“Sounds shallow,” he grunted.
I took a sip of my wine. “Well, I’m shallow. So we fit.”
He scowled at me again. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
I thought about that. “Not particularly.”
“Geezus, Brin. You know what you are? You are fucked up. It’s a good thing you came back to Dusty Creek. If for no other reason than to get your head on straight.”
I blinked as his words hit home. “I’m pretty sure it was rude of you to say that to my face.”
“Sorry,” he barked. “But ever since you got back it’s just been constant dumping on yourself. You’re only what you look like. You having nothing but shoes. You’re shallow. You can’t eat because of whatever power struggle you’re in, although you left the damn TV show that you said you were doing it for in the first place. You can’t even eat what you obviously enjoy baking, but you light up like a fucking Christmas tree when you watch how I react to it.”
“I…uh…” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to react. This was Garrett yelling at me for beingme.
“What did I tell you all those years ago? When you were facing off against those sophomore assholes? Own your shit. It doesn’t look like you listened to me at all. I mean, who the fuck raised you?”
“Hank and Jennifer raised me,” I said, pushing off the counter and waiting until I knew my legs were steady and would hold me up.
