Page 51 of Stolen By the Billionaire
There, that was a detail that made her seem more human, Sarah was sure. She had friends. Friends changed their lives as time passed. That seemed good.
Blaze inclined his head, directing her attention toward the living room with its astonishing wall of glass windows overlooking the lake that stretched to the horizon. “When an architect designs a house, the interior is done by an interior designer. This house was fifty years old when I bought it, built in the early seventies, so I had some worn pieces recovered or replaced. However, part of the appeal is the whole mid-century modern look. If I’d updated all the furniture to something comfortable, the house would have lost value, or so the designer sneered at me during the final walk-through when I asked about putting a couple of recliners in front of the television.”
“I don’t know anything about interior decorating beyond how to sew a patchwork quilt or braid a rug.”
“Me, neither.”
“So, this is kind of an expensive house, right?”
Blaze shrugged. “I was advised it was a good investment.”
“I mean, it didn’t come with much land, and you couldn’t farm the back because of that steep cliff leading down to the lake. Even in the tract in front between the house and the road, which looks like half an acre or so, you’d have to terrace it even more than it is, or else the runoff would rip away all your topsoil in a few years. You could probably have a decent kitchen garden there to supply yourself. On the other hand, you do have plenty of fresh water available.”
Blaze nodded. “I’ve never worried about dying of thirst in this house with Lake Michigan right outside the back door.”
Sarah ate the last bite of her gas-stove-burner chicken thing and was mercifully finished with the thermonuclear torture, and then she chugged a sixth glass of water.
Through the round lens of the bottom of the glass, Sarah could see Blaze watching her. His blazing blue eyes followed the end of the tumbler as she lifted it to tip the last few drops into her mouth, where it did absolutely nothing to quench the fire scorching her tongue.
She placed the glass where it should be above her plate. “What?”
He paused, then asked, “That wasn’t too spicy for you, was it?”
“It was fine. I always eat what is put in front of me. It’s my first time having foreign food like that, though.”
He paused, one eyebrow drifting downward, and then seemed to reset himself. “It’s Mexican. It was chicken enchiladas and rice.”
Sarah pondered the word. “Ench-il-la-das. Interesting.”
Interesting like a house fire or a missile attack.
Blaze asked, “You’ve never had enchiladas before?”
She touched her chest over her heart. “I am from simple farm folk. When my parents were alive, we rarely went out to restaurants. If we got a really good price for our cattle at the Kalona Sales Barn, we ate at the auction house to celebrate.”
“They have a restaurant at the cattle auction?” Blaze asked, one of his dark eyebrows rising. Neat trick.
“Oh, yeah. The Sales Barn has the best food in Kalona,” she told him. “They have regular food like roast beef, fried chicken, and mashed potatoes and corn. Their fried chicken is tasty. And the pie. Their cherry pie is amazing.”
Blaze used one finger to advance his plate closer to the middle of the table and then rested both of his massive forearms on the surface, leaning forward and peering at her. “So, you’d never eaten Mexican food before.”
Sarah shook her head. “I’ve always wanted to try pizza, too. Sometimes, the school had it at the cafeteria, but my mom always packed me a lunch because we couldn’t afford those school lunch tickets.”
He gestured with one finger somewhere in the distance. “You’ve lived four hours from Chicago your whole life and never had pizza.”
Sarah shrugged. “I’m a farm kid. Lots of farm kids have never eaten pizza, especially the Amish kids because they go to their own school. They don’t have exotic food like pizza at lunch. I have a lot more experience with worldly things than they do. Didn’t you think this was pretty spicy?”
He shook his head a little but didn’t take his eyes off her. “I was stationed all over the world. Many of the base cafeteria staff in the Middle East were contract workers from Thailand or India. They cooked the standard American fare like hamburgers and pizza, but they also made food from their own countries like they really make it there, not like restaurants in the US anglicize it. Those little bird chilis in the Thai food get pretty spicy when you bite into them, and the Indians served fresh whole serrano chilis on the side to nibble on. This was barely medium.”
Sarah felt her eyelids stretch as his words shook her around. “This—this was medium?”
Blaze leaned back in his chair a little with a finger on his lips as if he was shushing himself, but he said, “I imagine you cook without much seasoning at the farm.”
“Oh, no. My food has a lot of flavor. I have an entire bed in the garden that’s nothing but herbs like thyme, rosemary, and dill. I even grow garlic. I’m a good cook.”
“My apologies,” Blaze said, and he seemed to mean it. “I wasn’t suggesting anything. I just—it’s different. That’s all.”
“No apology needed. Most people think Midwestern food is boring or tasteless, but it’s not.”
