Page 10 of Protecting the Nerd

“Apologies for the wake-up call.” His diplomatic tone did little to smooth over the rough edges of my mortification. “But I figured you’d want something to eat before it got cold.”

“Right, of course.” Food was the last thing on my mind, but I couldn’t deny the growling protest of my stomach—a physical reminder that life, in all its mundane glory, still demanded attention, even when the world seemed poised on the edge of chaos.

“Let’s eat, then.” At least that had come out steadier than I felt, and I brushed past him into the kitchen, where the takeout promised a distraction from the awkwardness threatening to choke the air.

While I grabbed plates and cutlery, Quillon unpacked the food with efficient movements, which were no doubt fueled by his military training. We settled into chairs opposite each other as if honoring an unspoken agreement of personal boundaries. The clink of cutlery against ceramic broke the silence as we served ourselves. The aroma of Thai basil chicken teased my senses, a temporary balm, a gustatory distraction from the disquiet threading through my thoughts.

When he took his first bite, he hid his reaction beneath a veil of professionalism.

“Spicy enough for you?” I asked.

“Perfect.” Quillon nodded. “You chose well.”

“I don’t cook.” Why was I telling him that? Maybe because the silence was also unnerving?

“Not at all?”

“Nope. I can boil an egg, make a grilled cheese sandwich, and I excel at heating up food, but that’s the extent of my skills. Ania cooks three meals a week for me, and I eat takeout or ready-to-eat meals the rest of the time. Do you cook?”

I almost impressed myself by making small talk. Prime-level adulting right there.

“I do. It relaxes me.”

“Feel free to use my kitchen anytime. If you need any ingredients, write them on the whiteboard on the fridge, and Ania will order them.”

“Order?”

I chewed quickly. “She orders groceries to be delivered once a week.”

“Gotcha.”

“What kind of food do you like to cook?”

“Indian, though I’m not at this level yet.” He gestured at his plate. “And Asian food in general. Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese. Oh, and Indonesian. I love the heat and their use of spices.”

“I had Indonesian food for the first time a few months back. My friend, Fir, threw a get-together and had it catered by an Indonesian woman who cooked the most amazing food.”

“Isn’t Indonesian cuisine the best thing ever?”

It was at the tip of my tongue to offer that he could make it for me anytime, but that would be weird, right? I wasn’t sure of the boundaries, but Quillon’s job was to protect me, not to cook. Best not to say anything. “Do you have a partner?”

His eyes flared, but then his face was neutral again. “No. My career in the Marines wasn’t the best way to meet people, and neither is my current profession. You?”

I chuckled. “Aren’t you supposed to know that already?”

He shrugged. “I do, but I still prefer to ask. A background check doesn’t always reveal everything, but more importantly, it’s creepy for clients to discover how much we already know about them, so it’s better to let them tell themselves.”

That made sense. “Well, then, you know I don’t have a girlfriend at the moment, and it’s been a while since I had one.” I sighed. “I’m not good with relationships, and women confuse the hell out of me. Their indirect communication drives me bonkers.”

Quillon grinned. “You and every other man on the planet, I think.”

Much to my surprise, we kept making small talk as we finished our meal and then put everything away in quiet camaraderie. But I was still exhausted, the effort to maintain the facade of normalcy too taxing after the day I’d had.

“I’m gonna listen to some music.” I retrieved my noise-canceling headphones from the side table next to my favorite chair. I also had a record player since I loved the old-fashioned crackle of vinyl records, but I couldn’t use headphones with it. And since I didn’t want to subject Quillon to my music, my phone would have to do.

“Okay.”

While I forced myself to ignore Quillon, I lowered myself into my chair and slipped my headphones over my ears. As soon as they had connected to my phone, I selected the music. The first notes of the Peer Gynt Suite flowed through the cushioned barrier, and Grieg’s music wrapped around me like a familiar embrace.

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