Page 31 of Ice Cold Christmas
At first.
By the end of the second week, she’d sailed through the diner with a heavy tray perched on three fingers. And the meals at Stan’s Diner had actually been good. Breakfast and lunch. Though, she couldn’t say that she’d ever tried the blueberry pancakes there. She’d never actually wanted to try them.
“Your father missed you, you know.”
She didn’t know. Hello, story of my life.
“Pick up the fork and the knife, Melody.” A long sigh from Hatterson.
“He’s…worse.” Maybe if she ate some of the pancakes, Hatterson would keep talking. Hatterson could help her fill in some of the many blank spaces in her mind. “My father seems like he’s just gotten worse over the last year.” A safe enough statement to make.
“He tried lots of different medicines and therapies, but, yeah, he’s worse. Don’t think you should count on him getting a whole lot better.” Another sigh. Sadder. “He has good days. Bad days. But don’t we all?”
She cut into a blueberry pancake. Lifted it to her mouth.
Hatterson watched her with his dark brown eyes. “He missed you.”
She put the pancake in her mouth. Almost immediately spit it out.
“There a problem?” Hatterson asked with raised brows.
She chewed, quickly, the taste of the blueberries flooding through her mouth. For some reason, revulsion filled her, but she didn’t want to spit out the pancake right in front of Hatterson. Talk about rude. She choked down the bite of pancake, then she grabbed the glass of milk?—
“What in the hell are you eating?” Victor demanded as he stormed into the kitchen. He frowned at the pancakes. “Are those blueberries? Melody, you hate blueberries.”
That would be why she had needed to choke down her lone bite. She hated blueberries. Check. Her accusing eyes swept toward Hatterson. What kind of game was he playing?
“Oh, did I say they were your favorite?” He rose, all falsely apologetic. “My mistake. But then, shouldn’t you know which foods you like? And which ones you’ve hated since you were three years old?” Disgust twisted his lips. “That DNA test can’t come fast enough. You might look the part but?—”
“She doesn’t have her damn memory, Hatterson,” Victor snarled. “Back off. Now.”
Hatterson blinked.
So did Melody because…what, he was just going to tell everyone? So much for keeping that secret, but, then again, her best laid plans were currently going to shit. She was also exceedingly terrified because, deep down, she suspected Victor was right. The gunshots had been meant for her.
She was in over her head. She needed help.
Her gaze crept back to Victor. Big, bold, dangerous Victor. He’d rushed out to confront the gunman in the darkness. He’d protected her.
Yeah, okay, she needed him.
But would he help her?
“What do you mean she doesn’t have her memory?” Hatterson’s sharp voice drew her gaze. His bushy brows beetled. “What kind of bullshit is that?”
“It’s the kind of bullshit that’s my life,” Melody replied. The jerk had deliberately fed her pancakes filled with blueberries that she hated. How lovely. What a kind soul he must be. “And obviously, you suspected something, or you wouldn’t be serving me up this particular breakfast treat. Want to tell me why you decided I needed testing?” How had she tipped him off so that he’d felt the need to serve her the blueberries?
“You failed the test,” he told her bluntly.
Yes, obviously. Because she was walking around blindly and hoping like hell she would trust the right person. Victor, be the right person. Please, I need you. Because there was no one else she could rely on.
“I saw you come down the stairs last night.” Hatterson stood near the table, bobbing his head a bit. “Like a thief in the night. Tiptoeing. Sneaking into the study. I knew you were up to no good. Then shots were fired. You appear and hours later there is gunfire? Oh, hell, no. That’s too much trouble. I knew something was off.” His hands were on his hips. “And you just proved my point right here. My Melody would never eat blueberries. She’s hated them ever since she got violently ill after eating them when she was a kid.”
“Violently ill, huh?” Her hand went to her stomach. “Thanks so much for telling me that.” Should she be expecting some projectile vomiting? What a fun visit she was having at Mage Mansion.
“What’s this bullshit about not remembering?” Hatterson’s thin lips tensed. “This isn’t some soap opera. You don’t get to call amnesia for shits and giggles. Either you are the real Melody, or you aren’t. My money says you are not. You’re not her. Something about your face is just a little off, and it’s not just because you’re thinner. It’s different.”
She jumped to her feet. “It’s called having your cheekbone broken, asshole. And your nose. The docs did the best job they could, but no, I’m not perfect. I’ll never be exactly like she was before.”
