Page 80 of Eyes in the Shadows

She inhales and turns her head to stare at the passing streetlights and dark scenery behind it. “Start at the beginning, huh? Okay, well, I grew up around here. I’ve got an older sister, she was always my best friend growing up…” she trails off with a laugh, “but I was her younger sister so I wasn’t her best friend, ya know?”

I don’t, but I don’t say that. The thought of anyone having her as an option and not picking her is baffling. “Your parents?”

“They’re still together; they did the Jersey thing and moved down to Florida for their retirement. No income tax,” she says, like that explains why someone would move so far from their daughter who clearly needs a little more help and support. “They were around when I was little, but we’re not super close. They just… I don’t know. Mel’s always been the one that needs attention. I always felt like I had to fight to be seen.”

“No wonder you have a praise kink—you were ignored as a child.”

Her jaw drops and she turns to face me. “You… what… Excuse me! Did you just casually turn my whole self-image on its head?”

“As adults, we often want what we didn’t get as children.” I chuckle and give her knee a squeeze. “Go on.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Okay, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to just keep living my life after that revelation. Um, let’s see, you asked how I got into cooking? I guess the same way people get interested in things. I was praised for being good at it early on,” she says with a smirk, letting me know she’s teasing. “I was told I had a good palate and a good nose, but really it fit into this interesting cross section of wanting to experiment and enjoying the process. I find it soothing and challenging. But then I got a job in a kitchen.”

“And now you don’t?”

“Now I… I’m too tired to enjoy the process most of the time. Kitchens are high energy, high emotion, stressful, even a little dangerous with the fire and knives and all that,” she says, laughing. “It feels silly to say, knowing the relative dangers of our professions.”

“So, you don’t like working in a restaurant kitchen, but that doesn’t mean you don’t like cooking,” I say.

“No, you’re right. I’ve always kind of thought it would be nice to get a private chef type of gig. More freedom, be my own boss, manage the expectations of like four people instead of forty per hour.”

“That does sound better,” I agree. “You’re hired.”

She laughs—like I was kidding—and shifts in her seat to point both knees my way. I take full advantage and move my hand to grab the outside of the other leg. Now they’re pressed against the center console, as close to me as possible.

“I guess it’s why I haven’t been all that worried about losing my job. Maybe it’ll be the kick in the ass I need.”

We chat about the restaurant next, and she admits she never did look up the menu. She starts talking about the different types of fusion food and the ideas she has for different combinations. She’s so animated, so passionate. And even though she cares about food way more than I ever will, I appreciate passion.

Two people don’t need the same interests to be compatible, they both just need to care enough to pay attention while the other person talks about theirs.

The restaurant is a standalone building set back from a main thoroughfare that connects adjacent areas of generational wealth. The architecture has Asian influences, making it feel like the whole place was designed around the type of restaurant it is.

Its distance from Ulysses proper was part of the appeal, and it’s not so far from the house that we can’t make a quick retreat if we need to. I park near the back, open her door and lace our fingers as we walk across the lot. As Eleanor is craning her neck, taking in the two-story ceiling with skylights, I catch a flash of green hair at the hostess stand.

Fuck.

“Reservation? Oh, it’s you. Mr. No-Smell Flowers,” she says, her voice switching over to a purr halfway through, after the surprise of seeing me subsides. She leans forward a little over the stand, letting her eyes drop slowly in an obvious perusal.

“Hello,” I say, aiming for distant but polite. I felt rather than saw Eleanor’s head snap around when the girl spoke. “Two at 9 PM, under Thomas.”

The green-haired girl’s eyes cut to Eleanor. At whatever look they exchange, she smirks a little, and looks down at her seating chart. “Sure, you and your sister can follow me.”

“She’s my date,” I correct, but the girl has already grabbed two menus and taken off through the loud restaurant.

Eleanor glances at me. “Friend of yours?” she asks lightly. She’s trying not to make it too obvious, but I can hear the edge of jealousy.

“Nope.” I guide her forward with a hand at the small of her back.

Our table is towards the back, with a view of the open kitchen, tucked between some tropical plants and an indoor pond. “There’s fish!” Eleanor points out to me in a low but excited voice, pointing down at the koi weaving through the lily pads.

The hostess hands us the burgundy cloth menus with Rouge Elephant embossed in gold after we sit. “Can I get you anything?” she asks me—only me—leaning over the table and giving me a view down her shirt that I pointedly ignore. “Maybe a drink while you wait for your server?”

I clear my throat and press my lips together at Eleanor’s displeased expression. “I’m all right. But maybe for my girlfriend? You want anything, darlin’?” I extend my hand across the table to her.

Her expression is pure gratification as she reaches forward and places her fingers in my palm. She smiles at me, which turns slightly more spiteful when she looks at the hostess. The girl’s eyes have dropped to our intertwined hands and her lips have flattened to a line.

“Is there anything you recommend?” Eleanor asks, obviously enjoying the girl’s newfound discomfort. Gotta say, jealous Eleanor is really turning me on.

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