11. Lies, Deception, and Bob Ross
lies, deception, and bob ross
Mirren
There must be something on my face, because he holds my gaze a little longer than expected before turning to open the cupboards and pull out plates.
On the smaller ones, he places mounds of rich green salad. “Wine?”
Huh? “What?” My eyes find his after staring way too long at his hands.
“Would you like wine? Water?”
“Wine please. Red?”
He slides two stems from the back of the counter. Was he a Boy Scout? Is he always this prepared? Or is this for me? Two generous pours later, he comes around the counter, placing a glass in front of me, and dips his mouth to mine for a warm chaste kiss that lingers.
He returns a moment later with our salad plates and forks and drops onto the stool beside me. “Dig in.”
I’ve never been accused of not eating, never been delicate about food. That was before the Army when mess was a sport or the desert where it was a luxury. And when I like it, I eat with gusto.
“What is this?” I ask a bit too enthusiastically after managing an unladylike bite. “It’s delicious.”
His body shakes with laughter even if there’s no sound to it. He turns his smiling face to mine, humor lighting him up. “It bodes well for me that you like my cooking.”
I take another bite and hum as I wiggle in my seat. “You buy the house. I’ll live in the garage. You can cook and I can…” What? Protect us? Slip off to undercover operations while he maintains the house? That’s a hell no. I’m not looking for a beta, and Strider doesn’t qualify.
“And I can what?” he asks, his face genuine.
“I don’t know.” That’s a lie. “I got so stuck on the you-can-cook part I lost the thread.”
“What’s your talent? If we’re going to trade services in this fictional world, I should know what I’m bartering for.”
“Medical stuff. But I doubt you need a nurse.”
He stops chewing, shrugs and forces a smile. “Never say never.”
“Well, I’ve seen your body.” I eye him up and down to prove my point. “You need me about as much as I need more wine.”
“Wine is healthy. It has antioxidants and shit.”
“Spoken like a trained sommelier. Did you learn that at Whole Foods?”
“It was Winn Dixie. Don’t go hating on the self-educated,” he says with a cocked eyebrow.
“Self-educated? Don’t you have an MBA?”
Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. He didn’t tell me that. That detail was from my research. Seriously, I’m a damn good spy, but I’m failing Operation Strider like a newb.
He turns theatrically slowly on his stool, his knees threading mine. “I do. But how, Freckles, would you know that?”
Own it. Fall on the sword. Rip off the Band-Aid.
I suck in a huge breath and let my words flow. “I research all my renters. I’m not scared, but I’m not stupid either. Proximity and access as a single woman aren’t given lightly, so I dug into you.” I skip how deeply I went. There’s no need in poking the bear.
“I see.” He nods with one slow bob. “And what did you find?”
“Strider Anderson. Forty years old. Single. Bachelor of Business Administration at Illinois State and Masters in the same from Purdue. You’re at the helm of a successful electrical contracting business and live in Peoria, Illinois.”
“That’s… tidy.”
“Tidy?”
“Well”—he scrubs a hand down his face—“my life in a succinct summary of average facts wasn’t on my list for first date talking points.” His face returns to mine. “So, in your driveway? That was a ruse?”
“It wasn’t like I was lying to you, though, yes, I guess I did.
” I set my fork down. “Here’s what I knew an hour before you were in my driveway.
An unknown man booked my house as a rental.
I, a single woman, wanted to be sure I was safe.
I searched publicly available data to know who you were.
I was just as shocked as you that you were Mister Towel from The Prestige. That was a happy accident.”
“Did you just Bob Ross me?”
“Who’s Bob Ross?”
He shakes his head and stares at the ceiling. “I forget about our age difference until those kinds of comments.”
“No, seriously. Who’s Bob Ross?”
He gestures wildly around his head. “The painter. With the hair. All his mistakes”—he makes air quotes with his fingers—“are happy accidents. Hang on.” He withdraws his phone from his pocket, types, and flips the screen to face me. “Him.”
“The meme guy?”
That gets a laugh out of the man next to me. “Yeah, the meme guy. Before that he was a painter on PBS, before that he was in the Air Force.”
“With that hair?”
“We’re so off topic.” Strider shakes his head and twists back to stab his salad.
“What was the topic again?”
“Lies and deception.”
“Well, that and first date talking points. Do I want to know?”
The amusement on his face says maybe I overcame that hurdle. Maybe.
“Finish your salad, Freckles.”
“Gotta say, I didn’t have Bob Ross on my bingo card for first date talking points.”
Lies, deception, and Bob Ross… Sounds like a board game.
He slides his salad plate away, having eaten less than half of it. Maybe I didn’t overcome that hurdle like I thought.
“Strider?”
He tilts his head my way. “Yeah?”
“You’re clenching your jaw so hard, it looks like it hurts.
I…” I release a huge sigh and hesitate before setting a hand to his shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I mean, I won’t apologize for looking into you, but I’m sorry if it came off deceitful.
” I let my gaze drift away like a coward before returning my eyes to his.
“It wasn’t personal. I have to protect myself. You get that, right?”
“Thanks. But I cannot abide liars. It’s a hill I’ll die on.” With that line in the sand, he stands, moving around the island to stir the sauce, and rattling the cooling pasta around in the pot.
Grabbing the bowls he’d laid out, he scoops pasta and thick sauce into both and brings one to me along with a side dish of freshly grated cheese. He returns to the stove to grab his, not bothering to fill the awkward silence that’s fallen.
They say the first person to break the silence in a negotiation loses. But the silence screams… and it tells me I’m to blame. Go ahead, call me a loser, because in this case, I can’t stand it.
Strider
“Fresh parm?” Mirren gestures to the bowl with her fork.
“Romano. Sharper, saltier, a little less nutty.” I grab a healthy pinch and sprinkle it on the Bolognese, repeating the action. It melts like grated butter, and I watch it dissolve.
I ruined the night with my declaration. Better said than unsaid, I guess, but I didn’t have to tack it to the church doors like Luther.
I hate lies. Hate them. There is no acceptable lie. Christmas surprises get a pass, but just barely.
Not that I think most people are okay with it. They simply don’t announce it on a first date like it’s a gauntlet thrown down in challenge.
Not that it matters this far away, and since I’m on vacation, and the age gap, plus all the other things—it’s not a relationship or anything—but I don’t want this kind of tension between Mirren and me.
“I’m sorry too. And not like parents say it when they’re mad and really want to chew kids out. As in, I’m sorry.” I spin the spaghetti around my fork as I speak. “It’s not your problem. It’s a me thing. And I shouldn’t have laid it on you.”
She releases her tension like a balloon releases air. “Thank you. I… Wow. You apologized, and for something that wasn’t on you. My brothers would never. I would never.”
I fake tipping a hat. “Certain things are worth it. Telling people you love them. Apologizing when you’re wrong. Choosing to be brave. Pride should never get in the way of those things.”
“I knew I liked you.” She grins, her nose scrunching as lightness takes over her features, and digs into her pasta. She moans, staring at the bowl, and I go hard. “Oh my God, this is delicious.” She whips her face to mine. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
She doesn’t keep her focus on me, which is good. If she were to, she’d see the intensity on my face, and the steel rod in my jeans.
I push my glasses up and fight not to adjust my dick. “Mom assumed what was good for her daughters was good for her son, and vice versa. Though, I never got the knack for baking. I don’t have the patience.”
“Your mom sounds cool.”
“She’s a good woman. She was a nurse before she retired.
She was present at home, too, as much as any working mom can be.
She did all the things. Where she couldn’t, my dad stepped in.
And he had the same, if-it’s-good-for-one, it’s-good-for-all mentality.
My sisters know how to change a tire and replace a toilet just like I do. ”
“Impressive.” She smiles and takes another big bite. “Renaissance but modern. I like it.”
“It sucked as a kid.” Lots of things sucked as a kid. “But I can’t argue the benefits as an adult.”
“Remember when you thought being an adult would be the best thing ever and no one could tell you what to do?”
I cover my laugh with a knowing cough. “And now everyone tells you what to do, not just your parents?”
“I went from really cool parents to the Army. The Army,” she repeats for emphasis. “I wasn’t unaware. Jamie’s older than me, so I was sort of prepared. As prepared as I could be, I guess, but yeah. Silly sixteen-year-old me was an idiot.”
“I run a company and make all the decisions, and I still have everyone telling me what to do. I don’t mean the IRS, OSHA, or the state of Illinois, but the union, the employees, and somehow, my parents still think they need to chime in.”
“Try being the youngest… and a girl.” She swirls another forkful of pasta and dances in her seat with the bite.
“Oldest and the only boy, so I’ll claim ignorance on that one. My baby sister can probably commiserate though. She’s a biochemist in Denver and an overachiever.”
“That’s daunting.”
“Says the Army Ranger.”
“Yeah, well, I’m hard-headed and can’t back down from a challenge.”
“So a double-dog dare is all it takes?”
She covers her mouth with her hand. “I haven’t heard that term in forever, but yeah. That’s about all it takes.”
I’m not the guy who needs a dare to act, but something about the challenge laid before me keeps my throbbing cock from softening. “Oh, Freckles, you probably shouldn’t have told me that.”