Page 38 of Lorcan
“Ah.” I opened a jar of tomato sauce. Then I added a second because I loved leftovers. I wouldn’t have to cook as much this week—which was always a relief. I came home tired and often just wanted to flake out. “Do you have any allergies?”
He shook his head.
“Cool.” I pulled out a container of parsley as well as garlic salt. As I stirred the noodles, I met his gaze. “I think there’s a hockey game on tonight.”
Night had fallen, and the twinkling lights of the plaza and the highway were in the near ground while the blackness was the river and, farther away, the mountains and volcano. Somehow, I always felt reassured they were out there somewhere—even in the shroud of darkness.
“Yeah?” He turned to gaze at the television. “Somehow I figured you’d have a smaller screen.”
I cocked my head.
He turned back and shrugged. “You seem…like television isn’t the be-all and end-all for you.”
“Well, that’s true. I bought the biggest screen that would comfortably fit in the space. Some of my neighbors have much-larger televisions, but I don’t figure they can see the entire screen.”
“Ouch.”
“How about you?” I pulled a fry pan out of the cupboard, turned on the burner, added a touch of oil, then dumped the thawed meatballs in. The oil started to spit as the pan heated.
He sighed. “I had to sell my television—the thing was new and worth money. I found an old tube television for free on arecycling website. In fact, I found a bunch of things on that site—helped me rebuild my life. The lamps are kitschy. The couch is funky.”
“And uncomfortable.”
“And uncomfortable. But one doesn’t sneer at free.”
“No, certainly not.” I turned down the temperature on the noodles. “There’s something to be said for a pared-down life.”
“If you’re the one choosing it.”
Our gazes caught.
I nodded. “Point made.”
He waved his hand as if dismissing the thought. “I want to say I’ve been humbled by all this—and I have. Some total strangers have been incredibly kind. I’ve done what I can to give back. That said, few people want an accused embezzler in their midst.”
I lowered the heat on the meatballs. I put a strainer in the sink, and then—very carefully—I dumped in the noodles and hot water. Because I was careful, the steam didn’t hit me in the face. I put the pot in the sink, shook the excess water from the noodles, then poured them back into the pot. Finally, I put the pot back on the stove. Quickly, I added the tomato pasta sauce and the meatballs. I adjusted the temperature and started stirring.
“Interesting.”
I met Lorcan’s gaze and raised an eyebrow.
“My ex—” He cleared his throat. “He said you should never mix the pasta sauce and the noodles.”
“Ah. Well, this is not a five-star dining establishment. Or anything close. I’m lazy—if everything gets mixed together, then I have fewer pots, fewer serving instruments, and fewer dishes to clean. Also, this’ll all go in one large container as well as several small ones for lunches next week. I’m all about simplicity.”
“My ex was a jackass.”
I chuckled. “I’ve been taught to never speak badly of other people—because I can’t know what’s going on in their lives. On the other hand, most of the time I need to validate my patient’s feelings.”
“I’m not your patient.”
“Nope.” I popped thep. “So I can agree your ex is a jackass.”
“Thank you.” He laughed. “Yeah, I like the Canucks. Who are they playing? I haven’t, uh, really kept up. I just have super-basic cable. I don’t have any of the specialty channels.”
“Ah, that’s fair. This is Hockey Night in Canada. Canucks versus the Maple Leafs.” I continued to stir the spaghetti. “Oh crap. Secret ingredient. Close your eyes.”
He arched an eyebrow.
