KNOT: A Wake Family Novel (17 page)

“Whoa, don’t get ahead of yourself. I don’t know a thing about you. And there’s a fine chance, you won’t like me anyway.”

“All true.” I deadpanned, and her mouth fell open. Then, I asked, “What do you want to know?”

She sipped her wine trying to come up with a question. It felt like waiting for a dare.

“Please, tell me about your family.”

I liked—really fucking liked—the way
please
sounded from her lips, so I complied. I would take my small wins any way they came.

“My parents live in Seattle. My brother, Shane, is a computer programmer. My younger sister, Blake, is a chef.”

She perked up. “A chef. That’s interesting.”

It was, and I was proud of Blake for finding something she loved and pursuing it. “She’s just starting out. Working her way up.”

“I love food. I’m a food snob,” she said, and her eyes lit up. “I really get into it.”

I’d really get into
you
.

Keep talking, Reggie
.

“Do you cook?”

“No. Not really. I mean, I can, but I’m rarely home. I love eating new things though. I try everything.”

I bet you do.

“How’s the toe?”

“On life support, but thanks for the ice.”

“You’re welcome.”

She looked under the pack and wiggled her toes. The pain that had been there earlier didn’t show on her face. “I’ll survive.”

The talk of food reminded me I hadn’t eaten since lunch. I was hungry and definitely felt a need for something in the pit of my stomach.

I looked at my watch and concluded what my quickest options were and made a decision. “I’m going to order food from the Greek place down the street, would you like something?”

“Yes. I’m starving.”

I all but relent on asking her out to dinner, then she answers that quick to join me? More mixed signals.

And
starving
? I opened my refrigerator and found some chicken salad, then took crackers out of the cupboard.

I was getting a few forks for our snack, but she’d already opened the container, scooped a pile onto a cracker, and popped it into her mouth.

She wasn’t shy. Not even a fucking little.

I scrolled through my phone and found the number, but wanted to get her order before I called. “What do you like? They have fantastic gyros, and they have a steak and feta pita that’s pretty good. Decent hummus.”

I held my phone up as I spoke. She grabbed it from me, which caught me off guard.

“Is this the number?” she asked and held it up to show the contact info.

What the hell?

“It is.”

“I’ll call,” she said and pressed the send button. Then like a smartass added, “
for
you
.
”

Possibly she understood me more than I gave her credit for. Then again, I hated that she mocked me.

I listened as she ordered.

“Yes, hello. Good evening. I’d like an order for delivery. Sure.” She smiled that bright, work smile of hers and waited, blinking quickly. Acting.

Her fingers strummed across the top of my counter, her patience tapping on repeat.

Four. Three. Two. One.

Four. Three. Two. One.

“No problem. Okay. Do you have Dakos? Okay. No capers. What about myzithra?” Blink. Blink. Blink. “Manouri? Awesome. Yeah, only one order of pita chips. That should be plenty. Do you have Avgolemono? Perfect. And an order of thin shaved Chicken Souvlaki.”

How in the fuck did she know all of that?

She looked at me as she waited again.

“Yes, a little more. We also need some steak pita thing.” Then she laughed like she was making fun of me. “I don’t know. Just a second. Do you want the Tzatziki sauce on the side, Sir Frownsalot?”

I wasn’t amused, but she didn’t care. “No. On it is fine.”

How did she know all those foods by memory?

“Oh, and some hummus. Yeah. I know.
And
one order of Baklava. Hell if I know,” she said to whoever was on the line. Then snickered again. “Oh, hold on a second.” Then, she lunged the phone toward me. “She wants your address. I have cash.”

I’d never seen someone order Greek food like that. I was perplexed. She’d out-fucking-ordered me.

What was all that shit? And why didn’t I know about Greek food like she did?

“Hello?”

“Yes, can I get the address for delivery?”

“Sure. 750 Lake Shore Drive. Apartment 1213. The desk clerk will let them up.”

Then they told me the total, that it would be about 30 minutes, and hung up.

I still didn’t know what to think, and I scratched my head.

The confused look on my face pleased Nora because she wore a very cheeky, very proud of herself smirk.

“I told you I was a food snob.”

That she did.

What else was she?

There had to be a better explanation than that. “Have you been to Greece?”

“No. Not yet. Maybe some time.” She tapped the rim of her glass, indication that she wanted more.

I poured and said, “You must eat a lot of Greek food. That was some order.”

“No. I read a lot of cookbooks.”

Who in the fuck reads cookbooks?

I paced in my kitchen. My mind was spinning and a familiar fuzziness formed. I needed to focus.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I shook my head, but answered, “I’m fine.”

She opened up her purse and counted out some bills.

Now she was paying, too?

“Here’s eighty. That should cover everything and the tip.”

It would?

She was fast. I felt so inadequately lost.

I wasn’t going to count, but I had to calm down.

I wanted to slow her down. For her to find my speed. But the rush she gave me was kind of thrilling. Even if I didn’t appreciate the panic that came along with it.

She went about like she hadn’t just bested me and attacked the chicken salad again. I supposed if I were going to be her
friend
, I’d have to get used to her.

I abandoned my fork, too, and dove in after her.

She was leading this, and I’d accept it.
For now
.

Nora—Friday, June 27, 2008

I
could lead this conversation.

I could do
whatever
I wanted.

It was small, but impressing him with my ordering skills put a little wind in my sail.

If he was some misogynist, he was going to get a rude awakening from me. Either he’d be turned off by the end of the night, or I would.

I didn’t dilly-doddle with my
friends
. So, if a friendship with me was what he was fine with, he’d have it.

Soon, he’d leave me alone altogether. Besides, it was fun pushing his buttons while I still had the chance. He’d lose interest quickly, especially if I kept dismissing his attempts to out-will me. He’d return his focus to someone who enjoyed being consumed.

He’d find someone else to chase, and with that thought, my stomach rolled. I really
was
starving after all.

Nevertheless, I could be nice. He had helped me a lot and had been really kind about my toe. He didn’t even make fun of how I had been an overdramatic baby about it.

I’d buy dinner. On the same night, I told him to quit asking me out, no less.

I had to give him some credit, but that was
all
I was going to give him as I sat there in his kitchen, eating his yummy chicken goodness.

I wouldn’t let things get out of hand again. Especially, since he’d just emptied the wine bottle into his glass. We hadn’t even had dinner, yet I knew I wouldn’t turn down more. On my empty stomach, the wine had begun to alter my decision making. I was a little reckless showing off like I had.

Don’t get drunk, Nora.

Don’t think about the hallway, Nora.

Pretend you can’t still feel his hands on you, Nora.

We had a deal, and it was only about fifteen minutes old.

I wasn’t changing my mind. Nothing had changed.

The food came, and the wine continued to loosen us both up. I don’t know if it was the effects of the alcohol, but my foot felt much better. Since I’d made such a fuss about it, I didn’t let on that I was probably good to go without the ice pack. Which, by the way, he’d changed out for another cold one by the time we were both stuffed on cheese and meat.

“Did you like the soup?” I asked. For a man who tried to come off knowing everything, it sure was fun watching him try something new, almost against his will. As if he didn’t have any other option, but to try or lose.

I wondered if he’d ever try other things. Different things.

Experiment with me.

No. Not with me. With
food
. Like French cuisine.

No more wine, Nora.

I liked how he studied everything he hadn’t had before prior to eating it, and, of course, that meant about twenty questions, but I was getting used to it. He was supremely thorough. Captivatingly so.

I wondered if he studied new women like that before he ate them.

It turned out, I was starting to agree with his mother more and more. He was handsome and funny—in a dry way.

“The soup was good.” He topped my glass off with the last of our second bottle. He’d actually had an excellent red wine already chilled. I suspected he would though, so I pretended like it was no big deal.

Still, I knew my wine, and that was a hundred-dollar bottle.

I’d drank half.

My cash for the food still lay on the counter. He completely ignored it when he went to the door and paid from his wallet. I got a kick from getting him riled up, so I left it there.

“I’ve got a lot of stuff to do tomorrow,” I said before he opened another bottle. I didn’t want good wine to go to waste, and I know I would have stayed for more. “I think I’ve had enough.”

He motioned to his mouth, and my eyes stayed there when he said, “Your lips are stained.”

I ran my fingers over them, knowing he was probably right.

Why weren’t his? How did he do that?

The second ice pack was warming to room temperature, and I lifted it off my foot, which still sat on the stool beside me.

He’d moved an empty stool around to the other side of the island to eat. I liked that. Being face to face with him. He was handsome when he didn’t look annoyed.

I stood and reached for my tiny purse.

“Want some help?” he asked as he rose, too.

My foot was still sore, and it probably would be the next day, but it would also be just fine. “I think I can make it.” I gave him a little smile for being thoughtful, and he gave me one back.

“I hoped it was better, but I meant help tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? Unpacking?

“No. I’ll probably turn on CNN and get it done.”

Why didn’t I say music?

His brows bunched. “The news?”

“I like to stay up to the minute on current events.” God, I sounded like a fucking station commercial, but hated listening to music.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

It was all the same.
I want something I can’t have
, or
I got something I really wanted.
That’s it.

Can’t musicians ever simply be in the moment?

The news was better background sound for me. Hell, if you watched one of those news channels long enough it was almost like an album playing on a loop anyway. It all repeated. If I was going to listen to something over and over, it might as well be something that made me more informed.

“Right,” he deadpanned. “Well, you know where I am. And you still have my phone number. Right?”

This time, when he was encouraging me to call, it felt a little different and I instantly ran through my mind and made sure that I did. “Yes, it’s saved under
Sir
,” I teased. “Thank you, for the wine.”

His neck flexed, and he stood taller. I knew that was my cue. I’d hit his threshold in more ways than one for the night.

It had been too soon to joke
like that
. Did people like him really get turned on by that? Sir? How cliché.

I grabbed my purse off the counter and stood, trying out my foot. It was tender, but I could put weight on it fine. It was just that damn toe.