Page 27 of Best Laid Plans

"In that case, you have a good rest of your day."

I walked out of his office, and then the Larue Homes headquarters. I got into my car, and started driving. It wasn't until I cleared Sentinel that my hands stopped shaking and tears started to pour down my face. I pulled over at a gas station. It took me thirty minutes to find my bearings before I could drive again.

Chapter 13

Anson

Iwas distracted through dinner.

Alma and Bailey were gossiping about someone they knew who had dumped her fiancé a week before her wedding because he had been sleeping with the bride's mother. My mother was interjecting with her own gossip.

Christ! Was this the best dinner conversation we could have?

My mind went back to the times that I'd eaten with Nova. She cooked for me in that disgusting studio apartment of hers. She was a damn good cook; she'd had to be, she told me. Eating out was too expensive and not healthy to boot.

I remembered the time she made lasagna. She had invited me over on her day off from the diner, and even set her sad, little, rickety table, covering it with a white tablecloth, and placing a small vase with a couple of dark pink dahlias. She had mentioned that she was allergic to flowers but loved them, so dahlias were her compromise. I hadn't brought her flowers or anything, in fact, I'd just shown up empty-handed. It was rude, but she didn't seem to notice or care. I loved that about her—she wasn't into the social bullshit.

"Holy fuck, this is good," I exclaimed after taking a first bite of the lasagna.

She smiled broadly. "I'm glad you like it, honey. Everything is made from scratch, including the pasta."

I couldn't believe it. "And the bread?" I picked up a slice of focaccia.

"That too. It lasts me a week, so it's great for a quick breakfast before I head out for school or work."

She seemed comfortable talking about her life—not ashamed that she had to work two jobs.

"You cook like this all the time?"

She shrugged. "I have to. It's cheaper to buy flour and eggs than pre-made pasta. And I freeze portions of what I make so I have dinner when I get home from work."

"You don't get food in the diner?"

"I do…but it's so greasy. And when there's a farmer's market, I can get fruit and vegetables for next to nothing."

I had met no one who lived like she did, so close to poverty. Still, she did the best she could with what she had. She had even made her crappy studio comfortable and clean. It had a fresh citrus scent about it. The table had been set with chipped plates and old but polished silverware—and the food had been excellent.

"You're an awesome cook, Sugar." I leaned across the small table and kissed her lips softly.

"It's been so long since I've been able to share my cooking with anyone."

I felt her loneliness slam into me. Before I could respond, she cried out. "Oh, I have something for you."

She ran to where her sofa bed was, and looked through a small bookshelf. She brought a book back, and gave it to me.

When I read the title At the Existentialist Café, Freedom, Being, and Apricot Cocktails by Sarah Bakewell, I raised an eyebrow.

"You told me you were going to study Sartre next semester, and I came across this book at a library giveaway. It's great. The author delves into existentialism by exploring the lives, ideas, and vibrant personalities of key thinkers, including Jean-Paul Sartre. I think you'll like it."

"How the fuck do you know so much about Sartre?" I flipped through the book.

"Well, this philosophy podcast I listen to mentioned it. Then I found the book. Such luck, right? I read it at the diner when we were having a slow week."

Yeah, so we didn't talk at all about people breaking up or fucking each other's mothers. With Nova, I was challenged to be better. A girl who read Sartre would not steal, would she? But there had been so much evidence. Pete found the jewelry in her apartment. Nova got a lawyer. All of that indicated guilt on her part.

"Anson," my mother called out, and it looked like she'd been doing that a few times to get my attention.

"Yeah, Mama?"

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