Page 71 of The Vow Thief
I kept my eyes on the menu and nodded.“I like music that makes you feel something.”
She tilted her head,“You’re not going to tell me you listen to classical music while twirling your hand around in the air like Hannibal Lecter, are you?”
I laughed.“The man was insane, but he had good taste in music.”
Now she was laughing, too, and we didn’t stop when the waiter came to check on us. We gained composure long enough to order our food.
She leaned in once he left,“Okay, game time. Screw, marry, kill. Have you ever played?”
I chuckled,“Do you mean Fuck, marry, kill? Yes, I’ve played.”
She nodded,“Your choices are books, movies, and music.”
I leaned back.“This is a completely unfair question and impossible to answer,” I protested.
“Maybe,” she said. But you’re going to answer it. I have my answer, but you go first.”
“All right.” I pretended to think.“Kill books, marry music, and fuck movies.”
She gasped, feigning offense.“You’d kill books? I thought you were cultured.”
I raised an eyebrow.“What’s your answer then?”
She smiled slowly, the kind of smile that carried both amusement and challenge.“The same as yours.”
The waiter brought halibut glazed with truffle butter, and she closed her eyes after the first bite, letting the flavor settle before speaking.“You can always tell when a chef respects restraint.”
I watched her for a moment.“You seem to be having a moment over there. Should I give you some privacy?”
She smiled without opening her eyes.“You should try it before you mock me.”
I did. Perfect balance, silk and salt in equal measure.“Fair. He knows what he’s doing.”
She nodded toward my plate.“You’re not one of those people who salt everything before tasting it, are you?”
“Never,” I said.“I believe in letting things simmer, take on flavor and texture.”
Both of her brows lifted.“So, you can use a crockpot?”
“I do all right. I’ll put it this way: I won’t starve.”
She smiled softly, then took another bite.“I used to cook all the time. These days, I’m mostly negotiating with small humans about what qualifies as dinner. Apparently, mac and cheese from a box is a balanced meal.”
“Small humans,” I said, amused.“I take it your children are connoisseurs of the finer things.”
“Connoisseurs of bedlam,” she said.“But yes, they have opinions. My son has declared vegetables an act of war.”
“He sounds like a visionary,” I said.
That made her laugh, a low, real sound that hit somewhere I didn’t expect.“You don’t have children, do you?”
“Yes,” I said.“She’s an adult now, all grown up. These days, my interactions are mostly with employees. Similar dynamic, less cute.”
“Ah,” she said, setting down her fork.“So what is it you do, exactly?”
“Consulting,” I said, careful to keep it vague.“I help organizations manage perception, rebuild when things go sideways.”
“So… image repair.”
