Page 15 of The Payback Plan
‘So… I shouldn’t wear my jersey around the house?’
His eyes dropped to her chest and he grimaced at the culinary ninja proclamation. ‘I’d rather read a thousand stupid T-shirts.’
‘Oh goody.’ She brightened. ‘I have plenty.’
Clearly not deemingthatworthy of a response, Oliver opened the fridge and Paige turned back to the kitchen to get started on the breakfast. Without being asked, he set the table and, after clearing some space near the coffee maker, made them both a cup as Paige heated the pan and dipped the bread.
When the bread hit the pan with a sizzle, Oliver opened the sliding door to the deck and stepped out, possibly to toss the magnet into the sea. He shut it behind him but not before it allowed a gust of wind to swirl into the room. It ruffled plastic wrapping, blew cocoa dust into the air, tousled Paige’s curls and split Flower’s mad blond bangs right down the middle so he looked like a Machiavellian orchestra conductor.
By the time he stepped back inside with another flurry of wind, the French toast was cooked and Paige was placing their plates on the table. She moved the setting so they were sitting next to each other instead of opposite. Mostly because she figured it would irritate the crap out of him but also, why would anyone want to sit with their back to that view?
He frowned at the change but seemed less steamed than when he’d headed out and took the seat next to her without a complaint. ‘Looks good,’ he said, clearly surprised as he eyed the thin slices of apple she’d pan-fried and caramelised with a bit of sugar and added to the top of their toast along with a dollop of whipped cream cheese.
What could she say, she was quite partial to a tart green apple too…
Weirdly, Paige felt a tiny little glow flare to life in the centre of her chest at the compliment no matter how grudgingly it had been delivered. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.
As she opened her mouth to take her first bite, her mouth already watering from the waft of sugar and cinnamon, Oliver said, ‘Wait.’ He shot her a querying look. ‘Aren’t you a vegan? And gluten intolerant.’
Paige paused, her forkful of delicious poised midway between the plate and her mouth. Well…shit. She’d pulled that out of her ass at the last moment to try and irk Oliver. She hadn’t thought about the fact that she was going to have to live with that little deception.
For the next couple of months.
When Paige had run her drip torture ideas for Oliver past Bella she’d concurred that two months of daily inconveniences would be more than sufficient. Paige’s payback plan was all about death by a thousand paper cuts rather than one big climatic event. Unlike Sienna, for example, who was cooking up something way more epic for Harvey.
Which suited her just fine. That son of a bitch deserved everything he had coming. She didn’t feel one ounce of guilt over it. Fuck. Harvey.
‘Um yes.’ She placed her loaded fork on her plate. ‘But it’s kind of a new thing. A new year’s resolution so I’m still getting used to it. But I… get out of bed and I try every day.’
Oh Jesus, what bullshit Pollyanna crap had just escaped her mouth? But she plastered a smile on her face, picked up a fork and shoved the food in.
‘And the gluten intolerance?’ he asked sardonically. ‘That new too?’
She smiled weakly around her mouthful, her tastebuds alive with the joys of sugar and fruit and gluten-laden carbs. ‘Oh no. But it’s mild so I can get away with the occasional slip up. I’ll grab some gluten-free bread and other ingredients when I do a shop later.’
Thankfully Oliver let the topic drop in favour of eating and his little hum of appreciation after his first mouthful was satisfying in ways Paige had forgotten. She’d loved cooking for Harvey. Had felt immense satisfaction when he’d complimented her on whatever dish she’d made and complained good-naturedly that she was trying to make him fat.
The guy beside her was far less effusive but somehow even the slightest sound of appreciation from Mr Food-Is-Just-Fuel felt more genuine than dozens of moments of what now felt like performative praise.
Harvey had played her but good.
‘How long have you and Bella known each other?’ Oliver asked as he finished his last mouthful. ‘I don’t recall her ever mentioning a Paige?’
Stalling for time, Paige picked up their plates and delivered them to the kitchen, piling them into the sink that was already full of dirty dishes. ‘Not long.’
But how long was acceptable to have known someone before a person felt comfortable enough to invite them to their bastard ex-fiancé’s house?
‘A week or two after thenotwedding,’ she added, her gaze trained on his. He blanched a little at her directness.
Yeah, you might have put that behind you, Oliver freaking Prendergast, but actions have consequences.
‘Ah.’
Yes.Ah. To give him his due, he didn’t shy away from her gaze. In fact, for a moment, Paige thought he was contemplating explaining or maybe even justifying what had led him to do something so horrifically damaging to a woman he had purported to love, but then he appeared to change his mind.
He stood, breaking eye contact. ‘What are your plans for the day?’
‘I want to go into St Ives and check it out,’ Paige said as she fussed about decluttering the sink. ‘I’ll grab some groceries from the shop too so if you want anything just write in on the pad on the fridge.’
