7.
Jewel is going to grow up and do anything she sets her mind to. She’ll be successful at everything she tries. Hopefully, when she’s the ruler of the free world and exacting her vengeance on those who have wronged her, she’ll remember I said that.
Hank Grissom
JEWEL
“Tell me about your ex,” Ziggy suggested, using his salad fork to sift through the leaves for another tomato.
I’d watched him surreptitiously throughout the appetizer and now the salad course, already learning quite a bit about Ziggy Romano. He was a lot like my brother Spruce in that he ate his food one item at a time, but unlike Terran, he didn’t seem to mind different foods touching.
Ziggy picked out the olives, then the croutons, which he dipped in the small bowl of dressing offered on the side.
After the croutons, he targeted the tomatoes.
Watching him work so intently while holding a conversation was almost humorous.
He looked like an archaeologist navigating a particularly intense dig site–sifting carefully through every piece to unearth his treasure.
I used my fork to stab a bite of salad that included dressing, tomato, olive, lettuce, and a bit of crouton, then took the bite that included all the flavors at once.
I finished chewing and pointed out, “You missed some tomato.”
“Too many seeds,” Ziggy mumbled, setting the discarded piece on the rim of his plate. “Your ex?”
Just to be obstinate, I asked, “Which one?”
“Let’s start with the one who upset you today. We’ll get to the other situation later.”
“Why?”
“Why start with him? Because he’s the current issue.”
“No. Why do you want to know what’s going on?”
“Because you interest me.”
“Only because I’m an unknown entity. Once you get to know me, I’ll infuriate you like I do everyone else.”
“Which I’m sure you do on purpose,” Ziggy said, dipping the edge of a lettuce leaf into the dressing. As he lifted the bite, he added, “We’ll get to that later, I’m sure.”
“Are you a shrink?”
Ziggy shook his head and chuckled. “A smart woman like you knows exactly what I am, or at least what she can learn about me from the internet and rumors. But through all my life’s adventures, I’m not sure anyone has ever insulted me quite as badly as that accusation.”
“One of my best friends is a psychologist.”
“I’m sure she has a field day with you.” I laughed because it was true. Emerald joked that the reason she went into the field was so she could figure out what was going on in my head. “It’s interesting that when I try to insult you, it makes you laugh.”
“I can recognize the truth even when it’s not flattering,” I admitted. “What about you?”
“What truth are you searching for, Kitten?”
“Why do you insist on calling me that?”
Ziggy smiled, dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin, and laid it in his lap, moved the salad plate aside, and pulled his entrée closer. “Because you are one.”
“If I have to be compared to a cat, I’d prefer to be a lioness protecting her cubs from a pack of hyenas on the African savanna.”
“I can see that, but you’re more of a domestic cat than a wild one, although I know from experience you have your moments.”
“If I must be compared to a domestic cat, I’d rather it be a Maine Coon.”
“Okay, then you’re a Maine Coon kitten.”
“Why a kitten? I’m not small by any means.”
“Compared to me, you’re tiny, but that’s not the reason I compare you to a kitten instead of a fully grown feline.”
“Explain, please,” I ordered before taking another sip of wine.
I didn’t know the vintage, but I knew the bottle was well out of my price range, so I sipped gently to savor the flavor.
I also wanted to make sure I didn’t let it go to my head.
Experience had taught me to keep my wits about me around this man, because he could easily sway me into doing things I wouldn’t normally do.
Not that I was afraid of anything, but I definitely wanted to avoid a few things: opening up about my ex and giving him enough ammunition to dump the man in a river somewhere, or ripping my clothes off and dancing naked until he tossed me onto the bed and did wicked things that made me scream.
At this point, it probably wouldn’t take much to convince me to agree to either one.
Which was exactly why getting carried away with wine was a terrible idea.
Although, a little too much wine would make a pretty convenient excuse if I did happen to agree . . . No. I was not about to let anyone else kill the father of my two youngest children. I survived a marriage to the man long enough to earn that right myself.
“Have you ever held a kitten?” Ziggy asked, pulling me back to the present.
“Of course. Kittens and puppies make the world a place worth living in.”
“What else?” Ziggy asked, abruptly changing the subject.
“Milk Duds after eating movie theater popcorn. The smell of rain and the feel of running through it, even when it’s inconvenient. The curl over Parker’s left ear. The . . .”
“Just that one curl?”
I smiled because I knew how random that sounded, so I tried to explain.
“His hair is curly, but there’s this one spot above his left ear that doesn’t follow the same curl pattern as the rest of his head.
When his hair gets to just the right length, it curls over the shell of his ear and constantly tickles him. ”
“I bet it annoys the hell out of him,” Ziggy mused, pushing my plate closer to me.
“It always has, but it’s just so damn cute!”
“What else makes life worth living?”
“The diamond-shaped freckle on Robby’s temple and the way Max squints and wrinkles his nose when he smells something he doesn’t like. What about you? What makes your life worth living?”
“The way Ziva and Zara’s hair tickles my nose when they hug me, and how my sons still throw their arms around me every time we see each other, no matter how old they get.”
“I never imagined you’d be a hugger.”
“Depends on who’s offering,” Ziggy explained with a shrug. “I’ll never say no to a hug from one of my own children, or any of the kids in our family.”
“Same.”
“Give me more things that make life worthwhile.”
I thought about it for a second. “Baby shower punch.”
“What?” Ziggy sputtered, cutting a bite of steak.
“Lime sherbet and 7UP. It’s perfect as a float, but even better when it all melts together in a punch bowl.”
“I’ve never tried that.”
“You should.”
“Let’s have that for breakfast in the morning.”
I ignored his suggestion and asked, “What are some things that irritate you?”
Ziggy looked uncomfortable. “You go first.”
“Does it irritate you to think I might use that information against you?” I asked.
“Not particularly, but I’m trying to think of smaller things than the ones that first came to mind.”
“I’ll let that slide for now in the hopes of keeping our pleasant conversation going. But if you’re trying to get to know me, you’ll have to share more than just the small things.”
“What makes you think I’m trying to get to know you?”
“You came up to my hotel room to goad me into going downstairs for dinner, but you stayed when you realized I was upset and needed support, whether I wanted it or not.”
“Maybe I hoped that staying in your room when you’d rather be alone would irritate you more than anything else.”
I thought about how he’d held me while I cried, my eyes drifting to the damp spot on his shoulder, still smudged with my eye makeup. Ziggy Romano was a much softer man than I’d given him credit for. I liked that about him, especially since he refused to admit to what he likely saw as a flaw.
“I can’t stand the sound of someone eating cereal, especially the crunchy kind.”
“That’s awfully specific.”
“It’s the spoon clicking against the teeth, the drip of the milk, and then the muted crunch. Each sound is irritating on its own, but cereal brings them together in a way that makes me want to scream and throw up–not necessarily in that order.”
Ziggy hooted with laughter. “What about soup? Do you hate that too?”
“What kind of soup is crunchy?” I asked. “What’s a sound that bothers you?”
“A ticking clock. You?”
“When a song goes from singing to an eighteen-minute garage-band jam session with wailing guitars and drum solos that are nothing more than the musician killing time while they show off.”
“Again, surprisingly specific, but I see where you’re coming from.”
“I’m also not a fan of music styles that repeat lyrics over and over.” When Ziggy’s brow furrowed as he tried to think of an example, I added, “There’s a song about black and yellow something that makes me want to drive my car off a bridge at high speed.”
“Since we’re on the subject of music, I guess I have one to add.
” Ziggy watched me take a bite of my entrée.
“It really pisses me off when an artist adds a bunch of bullshit to the national anthem as if it’s their song to rewrite.
I don’t want to hear you put fourteen extra syllables into a word that shouldn’t have them while you yodel like a waterlogged cat.
Sing the fucking song the way it was written or shut the fuck up. ”
“That’s an intense take.”
“I feel how I feel, and I’m not afraid to say it.”
“Who is your favorite artist who sang . . .”
“Whitney can never be beaten. Hands down, the woman was a force of nature with the voice of an angel.”
“Chris Stapleton comes in at a very close second,” I suggested.
“Absolutely. You can feel the pride in every note he sings.”
“I see you’re a patriotic man, Mr. Romano.”
“Absolutely,” Ziggy said firmly. “Is that a problem?”
“Not in the least,” I said with a grin. “Tell me something else that irritates you.”
“When people pretend.”
“But I like to think I’m a mermaid!” I said in mock horror. Ziggy grinned. “Is that not what you meant?”.
“Not at all, though I’m not sure you’d be a mermaid. Maybe a gorgeous sea witch, but not a . . .”
When I started cackling, Ziggy asked, “What’s so funny?”
“Just wait,” I sputtered, grabbing my phone. I scrolled through my photos, then held the phone out to him. “That’s my dog.”
“Is she a sea witch?”