Page 50 of King of Justice

“I feel like spaghetti,” he said in a serious tone, still keeping his face expressionless.

“Easy!”

“Real tomato sauce—not the kind you get in a jar.”

“I can do that.”

“Basil?”

“I have basil.”

“Fresh garlic?”

I bit my lower lip. “I only have the kind in a jar.”

Taking a step toward me, he shrugged. “I guess I can let that one slide.”

When I rushed back inside to grab my purse, Zoey’s eyes watched my frenzied movements in visible surprise. “You’re playing with fire, I’m telling you.”

Tossing my phone into the purse and folding the laptop shut, I said, “Well, I guess you should alert the fire department, then.”

“Sassy much?”

Slipping the laptop into its case, I scowled at her. “I know this is gonna sound like an excuse to do another stupid thing. But I think if I don’t take this chance right now, I might regret it for a long time.”

“Godspeed, my child!”

“Tell Alex I left, yeah? Bye!” And I was out the door.

In Nathan’s car, I tried to overcome the idea that I should be ashamed of something and plan for the impromptu dinner instead. I would invite him to sift through my library while I cooked the spaghetti and prepared the sauce. I would then break out that bottle of French wine I’d been saving for a good occasion.

And more importantly, I would talk to him… really talk, and share with him something real about why everything I did with him felt like an earthquake to me. He was open to spending this evening with me, so I hoped that he was also receptive to understanding.

sixteen

Pleasure and Pain

Nathan

As soon as we were alone in her house, I pretended to dial a number and put the earbud in. “Hey… No, I’m gonna have to take a rain check on tonight. Something came up… What? No, no. Um—More like a date.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her stare at me, perplexed. I pretended not to see her there and ended the call like I normally would.

When I turned around, she was washing the tomatoes. “Nathan—”

“I guess you’re gonna ask me to stop hitting on you now, right?” I stepped in, taking off my coat, then my blazer. “Can I help?”

“Uh—How about you take a look around?”

“Why don’t you be a nice hostess and take me on a tour?”

She put down the tomatoes, dried her hands on a towel and marched over, smiling. “Okay, so this house belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Pullman. They live in Florida now.”

“Uh-huh?” I followed her, smiling.

“They never had any children, so they never needed to build an extension.” Turning to me, she asked, “Isn’t it cozy?”

“Where’s the bedroom, Jones?” I teased her.

“Nathan.” She lifted up a warning finger, while her cheery face said otherwise. “If you keep this up, we’ll never have a real conversation.”

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