Chapter 20
Twenty
Seth
Apparently, the kitchen runs on its own generator.
Jess let us know she’d kick on the other one in an hour and make sure it runs all night.
The roads are covered with inches of snow but the layer of ice underneath is the real problem.
Jess was holding out hope that the chef would be able to make it in, but it’s not safe for anyone to be out like this.
Claire’s in the kitchen making something for dinner. I’m sitting near the fireplace, drinking the rest of my cocktail—and I fear I’ll never be able to drink another hot toddy in my life without thinking about Claire or this happenstance trip.
Not like I’ve had many hot toddies before this, but they’re pretty damn good.
We offered to cook for Jess and sit down with her but she insisted she had something to do.
No clue what that could be, considering there’s still no other guests—just me and Claire.
She’s good at this… sort of moves around you but you barely notice she’s there and when she is, she’s popping in with some sort of treat or snack.
Claire told me she needed almost an hour for dinner but it would be worth it, so I’m just soaking in the quiet.
Maybe dozing off here or there. It’s rare for me to have multiple nights like this off in a row, but Willow’s schedule has slowed down for the moment.
I used to have a bunch of freelance clients, or random events I’d work, but Willow pays me more than I’ll ever need in this lifetime and I’ve been trying to figure out some other things I could do.
Can’t be a body guard forever. My muscles ache at the lack of movement the last few days. Even when we were in Miami for the reward show, the event security was on top of it, really making my job easy. I need to do some stretches tonight, maybe a little yoga flow. Wonder if Claire knows any yoga?
Before my mind runs away with all the things that Claire knows, or can do, or can do to me, I hear plates being set on the table in the dining room.
Rounding the corner, I see pasta, salad, and glasses of more bubbly wine. My mouth waters.
“Wow,” I say, pulling out the chair, eager to sit down and dig in. “What do we have here?”
Claire beams, the candles making her skin glow. “Fresh pasta with a Parmesan sauce, salad, and Jess showed me where all the wine is and basically made it feel like if we didn’t open another bottle we’d be doing her a disservice.”
I make a note to leave additional cash in our room when we leave.
“Wait, you made fresh pasta?” I ask, grabbing a fork.
Claire sits and says, “I learned at a cooking class. It’s pretty easy and you can definitely taste the difference.” She spins some of the noodles around her fork. “I could show you sometime.”
The offer of us doing something together, once this is all over, has heat spreading up my neck, to my cheeks. It reminds me of how Abigail and I would cook together, one of our favorite date night activities. We never got around to making fresh pasta but always wanted to.
“I’d love to learn,” I answer before taking a bite. The pasta is perfectly chewy, the Parmesan sauce not too rich, notes of black pepper coming through. I can’t help but groan. “Damn, this is ridiculously good,” I compliment her.
She smiles and we eat in silence. And it sort of feels just right. I don’t know what it is about the two of us, but everything from the flight to the car ride to getting stuck here—none of it has been strained or really all that uncomfortable.
I’ve been around a while, and this isn’t something that happens everyday. The actual events, yes, but the ability to blend in with someone, like you were always meant to.
She clears her throat, a napkin to her mouth, before she says, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but—”
My heart drops. There’s no way this is going somewhere I want it to. Fitting, considering my brain was like WOW LOOK HOW EASY THIS IS. Just kidding, you idiot.
“I’m not sick of you yet.” Claire sits back, smiling at me.
That is not what I thought she’d say.
Her laugh cuts through as she tucks her hair behind her ears.
“That sounds bad. But I haven’t spent this much time with someone, uninterrupted, in years.
Like I honestly can’t remember when. And I’m not sick of you yet.
” She brings the flute of champagne to her lips, taking a slow sip, her eyes golden like a fall sunset.
“I appreciate that.” I lock my eyes on hers, wanting her to hear me. “I’ve not done something like this since Abigail.”
The second her name is on my lips, I almost choke. It’s been a long time since I’ve talked about her. To anyone.
“Abigail? Who is that?” Claire follows up with the logical next question.
I take a drink from my own flute, knowing I’m crossing some sort of line, stepping into some unknown area without much place to run from. I buy as much time as isn’t awkward and then give her the answer.
“She is… was… my wife.”