Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“We take turns,” Marcos says.
I don’t sense any hostility from him, but he’s not exactly being friendly or chatty, so I just focus on shredding cheese and sipping my wine. Before I’m finished with the gouda, Marcos comes over to collect the cheddar. When I’m done, I drift closer to the stove, where he’s stirring a pan full of creamy cheese sauce that makes my stomach growl.
Pasta is circulating in the pot of water, which is now rapidly boiling. Sausages are turning brown and crispy in the last pan.
“What else can I do?” I ask.
“If you want to stir the sauce, that’d be great.” He hands me the spoon and I take over, mimicking his motions. I’m not much of a cook, to say the least, so I hope that I can’t somehow mess this up. I’m not even sure why I volunteered to help make dinner. I guess it seemed better than sitting around staring at the others while I wait out the storm.
Marcos drops a block of cream cheese into the pan, and my mouth waters. I don’t think this mac and cheese is going to even remotely resemble the kind I make for myself.
After sampling the macaroni for doneness, he drains the pot and carefully adds the noodles to the sauce. I stir slowly, afraid I’m going to make a mess. “I got it,” he says, taking the spoon from my hand.
“It looks delicious,” I say, standing by, wondering if there’s anything else to do. He gives a nod to acknowledge my comment. “Can I get plates ready?” I ask.
He tilts his head toward a cupboard. “They’re over there.”
I find the plates and open a few drawers before finding silverware. “Should I set a table?” I ask Marcos as he transfers the sausage to a serving platter.
“No need. We just grab food in here and we usually eat in front of the TV. Do you need more wine?” he asks, tipping his chin toward my glass, which is just about empty.
“Sure.”
Before he pours my refill, Marcos pulls his phone from a pocket and thumbs quickly over the screen before putting it away. Less than a minute later, Khalil and Devin enter the kitchen, followed shortly after by Shane.
I feel out of place. Marcos hasn’t exactly given me the warm and fuzzies, and my skin prickles with tension whenever Shane is around. Khalil immediately praises the appearance of the food, though, and acts like I must have had a big hand in making it. I can tell he’s going out of his way to try to make me comfortable, and I appreciate it.
“You go first,” he says, handing me a plate and directing me to the stove.
Why do I feel like I’m about to be the guest of honor at the most awkward dinner party ever?
10
Bruise a man’s ego
The food turns out to be even better than it looked. So good that I wonder if I can get the recipe from Marcos, because I didn’t see how he started the cheese sauce, and it’s surely got to be more than just butter and cheese.
The sausage is good too, though I hate to admit that seeing the long, curved shape on my plate makes me yearn for the evening that might have been, had Khalil and I not been interrupted.
Outside, the wind has mostly died down, but the rain has been steadily pouring ever since it started. At Khalil’s suggestion, we ended up eating at the dining room table after all, and every so often, rain pelts the window behind me as the wind changes.
“How long have you lived on Four Points, Becca?” Devin asks.
I’m waiting to finish chewing before I speak, and before I can answer, Shane says, “All her life.”
“That must be nice,” Devin says, as if I was the one who responded.
“It’s okay.” My childhood wasn’t the greatest, but things are better now, and I can see why people like the island.
“And you work at Rusty’s?” Devin asks.
“She’s a waitress,” Shane says immediately.
I shoot him a look before softening my expression as I turn to Devin. “I’m looking forward to the expansion you guys are building,” I say.
“It should be really good,” Khalil says. “The Stone brothers have great plans for it.”
I take another bite, and when it’s still quiet afterward, ask, “I’m sorry if this is a rude question, but I didn’t realize construction work paid so well that you could afford a house like this.”
“Is that a question?” Shane asks. Such a smartass. Bruise a man’s ego, and this is what you get. Or maybe he was always a jerk, and I just didn’t realize it before I slept with him.
“We don’t usually do that much actual construction work anymore,” Khalil says. “We’ve branched into property development, doing more buying and selling and improvements than actual building.”