Page 60 of S.O.S. Billboard

They disconnected, and Billboard stood still for a moment before drawing in a deep breath. It was now or never.

Walking back into the kitchen, the smells coming from the stove were divine. They were smoky, spicy, and his mouth watered despite the conversation he’d been tasked to initiate.

“Perfect timing,” O’Shea told him steadily, but without the warmth he’d become used to from her. “Why don’t you have a seat.”

“I, uh, think maybe it’s time we had a talk, instead.”

She raised her brows, and her mouth flattened into a stern line. “Nowyou want to get serious? When food’s about to go on the table? Not happening, Billboard. I do not like dinner-time drama.”

Those words sounded like they came from a dark place, and Billboard immediately retreated. “Okay. After dinner, then?” He didn’t want to put things off too long, although digesting his dinner with so much on his mind might be difficult.

“Deal,” she said.

Billboard took a seat and O’Shea dished him up a pile of white rice on his plate before ladling on some black liquid that was packed with pink shrimp.

“Give it a try,” she urged, watching him carefully.

Billboard scooped up a forkful and put it in his mouth.

Onions, spices, and the best kind of burnt flavor he’d ever tasted exploded in his mouth; all the pungency offset by the sweetness of the firm shrimp. It was…amazing.

“This is good, O’Shea,” he praised, shoveling in another bite. “Really good.” He could almost forget his disquiet.

“I told you,” she preened, serving herself up an equal sized helping. Sitting down across from him, she attacked her platewith vigor, and within a short period of time, they’d both cleaned their plates. O’Shea sat back, her hands resting comfortably on her flat abdomen.

“That hit the spot,” she said, then changed her posture to sit forward, eyeballing him as if she thought he was about to run away. “I’m ready to chat now, if you are.”

Red lights flashed behind his eyes. “Uh, how about we take care of the dishes first?” Yeah, he was a chicken, but he was hoping the extremely normal interaction of clearing the table would eventually lead to his confession.

“Fine. I’ll wash, you wipe,” she said.

“Umm, I have a dishwasher, O’Shea.”

She gave him a “duh” look.

“You might not know this, but good conversation often happens over the kitchen sink,” she told him. “When my brother and I lived together once he came back from the service, I swear we solved the world’s problems when my hands were in the suds.”

She’d said that she and Cedric had lived together. Billboard had wondered where that fit in the trajectory of her young life, and now he knew. Maybe after he dared tell her what an idiot he was, she’d share more of her younger days with him. He’d always longed for a sibling, and hearing how close O’Shea was with her brother, he’d really enjoy knowing details about those interactions.

More companionably than he thought possible, they worked side-by-side, clearing the table and stacking the dirty dishes in the sink. It didn’t take them long to establish a rhythm where she’d wash a piece, hand it over to him, and he’d dry. Halfway through, though, she prodded him again.

“So, what’s on your mind?”

Try as he might, Billboardstillcouldn’t form the words he needed. “Uh, can we wait until we sit down?” he prevaricated.

Dammit, when had he turned into such a coward?

O’Shea took one step back from the sink and speared him with flashing gray eyes. “Seriously, Billboard?” A spark ignited in her pupils, anger and something else mingling in the disbelieving look she sent his way. “How many times…?”

It seemed she thought better of her words, because she amended her question, making it a statement. “Fine. That’s it, then. I’m done.”

Before he had a chance to get his head around how to respond, she put her hands in the water, scooped the very soapy sponge from the sink, and flung it directly into his face.

It hit his nose with a splat, bouncing off him and falling to the floor.

A hand flew to her horrified mouth. “Oh, shit. I didn’t mean to…”

Billboard stood shocked as the suds slowly dripped down into the collar of his t-shirt, disappearing to mingle with his ink.

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