Page 52 of Bad Seed
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
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SADIE
I amnotdressed for this.
Couples clink their glasses as a string quartet playsBad Romanceunder the pergola covered in grape vines. I nervously cross my legs, but my jeans are the least of my worries. I’m wearing my peanut butter shirt, so named because I wear it whenever I smear peanut butter on toast then inevitably drop it onto my chest.
“You didn’t tell me we were going to the winery,” I whisper at Aubry. He’s fine for the evening.
Holy hell is he fine. Unlike the suit minus the jacket look from before, he’s rocking a patterned button up in a sea blue with little shells all over it. In his usual fashion, he’s left it all unbuttoned so I can drool over his undershirt fighting to contain those pecs. That had to be on purpose. What I don’t understand is him not warning me to put on a dress…
There was still time.
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he says and takes a sip of a chablis that goes well with our tomato ceviche salad according to the waiter who’s an ex of my roommate. While he’s happy to dote on Aubry, I’m getting the cold shoulder from him, and death glares from all the other patrons in their fancy attire.
“It’s a surprise all right.” I stab at one of the tomatoes when he holds a hand out.
“Is that safe?”
“I don’t think anyone’s hidden a razor blade in it.” Even as I say it, I look. Who knows with Trent. Olivia is fast and brutal with her dumpings.
“No, I mean are you safe to eat it…?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. Some people either laugh off my allergy and try to test to see if I’ll really die from it. Others can become more hyper vigilant than me, which is saying something. “I’ve got it.” To assure him, I swallow the whole tomato slice in one go and smile big. No choking here.
Aubry plants his elbow on the table and rests his chin on his knuckles. “Forgive me for being protective. The idea of watching you suffer is…” He winces then papers on a smile. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
The intense focus in his eyes causes me to gulp, catching the tomato in my throat. Oh, shit. I can’t cough. He’ll panic. But it’s starting to burn. With tears in my eyes, I force out a little laugh that turns into a sputter and lunge for my water glass.
“Do you do that often?”
Nearly choke on a tomato because a man looks about to dive on a bomb to save me…or fuck me? No, that one’s new.
“What?” I cough and tap my chest like I meant to do it. “What do you mean?”
“Take pictures of vegetables? Tomatoes, peppers…” His voice grows so cold, I shiver. I swear, as he stares at me, purple shimmers in his eyes. “Eggplant?”
“Not usually. I get more finished products, boxes of cereal, protein bars, jugs of yogurt.”
“You mean tubs?”
“I wish. I’m Indian, and I struggled getting through all the yogurt they sent me. Course it was strawberry and blueberry flavored so…you don’t want to use that in your tikka masala.” I start to laugh before I remember he asked a question. “It’s nice to have produce. I can use them for sandwiches. Well…”
Except for the eggplant.
“It’s kinda funny that they asked me to photograph eggplant.” I snicker at myself, but his stare goes from attentive to piercing.
“Why?”
“Because… Because I don’t eat it, like you.”
He glances his wine glass to his lips, says, “True,” then drinks.
I stare at my glass that’s down to dregs. Would it be bad if I asked for another glass at this prix fix meal?
The next course arrives. It’s fish. I miss the type of fish but I get that there’s some sauce of almonds while I take in Aubry listening attentively to the menu. I didn’t expect him to show.
