Chapter Five #2
He shook the container a few times, until water stopped running, then brought it over to the counter.
Luciana got to her feet to watch, for she couldn’t see anything, sitting down.
Two white bowls sat on the counter, there.
Neither of them had utensils attached, the way the printer food came.
He used an enormous spoon to scoop pasta into the bowls.
That matched how the spaghetti appeared when it was printed.
Now, sauce would go on top, she presumed.
Brice put the holed container beside the sink, then carefully stepped back to the counter, and took the lid off another container, much smaller than the one that had cooked the pasta.
Almost immediately, Luciana could smell garlic and the wonderful aroma of spaghetti sauce.
The scent was slightly different than the standard smell of spaghetti the food printers produced.
He used the same big spoon to ladle sauce on top of the pasta. The sauce looked chunkier than she was used to, yet it was the same general color, and the aroma was making her mouth water.
From a drawer on his side of the counter, he produced two forks and two spoons. He handed Luciana a fork and spoon. Then he called, “Crunch!”
The bot rolled around the corner and over to where Brice was standing. “Waiter mode,” he told it.
Luciana couldn’t see what the bot was doing for “waiter mode,” for it was short. Brice lifted both bowls down to it. Then he said, “The sofas, please.”
“Okay, Brice,” the bot replied. Luciana heard it rolling once more and moved to the end of the counter to watch it reappear.
The flat section on the top of the bot, which had slid back to reveal the glasses of wine, was closed once more.
The two bowls sat on the flat surface. The bot was perfectly upright, instead of leaning back a little.
It trundled over to the sofa-and-armchairs arrangement and halted.
Brice was already moving over there himself, his fork and spoon in his other hand.
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?”
“Then we’ll deal with it then.”
Luciana tried to accept that at face value, but couldn’t. “You don’t do relationships, Brice. You isolate yourself. You don’t even appear in public when the Tankball Association would benefit from your visibility.”
“While you wade in relationships? I don’t remember seeing a partner sitting with you at the soiree. Just your son and his friend.”
That stung a little bit, because it was true. Only, it was true for entirely different reasons than his. “You are brutal on relationships,” she said.
For the first time, he showed a reaction. His brows furrowed. “Did someone tell you that?” His voice was strained.
“They didn’t have to,” Luciana said patiently. “You have…I’m sorry, but you carry mental scars from the accident that injured your leg. You are withdrawn, socially and even in business. And you’re not in a relationship, and haven’t been since the accident. That adds up to genuine issues.”
He was silent for a long minute. Then, “It is true. I destroyed the only relationship that was important to me. I’m not asking you to move in, Luciana. I’m asking that you let us find out what is…burning between us.”
“Only to reach a place six weeks from now when the flames die out and we go our separate ways?”
“Let us hope so,” he said softly.
Luciana sat back, puzzled. “Why even risk it?” she whispered.
“I didn’t hear you,” he said.
She held up her hand, as an idea bloomed and took shape.
Why would he risk it? Or was he gambling on this, whatever it was, being purely physical?
Only, it was still a gamble. What if it was more?
Would he painfully tear the budding relationship out at the roots and toss it away, once he knew what it was?
He said they could deal with that situation if it arose. He had not suggested they just enjoy the sex and kill any insipient signs of a relationship.
He was willing to find out.
“Stars…but you’ve got courage,” Luciana told him.
Brice’s eyes widened a little. “That’s one of the most extraordinary things anyone has ever told me.”
She smiled. “You’ll have to get used to that. I do tend to speak my mind.”
“I know,” he said flatly. “I’m still trying to determine if that is a good thing or a bad thing.” He paused. “So that is a yes? You’ll let this play out, this thing between us?”
“That seems fair to me,” she said. She squeezed her fingers between her knees. “You should know, Brice, that I’ve had exactly one fewer important relationship in my life than you. Not counting Devar.”
His eyes narrowed. “No one at all?”
“It seems we are a pair, you and me. In that regard, at least.” She hesitated, then added, “I don’t know that I will be good at it.”
He got to his feet and limped over to her sofa and settled beside her. “I seem to recall that you were adequate, the first two times.” He picked up her hand.
“Adequate?” She was abruptly breathless.
He smiled and it was the small one that she was beginning to understand was his true smile, the one he used for those closest to him. Which was not many people at all.
Now it included her. At least for now.
As his lips drew close to hers, she whispered, “This is terrifying.”
“In all sorts of ways,” he agreed and kissed her.
All her terror fled. So did most coherent thought. Dammit, but there was something between them. She had never responded to anyone else like this. It was overpowering. Wonderful. And scary as hell.
They were both breathing hard when he ended the kiss.
She gripped his shirt, and made herself say it. “I have to warn you, Brice. I will talk you into selling your Capitol stalls to me. I want them. I won’t give up on this.”
His smile was slow and heated. “I would be hugely disappointed if you did.” He drew her back to him.