Page 62 of Sawyer
He poured himself another cognac and her a mezcal, extending it toward her. She came closer and sat. Drank hesitantly. Stared at him some more while he gathered the threads of his remaining control.
“That’s—” She pointed at the bottle. “How did you— Pescador de Sueños Pechuga isn’t a brand you just run out and buy here in Paris.”
He wanted to preen at the shock in her voice. “No. I figured you’d appreciate the shape of the bottle.” A dagger, made of dark glass. “And the fact that they add raw chicken breast and fresh fruit between the second and third distillation. The name—because as a soon-to-be Michelin-starred chef youarea Fisher of Dreams. Also,Pechugameans sharing.”
Her entire face was blank with shock.
“And that’s what best friends do.Salud.”He held up his glass.
Her hand was shaking as she reached for her drink, he noted, before her grip tightened, her knuckles going white.“Salud.”
Her wide golden eyes held his as she took a hefty sip. She looked unsure of herself, and he knew this was the side of her he didn’t know as well—the Madison who had trust issues with men, men she’d cared about. She took another sip before setting it down.
He took another sip as well, enjoying the burn.
“Now you’re really scaring me,” she finally said, kicking back in her chair as if she were trying to show she was the badass. “When did you learnpechugameans sharing? Although technically it’s a sense of sharing.”
His lips twitched. “I have my ways.”
He was so not telling her about his Spanish lessons. It wasgoing to take serious study and his new Spanish tutor months to get him up to an intermediate level. Thank God he’d found something to do in the quiet evenings when he was alone in the house, waiting for her to come home.
Studying her first language made him feel closer to her. As he learned the language’s patterns and structures, it gave him insight into how she thought. Because he knew very well from being fluent in two languages that language shaped the way people thought. It was like having a new key into her mind. Not that she’d like that sentiment, probably.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “All right. I’m not an idiot. You pick a mezcal that means sharing and try and butter me up about being a fisher of dreams. You want to talk, talk. Or is this the lead-up to you telling me you think we should bang?”
“Jesus Christ, Mad! Seriously?” He shot a glare at her. “Give me some credit. I’m your best friend. Last I looked, that doesn’t make me an asshole.”
A flash of vulnerability lit her eyes before she narrowed them. “Doesn’t make you not a guy. Are you telling me you haven’t thought that might be the solution to our little problem? Get it out of our systems?”
His chest tightened. “Of course I have, but I don’t think it’s the solution to our problem.”
“Why not?” she shot back.
“Because I don’t think we’ll get it out of our systems,” he answered in a raw voice, his gut tightening with fear. He didn’t want to lose her, and they were rushing into Class Five rapids with this talk. His heart was pounding in his veins, and even across the island, he could smell her. Woman and earthy smells like bread and roasted meat. Ones that haunted his nights and made him wish he could run his hands along her skin.
She picked up her glass, drinking slowly, her boot tappingthe floor in a nervous rhythm. “Is this about Rico?” she asked finally.
He’d known this question was coming. But he had to be honest. She deserved it. Besides, they’d never lied to each other, and he didn’t want them to start. “We wanted each other before I even knew about Rico’s existence. But yeah, seeing him coming around has brought up feelings I’m not proud of.”
She bit her lip, looking down in her lap. “You were honest with me, so I’ll be honest with you. I’d hoped I could feel something for him.”
He swallowed thickly, hurting in the silence that reigned for the next moment.
“I thought… Shit, I thought that maybe Rico would be our solution. I could get the hots for him. You and I would go back to being friends like we used to be. Because I don’t like this either, Kyle. It’s messing up everything between us.”
“But you getting the hots for Rico, as you say, wouldn’t helpmyfeelings.” He looked up. He had to look at her as he said it. “I’d still want you, Mad. And seeing you with him—even trying to be with him… Fuck, I was jealous and hurt. I want you to be coming back here, hanging out with me in the kitchen, drinking mezcal. Dammit, I’ve missed you!”
Her mouth pursed, and he knew the emotion she was fighting. It was clawing its way up into his throat.
“I’ve missed you too.”
She finished her drink and poured herself another. Motioned for him to down the rest of his. Then she poured him another few fingers from his bottle. They both drank, the silence as loud as the cicadas back home in the trees during a hot summer.
Maybe that’s why the insects screamed. The heat was too much for them. He understood. He felt that way with Madison.
Her swallow was audible before she said, “Maybe it’s everyone else in the house hooking up?—”
“It isn’t.” He huffed out a sigh. “This thing between us happened before Thea and Jean Luc got engaged.”
