Bab 17: Chapter 17
"It occurs to me that we haven't eaten today," Dirk says. After the university, he helped me make a grocery run, and I delivered supplies to a few of our renters. But this time, I had the presence of mind to hide him behind the bushes, so three deliveries only took fifteen minutes.
"Really? I forgot to eat?" I ask. I'm not known for skipping meals. I once ate an entire pizza while I had the stomach flu. "Do you think it's the spray Marie gave me?" I hold up the silver cylinder.
"You haven't tried it, yet."
I'm dying to try Marie's secret sauce. It's my ace in the hole. Dirk seems pretty confident that the jealousy ruse is going to work, but I like having some cold, hard science on my side.
"Maybe I should spray some on me to try it out, now." I take the silver cylinder out of my pocket. It's about the size of a deodorant bottle but metallic, smooth and cool to the touch.
Dirk snatches it out of my hand. "Nuh uh," he says. "Too dangerous. Wait until the moment's right. Okay?"
He gives me back my chemical weapon, and I slip it into my back pocket. My stomach growls. "I guess I'm hungry," I say.
"Good. I'll cook."
We walk to his cabin, together. I'm relieved to have someplace to go besides my house. At this point, I imagine my family is in full gear, preparing for the party. With my family and their families and friends attending, it's going to be a monster. A nightmare.
"I hate parties," I say.
"Me, too."
"I usually hide in the corner. If I go, I mean."
"Me, too."
I search his face to see if he's lying. I'm spending a lot of time with him, and I'm getting used to him. He's almost like a real person, now. He has a good sense of humor, but there's a deep, serious side to him, too. I still don't understand why he's spending time with me, but I figure there's more to him than meets the eye. More to him than just a charismatic superstar.
"How's that possible?" I ask. "I've seen pictures of you at Hollywood parties."
He unlocks the cabin door and opens it. "After you," he says, careful not to reveal too much about himself.
*
Dirk seems happiest in the kitchen. Relaxed. He's good with his hands, chopping like a pro. It's a pleasure to watch him, not only because he's beautiful, but because he seems more like an artist than merely cooking lunch. He loves it.
"Let's eat in the living room," he says when he's done cooking. We put our plates on the coffee table and sit cross-legged on the floor, facing each other.
"This looks wonderful," I say. Dirk's prepared big, juicy T-bones, some kind of potato dish, and a tossed salad.
"I don't want to hear a thing out of you about your training," he warns, pointing his fork at me. "This is a clean meal. All healthy. So eat up."
I take him at his word and cut a large piece of steak. "God, that's good," I moan.
"Nothing better than a steak. Nothing."
"Except these potatoes!" I say, spearing one with my fork. "What are these called?"
"They're my invention. Hemingway's potatoes. He used to live off something like them when he was a starving writer in Paris."
"I love Hemingway," I say.
"Me too."
We eat and talk about Hemingway and Paris. I've never been anywhere, but Dirk's been everywhere. "I've taken a few French cooking classes. I'm an ace with sauces," I say.
"So, you'll cook for me next time."
Next time? "You don't have to... I mean, I know you're doing the whole jealousy thing, but I don't want to take up your vacation."
"I'm not going to miss a chance at a home-cooked French meal," he says, smiling. I smile back. His lips glisten with the oil from Hemingway's potatoes. He sticks his tongue out slightly and licks his lips clean. My mouth drops open, and I look away. Looking at the sun can make you blind.
"Are you done?" I croak. I pick up my plate, and move to take his. He doesn't say anything, and I look up for my answer. Instead, I find him studying me. His eyes travel from my lips, all around my face, and settle on my eyes.
"Do I have something on my face?" I ask.
He smiles. "You're a beautiful woman, Raine," he says.
"Are you practicing for the Brady Bunch jealousy thing?"
"I'm done."
"What?"
"With my lunch. I'm done. You can take it, if you want."
"Oh," I say. My forehead has erupted in sweat, and I wipe it with a napkin. I take the plates and cutlery and walk to the kitchen. Putting them in the sink, I grip the counter and take a deep breath.
Dirk touches my shoulder, but I don't dare turn around. "Don't worry, I'll do the dishes," I say.
"Let's leave it until later. I have something more enjoyable for us to do now."
Hadiah
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