Chapter 8 #2
“Not even in any of the articles I could find.” He cuts me off, and the disappointment I felt earlier for being a bad friend is amplified tenfold to a true sense of defeat. He doesn’t believe me, just like the others.
“I’m glad they were able to keep that out of the media,” he continues, nearly giving me whiplash from my mixed emotions. Before I have a chance to say something embarrassing, like thanking him for even entertaining the idea, he knocks me for another loop. “Are you available to meet?”
“Yes!” I say too eagerly, but I wouldn’t take it back even if I could.
“This evening?” The leading way he says it makes it clear it’s a question, but it doesn’t need to be.
“Anytime, I’m available anytime.” I try to slow down the second half of my answer, but I’ve already played my hand, not that I’m trying to be coy. I just don’t want to come off like a stalker myself.
I can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, “You may regret that answer. I tend to become a little… fixated.”
“I’m not even sure what that word means,” I tease, surprising myself.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Are you staying at a local hotel?”
“No…” I don’t mean to sound sad, but that’s how my one-word answer comes out.
“I was going to say we could meet up, but the phone works for now.”
“Oh, we can meet up. I’m in a condo a few minutes from the studio, but I can come to you.”
The line is quiet for a heartbeat too long, and I start to worry about what I said, or if it came off as too eager. “Have you eaten dinner yet? I just realized I’m starving.”
I look over at the marinated chicken thighs I just pulled out of the fridge to make for dinner and do something totally out of character. “I was just starting dinner. I have more than enough…” I stop short of actually inviting him, but the intent is there all the same.
He lets out a soft chuckle. “I hope you weren’t offering to just be nice, because I will never turn down a home-cooked meal.”
“I wasn’t, but just don’t set your sights too high. I like cooking, but that doesn’t mean I’m good at it.” I give him the address before hanging up, then I run around like a crazy person for five minutes, making sure everything is picked up before getting busy in the kitchen.
Less than twenty minutes later, my phone rings again. Not for the first time, I hope it isn’t Liv, which makes me feel guilty all over again, but I don’t have the time or the focus to talk to her right now.
When I see the now familiar number, I tap the answer icon then the speaker since my hands are full. “Hello?”
“Hey, I’m at the gate.”
“Oh crap, I forgot to call ahead and let them know.”
“They take security pretty seriously around here,” he mutters softly, but something about the way he says it makes me think he doesn’t really mean it.
“I’ll give you the code. It will be faster than walking over.
Give me one second. Sorry about this,” I tell him while washing my hands.
I rush over to my purse to dig through it for the little Post-it note I haven’t needed to use in days because unless it’s John, they just wave me through at this point.
I rattle off the code and listen while he recites it to whoever is at the guard shed. I can’t make out the muffled words spoken back to him, but Landry is clear when he replies, “I’ll make sure she knows,” in a flat tone.
“You make a left at the stop sign,” I tell him while peering out the front storm door just in time to see a black car turn into the driveway. “I’ll hang up now since you made it through security.”
I wait for him to say, “Okay,” before ending the call and sliding my phone into the pocket of my pants.
I take a quick second to look down at myself.
Thankfully, I hadn’t removed my bra yet for the day, though I would have had time to put it back on if I had.
Instead of overthinking my clothing choice, I push the door open as he approaches the porch.
I get a little tongue-tied seeing him again, especially when the sun kisses his face, and I swear his blue eyes twinkle a little before he squints. “Hey, sorry again about that.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s a good thing they know who is coming and going.
I have to admit, though, I’m not used to being questioned.
” He steps through the door, and I hurriedly take a step back to get out of his way.
When I look up, expecting his eyes to be on the view beyond the living room or high up toward the ceiling, I’m surprised to find them still locked on me.
“Smells good.” His chest rises on a deep inhale.
For no reason other than my own thoughts and him complementing the smell of the food, my cheeks warm. I spin away, hopefully before he can notice, and say, “Thanks, it shouldn’t be too long.”
Once I’m behind the counter, I steal a quick look toward the short hall and find him removing his shoes near the door.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” When he stands up, I can’t help but notice the change in his appearance from earlier.
Gone are the dark pants and suit coat. He’s wearing jeans that fit without being too tight over his thighs, a seafoam green shirt, and a tan jacket that looks to be a soft canvas.
His eyes are on the wall of windows at the back of the room, giving me plenty of time to observe him as he shrugs out of the lightweight jacket, revealing quite a bit of dark ink swirling up his arms. I didn’t expect that, not that I’m complaining.
My face heats again, this time for a very obvious reason. I pretend to focus on the sauce I’m making, so I don’t get caught checking him out.
“I have to say, I’m a little jealous.” He turns his attention to me. It’s not until that moment that I think about how perceptive he is, and if I don’t pull myself together, he will certainly know why I can’t seem to look at him without blushing.
“The view is pretty nice. I never thought I would like something so… open, but I was a goner as soon as I saw the listing pictures.”
“Can’t say I blame you. What are you making?” He meanders over slowly, as if he’s giving me time to adjust to him coming closer. I don’t know if that’s actually true, or if I just think it is, but I like it either way.
“Chicken shawarma. I can’t say it’s authentic,” I warn. “It’s just a recipe I found on Pinterest, but I like it.”
“And this?” He motions toward the counter.
“That’s bread I made earlier.”
“Today?” he questions, his eyes widening.
“Yeah, I’ve been trying to keep busy. It comes together fairly quickly.”
“How hard would it be to convince you to include this with dinner?”
I laugh softly. “Not very since my intent was for it to go with the chicken.”
He nods his head slowly then walks toward the entry door. For a split second, the irrational thought that he might leave plagues me, but I watch as he bends down and grabs a bag from the floor. I was too distracted by his presence to even notice he carried it in.
“Since I’m making out like a bandit here, I feel like it’s only fair to let you know you definitely could have bargained for more with the bread.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what else I could have bargained for, but then he unzips his briefcase-like bag to pull out a manilla folder, then he places it on the counter between us. It forces me to remember why he’s really here, and it isn’t because he asked for my company.
“So if I want your insight into my sister’s case, make sure to offer food for your time.
Got it.” I grin while I say it, hoping to keep the joking mood going, but the way his eyes shift up from what he was doing to mine makes me think he can see right through me.
“Is that what Macey gave you?” I change my tone in hopes things won’t get awkward.
“And some stuff I gathered on my own. I can see why the investigators are leaning toward it being someone Hayzel knew.” He leaves the folder closed on the counter. Part of me wants to stop what I’m doing and examine every detail to see if there’s anything I didn’t already know.
“What makes you say that?” My eyes dip down to the file, partly because I’m curious to know what’s inside, and partly because his gaze feels too intense.
“Some of the facts present in the case and random acts of violence aren’t as common as you might think. Did you travel here alone?”
My eyes jerk up to his. My instinct is to lie, to deny the fact that I’m here alone with him, but that’s just the more cautious part of me that sees ulterior motives in every situation.
Besides, if there is anyone I could trust, it should be him.
“Yeah, why?” My honest answer doesn’t surprise me, but the question after it does.
Landry’s eyes fall from mine to look down at my hands on the counter briefly before meeting my gaze again. “Your husband didn’t come with you?”
At the mere mention of a husband and the obvious nature of his assumption, I move my pinky finger to snag the large diamond on my ring finger and twist it back and forth.
It was our mother’s wedding ring. I’ve been wearing it since I found it in Hayzel’s jewelry box.
I just slipped it on my finger and never took it off.
I’ve thought about removing it a few times, but there wasn’t really a reason to.
It’s not like I wanted to advertise the fact that I was single, and strangely, it makes me feel closer to both Hayzel and Mom. “Not married.”
“Engaged?”
I shake my head in denial. I’m not ready to offer him, a near stranger, who is already way too perceptive, an explanation as to why I’m wearing it.
The oven timer goes off, giving me the perfect excuse to escape the topic.
I turn to face the stove, nearly overshooting it by half because the floor is slick against my socks.
Landry makes a surprised sound I ignore while fumbling for the cute little anchor oven mitts.
It’s a graceless retreat, but I get a short reprieve from his probing stare.
Hot air wafts from the oven and rolls over my face as I bend to pull the sheet pan out. “Looks ready,” I say, feeling the need to fill the silence while grabbing a couple plates from the cupboard.
“Can I help with anything?”
I startle when I realize that not only has he moved around the counter, but he’s also standing pretty close to me. He takes a small step backward when he sees me jump, and I immediately feel bad. “There’s a bowl of sliced cucumbers in the fridge.”
Landry’s movements are smooth as he transitions toward the refrigerator.
“I made some garlic sauce too, the container with the blue lid. Sorry I’m a little jumpy,” I say so he doesn’t think he’s putting me on edge. I mean, he is, but it isn’t his fault.
“I’m invading your space, no need to be sorry.”
“Not really invading when I pretty much begged you to come. I just… It’s usually just me and Livy, and sometimes Parker, but you aren’t them.
” It’s easier to give him the explanation while his back is to me, but he’s no less distracting this way.
In fact, when he looks over his shoulder unexpectedly, I’m pretty sure I got caught checking out his ass.
“Who’s Livy?” He kindly doesn’t react to my slipup.
“Our best friend.”
“Our, as in…”
I nod. “Mine and Hayzel’s. Mostly Hayzel’s, until after.”
“Olivia Donnoly,” he mutters, which shouldn’t surprise me because he said he read up on Hayzel’s case, but it does.
Liv was questioned after Hayzel’s death, but she lived an hour away from us at the time.
She did visit Hayzel a couple of times at school, but they had already started to grow apart.
Livy blames herself for that. Her and Parker’s relationship was new, and she was living at home with her parents, commuting to a local private college.
It was just the natural progression of them growing up.
I’m sure they would have found each other again and been thick as thieves if they’d gotten the chance.
I hadn’t talked to Livy myself in over three months while I was away at school.
After I moved to be with Hayzel, we picked up where we left off.
In truth, my sister was the only reason we were ever friends, but that changed after her death.
We clung to each other—me to her because she was the last person left who was close to my sister and loved her like I did, and her to me because I reminded her of the best friend she lost.
I’d like to think we’re more than that now, and that we’ve grown to appreciate each other, but some days, I’m not so sure both of us aren’t still just clinging to the past.
“That’s her,” I agree, popping the lid off the cucumbers I sliced and lightly salted earlier. “I didn’t make any sides, but I have some chips,” I offer.
“What?” He clutches his chest. “You mean all I get is homemade bread and this chicken that looks and smells delicious?”
“I did say I had chips,” I remind him.
“I suppose I’ll manage.” He takes the offered dish from my hands with a small smile.
“Next time I’ll go all out with sides and even dessert.” I say it without thinking, but before I can take it back, he pounces on my nicety.
“Now you’ve done it, Harlyn. I’m going to have to hold you to that.”
I reach up to touch my lips when I realize I’m wearing a real smile for the first time in what feels like forever. A wave of guilt gnaws at my chest, causing the smile to drop just as unexpectedly as it arrived.
“So how do we do this?” Landry proves just how much he sees when he nudges my shoulder with his, pushing close enough to distract me from my darkening thoughts of guilt for feeling a moment of joy.
“Ahh…” I stammer for a second, looking around the kitchen before showing him how I make the wraps.