Page 36 of Defend Me

“Yeah.”

She eyes me suspiciously. “Where did you get the food?”

I give her a sheepish smile. “I went to the store.”

“Noah,” she snaps. “I told you not to leave! How did you even get back up here?”

“Sam has a key for the elevator,” I tell her. “And you can’t leave a person alone in a house all day with no food. It’s cruel and unusual. Plus, the reporters are still in Magnolia Bay. Pop told me when he called.”

Her eyes dart to the oven and she licks her lips. Sheishungry. I feel a pinch of something like triumph. “It will be ready soon,” I say. “I thought you might want something to eat. It’s been a long day.”

Von makes a faint harrumph sound in the back of her throat and walks over to the refrigerator. I shift out of her way. She smells faintly floral, like jasmine trees in summer. Her eyes widen briefly at her newly stocked fridge before she grabs a bottle of white wine and opens a cabinet now full of pasta and rice and various nuts.

“Where are the wineglasses?” she asks.

“Here,” I say, opening a different cabinet.

“You moved my glassware?”

“They’re closer to the fridge here,” I explain. “And the pantry staples are near the canned goods.”

“I have canned goods?”

“Yeah. The kitchen is more intuitive this way.”

“I wasn’t aware my kitchen had intuition.”

I grin at her. “It does now.”

Von pours herself a healthy glass of wine and studies me as she takes a sip.

“Why are you cooking in the dark?” she asks.

I gesture around at the walls. “Where are the light switches?”

Her mouth curls into a smirk. “Maleficent has many secrets,” she says.

She walks over to a panel I didn’t notice before because it’s smooth and flat and white, so it blends into the wall. When she touches it, a series of buttons illuminate. She presses one of them and lights begin to glow from various spots around the room, creating a pleasant atmosphere that I’m sure was carefully cultivated by whoever she hired to do the lighting.

“I decided you’re more like Blofeld,” I say, wondering if she’ll get the reference.

To my surprise, Von laughs. It’s a nice laugh, soft and light, one I don’t think I’ve heard before. “Which version?” she asks. “Christoph Walz or Donald Pleasance?”

I raise an eyebrow. “I hadn’t pegged you for a Bond fan.”

“Al and Finn loved all those movies. From Sean Connery to Daniel Craig. When either one of them got to pick for movie night, we all knew it would be some Bond flick.”

I used to go to the occasional Everton movie night, the times Caden would get to choose the movie. He’d even let me pick sometimes. I remember sinking into one of the plush recliners in their home theater, a big bucket of popcorn between me and Caden, and a giant soda in my cupholder.

“What movies would you choose?” I ask.

Two pink spots appear on Von’s cheeks. “Anything with Hugh Grant,” she admits.

Then she turns away from me and takes out her phone, back to business. She types as she sips her wine, walking over to one of the couches. Her eyes dart to me for half a second before she kicks off her heels and sits, tucking her feet underneath her. It’s such a not-Von pose. She’s always so stiff and poised. I find my eyes tracing the soft folds of her blouse, the taut line of her skirt as it hugs her thighs, the firm curve of her calf. I feel that stirring in the pit of my stomach again and turn away.

This is weird. I’m probably just hungry. And tired. I’ve never spent this much time with Von one-on-one.

I lean against the island, waiting for the timer to go off. The food really does smell good, I’m proud to admit. I’ve almost finished my second beer by the time I hear the beep declaring it’s ready. I pull out the sheet pan and let the chicken rest for a few minutes. I can tell by the set of Von’s shoulders that she is deeply aware of the food. Her hand reaches toward her bun, like she wants to let her hair fall free, then she stops herself and smooths one palm over her crown instead.

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