But now all that’s coming from her is frustration. I think.
She was determined to be disappointed. She has low expectations, clearly. And she’s surprised by my flexibility in something as simple as a meal.
I crack a few eggs, watching her stare out the window.
“What other broken promise, Amie?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer.
I open the fridge and assess for possible toppings.
“All right then… next question. What kind of crepes?” I try.
“Whatever your specialty is,” she answers, not looking at me.
“Sweet or savory?”
She turns toward me, saying, “Yes,” with a definitive nod.
I smile. “Any allergies or things you don’t like?”
“Allergies: no. As for the other question, that’s dependent on whether or not you can actually cook.”
“I can cook,” I inform.
“We’ll see,” she mutters, examining her fingernails.
I get to work on a spinach, bacon, tomato, and cheese galette and then mix up some berries and get out some chocolate syrup and a bottle of whipped cream, grateful for not only the prepared food my mother dropped off today but for the fact, too, that she loaded the fridge and pantry last week because of the steady stream of visitors I had.
While I’m cooking, Amelia slips out onto the deck off the kitchen and my eyes coast over her body as she stares at the lake. It’s a little windy and her pretty hair billows in the breeze. She looks troubled and I don’t like this. Though, I get it. She thinks she’s engaged and that she’s been unfaithful. She’s protective over her sister. She’s surprised by today’s events. I want to fix it all for her.
Time. I have to give it time for the sister thing; there’s no way in hell I’d show up there right now. I think it’d do more harm than good, and I’ve done enough of that already. They need time to mend their issues before he sees my face again.
And I’ll help my mate end the other thing. As soon as possible with the other thing.
It’s not cheating since she was never meant to be his. Especially not with the fact that she’s not even carrying his scent. I think meeting me came at the perfect time; she’s just not ready to admit it.
Her phone chimes from the table so I peer over at it, seeing a text from her mother.
Mom: Thank God! Are you ok? What’s he like? I have no idea who the fortune teller was but I’ll go through her boxes in the attic and see if I find anything. I just heard from Ivy. She’s okay. She knows who you’re with and made it sound like you’re ok too. Are you? This whole thing has aged me ten years already! Call me as soon as you can with an update.
I read the message Amelia sent earlier to her mother as well.
Her phone has a half a bar. It drops to no service again.
I look at my own phone. The same. I never have problems with reception here, but it’s been in and out all day. Just like I never had problems with reception near the village and I had issues with my phone the night Tyson claimed Ivy.
Witchcraft.
Fucking with phone signals? Fucking with my truck?
I ponder that notion, moving back to the counter to finish up, then set the food on the table before sliding open the patio door. I slip my arms around her waist, kissing my mark on her. She jolts.
I turn her around so we’re facing one another and say, “Food’s ready.” I step back, tagging her hand.
She eyeballs my body lazily from top to bottom and then back up again. She’s looking at me with unbridled lust and it makes me want to say fuck the food.
“And you got a text from your mother.”
She snaps out of her trance and pulls her hand away.
“Coffee? Orange juice? Or … what is it you want?” I inject innuendo into the question and blatantly check her out.
Her tits look fucking scrumptious.
“Orange juice is good. Thanks,” she mumbles and walks past me, sitting down at the table, snatching up her phone. She straightens up as her eyes travel the screen, then she empties her lungs with relief. “At least she’s not stressing as much. Now I feel like I can actually eat knowing she knows I’m not dead in a ditch. And she talked to Ivy. Good.”
She makes a call and when I get back to the table with two glasses and the carton of orange juice, I hear her listening to a mailbox full announcement. She dramatically pretends to throw the phone before setting it down gingerly and looking to me.
“Either my phone won’t work or when it does, the person I’m trying to reach’s phone goes right to voicemail. Do me a favor and call Tyson and have him put Ivy on the phone.”