Page 15 of Breaking Point
She picked up her wine glass, and took it and the fork and spoon over to the sofas, too.“Where do you usually sit?”she asked, for she just knew that Brice would have a preferred seat.
“Facing the windows,” he said, moving around the end of the sofa that faced the windows.
Luciana took the sofa opposite him.She put the wine glass on the table beside the sofa, and settled in the corner.
Crunch rolled over to her.She took the bowl with the smaller amount in it.“Thank you.”This time she spoke firmly.“Do you have napkins?”she asked Brice.
“Here, Luciana,” Crunch said.A door opened downward, revealing a neat pile of folded napkins.She took one, and the door closed once more.
Crunch moved over to Brice, who took his meal and a napkin, then reached into the top compartment and took the glass of white wine.
Crunch rolled away once more.
Luciana was abruptly starving.She pushed her hair back over her shoulder, and took a mouthful of pasta, her curiosity strong.The flavors were exactly what she expected from spaghetti…yet they were also more than that.They seemed richer, more distinct.
Brice was watching her closely.
She swallowed.“That’s…amazing.”
The corner of his mouth curled up.“Thank you.”
“What makes the difference?The way you cook it?Or because it isn’t printed?”she asked.
His smile grew.“I’m impressed,” he said.“Most people don’t get around to asking that about freshly cooked food until they’ve had three or four meals at least.Among the cooks I know, it’s a hotly debated subject.No one knows for sure.”
“How many cooks do you know?”
“Two.”He shrugged.“It’s an expensive hobby.”
They ate in silence.It wasn’t a strained silence.Luciana genuinely enjoyed the freshly cooked spaghetti.And Brice didn’t seem to be in a hurry now to expand upon the verbal bomb he had dropped.
Crunch returned to collect the empty dishes and went away again.That left them sitting opposite each other.A good three paces separated them, and nothing else.
Luciana cleared her throat.“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Which one?”His tone was neutral.
“What, exactly, do you mean by not wanting to undo anything?There is nothing to undo.”
“Isn’t there?”The same neutral tone.
Her heart gave a little thud and went on.“No,” she said firmly.“We both agree that the two…occasions were a mistake.We should leave it at that.”
“You’re lying again.”
Her middle fizzed in alarm.“It doesn’t matter if I am.Brice, be realistic.Even if we wanted it otherwise, nothing could come of this.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”He didn’t move from his relaxed lean against the sofa, yet she felt as though he had become alert just in the last few seconds.Since she had asked him to explain himself.
She shook her head.“We might have to agree to disagree on this.”She hesitated.“I still don’t know what you mean by not wanting to undo anything.”
He still didn’t move.His voice was lower as he said, “You do, but you won’t let yourself acknowledge it.It took me two days to admit it, myself.There is something between us.I don’t know what it is, but I do want to find out.”
“You’re speaking of…a relationship?”she asked cautiously.
“Maybe.I don’t know,” he said patiently.“Maybe this, whatever it is, will burn itself out in a week or a month.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
