Page 72 of Dangerous Encore
"No. I think I've got it." My eyes meetJoel's.
He raises a browyouokay?
I nod a yes. "How about coffee? I'll makeanotherpot."
"French roast?"Dadasks.
"Yeah. It's on a high shelf. I'll get it." Joel moves into the kitchen and gets to work fixing coffee. "You want some tea,Bella?"
"Yeah. Please." There's no excitement in my voice. I sound tired.Strained.
But I am happy Dad and Joel are here. Even if they don't always getalong.
I try to shake it off as I motion to the couch. "We could boot upCasablanca." It was Mom's favoritemovie.
"Later, sweetheart. I want to catch up with you and Joel." He takes a seat on thecouch.
Dad looks impossibly out of place in our apartment. He's pure New York City in his black slacks and greysweater.
And we're pure Venice Beach with our bright colors and ouroceanview.
Joel leans against the fridge. His eyesmeetmine.
They boreintomine.
Talktome.
I want to. But not right now. This is too overwhelming. "I should check ontheyams."
Dadnods.
Joeltoo.
I move into the kitchen, pick up my bowl, go back to mixingmindlessly.
Joel is right there, three feet away, standing in front of the coffee maker, watching the carafe fill with drops of darkliquid.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
It really takesforever.
I grab a baking tray and coat it with canola oil. Then I'm spreading a fine layer of mashed sweetpotatoes.
I motion to the top cupboard. "Could you get themarshmallows?"
"Yeah." Joel pulls them from the shelf and sets them on thecounter.
His fingers brush against mine as I reach forthebag.
His eyes boreintomine.
I want to promise him a million things, mostly that I'll figure this out, but words don't find their way to mytongue.
"Are you okay?" hewhispers.
