Page 35 of The Romantic Agenda
“Don’t feel bad.” Joy sits in the chair closest to her at the dining room table. “This is too advanced foreveryone. I’m sure your salad is amazing too.” Fox takes the seat next to her, while Summer and Malcolm sit across from them, leaving the heads of the table empty.
Summer scrunches her nose. “You’re just being nice.”
“I am. Nothing wrong with that.”
Malcolm begins by opening a bottle of wine, chosen because it pairs well with seafood. He pours everyone a glass, only hesitating for a moment when he reaches Fox. After, he holds out a hand for Summer’s plate and she obliges, passing it to him.
Malcolm has always been that way. Cooking, plating, serving food—he happily allows the entire hosting experience to fall on him. Unfortunately, it’s just another way his type A personality manifests. If he’s in control, no one can disrupt his dinner. No one can taint all his effort.
Joy’s been working on gently pushing Malcolm out of his controlling comfort zone in situations like this for years. She didn’t want him to plate her food because she didn’t like it. They eventually learned to meet in the middle. He always offers. She usually declines.
When he sets the salad tongs down, she picks them up and fills her plate. And for her next trick, she turns to Fox. “May I?”
“Oh, I can—”
“No, no. Please. Let me.”
Malcolm watches her do it. She gives him a cheeky smile and wink for his troubles. Whatever he does for Summer, she’ll do the same for Fox. She’ll take her cues wherever she can get them until she figures this thing out.
Once their plates are full, Malcolm begins to bless the food by asking everyone to bow their heads. Religion is an essential part of Malcolm’s life, affecting almost everything he does. He grew up Catholic but converted in college after he began to regularly attend a Baptist church near campus. Joy was mildly surprised to not see going to church on the agenda for the trip. He’s done itbefore—researched welcoming churches they could visit during their travels. It’s possible Summer isn’t as religious as he is and he wanted to respect that. Joy doesn’t know.
Malcolm concludes his prayer. “Let’s eat. Enjoy.”
“I can’t believe how good this looks.” Summer eats one of the scallops and pretends to pass out in her chair. “Oh my god. This is magic.”
Joy snorts. “Malcolm the Magician strikes again.” She takes her first bite—okay, Summer wasn’t exaggerating. The risotto practically melts in her mouth, sending her taste buds to heaven and back again.
“Jesus,” Fox mutters as he chews. “I think it’s illegal for vegetables to taste this good.”
Malcolm says nothing. Bragging isn’t his style. He’s always preferred to let the testimony of others speak for him and his work. But Joy, who can read him better than anyone, knows how pleased he is. Mission accomplished; his nervousness begins to fade. He sits up a little straighter, the worry lines disappear from around his eyes, the tension in his jaw relaxes. He pushes a button on a small black remote and melodic jazz music begins to float around the room.
As they eat, Summer starts to tell a story about a disastrous school play she had the misfortune to direct. Everything went wrong, from some of the plastic elements for the set design melting during a heatwave to a small outbreak of lice.
The entire time Joy keeps catching Fox staring at her. He turns away quickly—but not quick enough—whenever she glances his way. Suddenly, his plate, his wine glass, even the ceiling at one point, are the most fascinating things he’s ever seen. His chaotic nervous energy electrifies her into giddiness.
Joy resists the urge to laugh at him, hiding her smile behind her napkin. People stare at her daily for a multitude of reasons: her face, her body, her skin color, they recognize her—and she’s gotten used to it for the most part. Any problems they have with her aretheirproblems. She’s never given much thought to receiving attention like this before.
It isn’t like when Malcolm admires her. He does so openly, and without embarrassment. With Fox it’s almost like he feels guilty for looking at her too long. As if he’s only allowed to catch glimpses of her while she’s not paying attention, but it’s not enough for him to hold on to. He has to try, try, try again until he can get the image of her to stick in his mind.
Feeling bold, she rests her elbow on the table and cradles her cheek in her hand (manners be damned). Keeping her voice low, she says, “Hi.”
Fox wastes no time giving her his full attention. “Hey.”
The lights in the room flicker—quickly turning off and on, accompanied by a loud buzzing noise. Joy looks at Malcolm, who seems just as confused. The music cuts in and out, like a record skipping, before shutting off completely.
“Power surge?” Fox asks.
Now it’s as if someone is turning a knob, dimming the lights until they’re almost out, leaving the room almost pitch-black. Joy can barely see Summer and Malcolm across the table. She reaches out, holding Fox’s forearm for comfort and to make sure he stays near her. He covers her hand with his, bringing it closer to him.
Suddenly, the lights flare back on even brighter than before. The music starts playing again, picking up right where it left off.
Joy glances around the room. “What in the murder mystery—”
“Oh. My. God.” Summer’s jaw is practically near her plate. “Malcolm, did you rent a haunted cabin?”
“Uhh, not on purpose.”
Fox says, “Ghosts aren’t real.”
