Chapter 9
NINE
By that evening, the sky was a menacing gray, as if all the clouds of the world had banded together in a flat-out refusal of the sun’s appearance.
A blanket of dark, looming cloud cover rested above them, not moving, just hanging there as if they wanted to open up and unleash a massive storm at any moment.
“I think this is more than a daily shower,” Sienna said, scrolling the weather app on her phone. “This says the storm’s intensified offshore, and it’s pushing rain this way.”
“Let me see?” Blair leaned over. “Oh gosh, we’re in the red.” She swiped the screen. “It looks like the rain keeps going through tomorrow.”
Sienna grumbled, picked up the remote, and flopped down on the sofa. “Maybe we should eat in here and watch a movie tonight to take our mind off the fact that we get one shot at a millionaire’s beach vacation, and it rains.”
The door chimed.
“I’ll get it.” Emily stood up and went through the lofty corridor to the entrance.
She opened the door to find Patrick holding cooler bags full of ingredients.
“Hi,” he said, coming in with his usual lack of sociability.
“Hello.” She smiled even though he’d already passed her and was heading down the hallway. “What’s for dinner?” she asked, stepping in stride next to him.
“Grilled red Chilean sea bass, truffle parmesan grits, and brown-butter peach cobbler with bourbon vanilla gelato for dessert.”
“That sounds incredible,” Emily said. When he didn’t respond, she added, “I think we might eat in the living room and watch a movie if you want to join us.”
He made eye contact but didn’t say yes or no.
The hard line of his face was softer tonight, but he still wasn’t terribly talkative, so Emily left him and went back into the living room with Blair and Sienna.
“I guess he’s the quiet type,” Blair whispered, eyeing Patrick from across the open space as Emily sat beside her.
Emily shrugged.
Sienna glanced at him, but then turned her focus to the remote, clicking on the television. The wall-sized screen lit up with a symphonic hum.
From the kitchen, Patrick’s phone rang. He wiped his hands on a towel and answered it quickly.
“What should we watch?” Sienna yawned as she clicked through the channels, stopping on a few chick flicks and then scrolling past them.
Blair suggested something, but Emily had sharpened her hearing curiously. Patrick’s brows were pulled together, his jaw set as he mumbled quietly into his phone. She pretended to get comfortable, scooting infinitesimally closer to his conversation.
“No more PR, okay… Hasn’t there been enough press already…? When I hired you, I thought you would take care—” He turned around, his back to her. A few minutes later, he got off the phone, washed his hands, and resumed his food prep.
PR? Press? They’d convinced him to cook for them without any knowledge of the demands of his career.
And he’d done it. He could’ve stuck to the musician’s suggestion to leave the food for them that first day, but instead he’d shown up for dinner with quiet resolve.
In his unique way, it seemed to Emily that saying yes to them was an act of kindness.
The room darkened. Through the windows, the usually quiet Gulf smashed against the sand, its gemstone hues and light fizz now an angry ashen spray. A red warning beach flag down shore flapped in the wind. Blair got up and turned on the lamps, a glow filling the room.
Patrick seemed unaffected, seasoning the sea bass with some sort of dry rub.
“Maybe there’s a good drama on,” Blair offered. “Or a mystery—something that’ll have us riveted so we don’t have to consider that the storm is coming in pretty fast.” She made a face.
Sienna stopped on the national news, where the storm was being reported. That was enough to give them all pause.
“We’re currently seeing the outer bands of Tropical Storm Claudette moving across the Gulf and beginning to affect parts of the Florida Panhandle.
While the storm’s center remains well offshore, we are already beginning to see outer rain bands moving into the area, bringing heavy precipitation, gusty winds, and the potential for localized flooding, especially in low-lying and coastal neighborhoods.
“Stay with us for continuous updates and download our weather app for real-time alerts. We’ll be here around the clock tracking the storm and letting you know what to expect, hour by hour.”
The outside umbrella, secured and strapped, rattled against its holder.
“Think we should bring anything in from the back patio?” Emily asked. “It’s getting really windy already, and with all these windows, I’d hate for it all to start flying through the air.”
“Maybe we should stack the chairs at least,” Blair said.
“The house has staff,” Patrick called over. “I’m guessing they’ll be here any second.” He went back to cooking.
Just as Patrick had predicted, in a matter of minutes, men in coveralls carted the furniture off the patio, covered the pool, and secured the fire pit. They were in and out in a flash.
Blair’s phone went off. “It’s Rocko. He might have seen the weather report. I’ll be back.” She put the phone to her ear as she left the room. “Hello?”
“This weather is killing me,” Sienna said with another yawn.
A loud sizzle came from the kitchen as Patrick flipped the sea bass in the hot pan. He turned around and began cleaning his knives.
Sienna tugged on the waistband of her dress. “I’m going to change into a tracksuit. This dress is tighter than it used to be, and I’m dying for something with a little give.” She handed Emily the remote.
Emily clicked through a few channels just as a loud clap of thunder shook the house.
“Agh!” Patrick shrieked.
Emily jumped to her feet just in time to see him grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his hand.
“Are you okay?” She walked over to the kitchen.
“I’m fine,” he snapped before loping over to his things and pulling out a first aid kit. He took it to the sink, unwrapped his hand, and ran it under water, grimacing as the stream hit a large gash on his palm.
“You jumped yesterday when it thundered,” she noted.
He pulled out a gauze pad and medical tape as another rumble barreled through the sky. “Can you take the fish off the burner for me?”
She turned off the heat and moved the pan of sizzling fish to the back of the stove.
He ripped a piece of tape with his teeth and wrapped it around his injury.
“So you get jumpy during storms?”
“I was just surprised. Twice.”
“You seemed different at the ice-cream shop today,” she ventured.
He washed his knife, then dried it with a towel and slid it into a leather holder, his attention turned inward.
“Who’s the little boy you were with?”
He began cleaning another knife. “Winston. My sister’s kid.”
“They’re the ones who live in town?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s lucky your sister lives near you.”
His attention fluttered to her and then away. “Yeah.”
“You’re good with kids.” From witnessing only the one interaction, she didn’t know that for sure, but she was hoping he’d either refute it or agree—something to keep the conversation going and maybe soften his edge.
But he didn’t answer.
“Sorry I’m so talkative,” she said. “It’s the elementary-school teacher in me. I chat all day. And it’s a good way to make friends.”
Interest flickered across his face before he snapped the leather knife holder shut and turned away to pack it into his bag. He pulled out three plates.
“Why don’t you like to talk?” she asked.
“I don’t need to. And it’s overrated.”
She considered the magazine feature they’d heard about on the way into town. Wouldn’t the fact that he’d been in a feature article say otherwise? But she decided not to bring it up. “Why is it overrated?” she asked instead.
“We’ll share a few thoughts, chuckle at each other’s jokes because we’re supposed to, and then we’ll go back to our regular day, and everything will be exactly the same.”
“I saw how you interacted with Winston. Why do you talk so freely with him then?”
His brows pulled together. “Because he’s a kid.”
“And that’s different?”
“He has no motives.”
“I have no motive,” she said. “I just want to make small talk since you’re cooking dinner for me every night.”
“But at the end of this you’ll go back home, continue on with your life, and none of it will matter. Winston is my life—every day and night.”
His comment warmed her. “Fair enough.” She sighed. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
She went into the living room, picked up the remote, and scrolled through the movies, ready to shut out the real world, but she struggled to leave the conversation. He was with that guy Mark at the bar, and he knew the bartender by name, so he was social. Just not with her or her friends…
When Blair and Sienna returned, Patrick served their plates in the living room and then slipped out while they were eating. He didn’t even say goodbye.