Page 45 of Deja New
Paul chose that moment to breeze in. “Can I have extra meat? Instead of the salad? Or the risotto? I’d also like meat for dessert.Twodesserts.”
“I’m not giving you a big plate of steak as your meal again. And I’m not making beef crème brûlée again. Eat the sides,” Jack ordered.
“Ha! You’re not in charge of what I eat or what I don’t eat but hide under the couch, shrinky dink.” When Jack reached for a cleaver, Paul added, “Fine! But I’m doing it because I want to, not because I fear you.”
“Whatever works.”
“Hey, Chambers!” Mitchell had plopped down opposite them and started in on the risotto. “Bet you’re wondering why we call this the turtle table.”
“Why would anyone wonder that?” Paul demanded. “You always think we’re more interesting than we are.”
Jason glanced down at the shiny lacquered table, then back up. He had almost demolished his steak and was starting on the salad. “Because it resembles a tortoiseshell in color and pattern? Like a form of marquetry?”
“Huh.”
Now I’m going to get horny every time I think of marquetry. Dammit.
The chaotic meal—especially with the addition of Archer and Leah—which should have been a fifteen-minute study in embarrassment, was great fun. Even more impressive, Jason held his own under the barrage of inappropriate questions and observations. She was sorry when the meal was over and everyone went back to what they were doing when not gulping down risotto. That was a first.
They
(kiss me! I’ll also settle for a comradely pat on the boob. well, my under-boob)
shook hands at the door. “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring better news.”
She shook her head at him. “Nothing to apologize for. It was kind of you to take the time and let us know. I’ll be sure to reach out if I find anything new.”
“I will, too.” He hesitated, like he was going to say something else, then just smiled at her and left.
“Nice enough guy,” Jordan observed from over her shoulder.
“Uh-huh.”Nicedidn’t begin to encompass the coolness that was Jason Chambers.
“Too bad about Dad’s case,” Paul added. “But this guy’s a huge improvement over Klown.”
“Kline,” she corrected.
“Pretty sure it’s Klown. And if it’s not, it oughta be.”
“He’s wonderful,” Angela declared. “Did you see his socks?”
“He had socks?”
“He had feet?”
“Monet’sWater Lilies.” She sighed. No question: Jason Chambers was making her care about art again. Hopefully it wouldn’t turn into some odd, embarrassing Pavlovian response. Museum visits would be a nightmare.
